Minna's Patchwork Coat

Chapter 2

Pay Them No Mind

While Mr. Miller was hitching up his horses in the churchyard, Souci jumped out and didn't even look back. She ran up to Lottie Smith, who was wearing the prettiest coat with an even prettier fur collar. The two of them went into the church together, hand in hand. I saw Clyde Bradshaw and Kevin Baker throwing snowballs at each other behind their parents' backs. Kevin pointed at me in the feed sack, probably thinking I looked like a baby in my papa's arms. He started snickering, which made Clyde laugh, too.

I was giving them my snake eyes and would have stuck my tongue out if Mama hadn't said sharply, "Minna, pay them no mind. The worst punishment you can give is to pretend they aren't there, like they don't matter. You don't want their bad behavior to rub off on yours."

"Mama's right, Minna," said Papa, squeezing me tighter. "They want you to get mad, so don't give them what they want. The more you ignore them, the more they'll make fools of themselves and get into worse trouble."

I didn't want to ignore them. I wanted them to get to know me and like me. But I did my best to pretend they weren't there, and sure enough, it happened just as Papa said it would. Inside church we were all singing "Amazing Grace," one of Papa's and my favorites, and I could hear the boys behind me snorting and kicking my bench. I just sang louder. Then I heard Kevin Baker say, "Redheaded witch!"

Ooh, was I boiling, and I so wanted to turn around, but I held on to my hymnal like it was a fish trying to squirm away. The next thing I knew, Kevin Baker's father was grabbing him by the collar and Clyde Bradshaw's mama grabbed him, and those boys were marched right out of church, as red as beets. I turned just enough to see the goings-on from the corner of my eye.

I was so glad I had not made a fuss, because then I might have gotten into trouble, too, and it would have spoiled our whole trip. Nope, this was one day that went right with the Hopkins family.

Chapter 3

Little Bear, Little Bear

That winter I remember waking up to the wrenching sound of Papa coughing. I confess that sometimes I liked the sound, because it meant Papa had to be home with us and not down under the earth in the coal mines that might eat him up like they did other papas. His cough meant that he was up closer to the sun and was clean and not covered in black soot all over except for two white circles around his eyes. And being with us meant that no more of the black coal dust was getting into his lungs. Maybe then he'd have a chance to just cough it all out and be well again.

One morning when the snow had melted, Mama put the kettle on and was frying eggs and leftover corn bread, and Papa was sitting in his rocking chair by the window enjoying the sunlight streaming in.

"Mornin', Sunshine," he said, smiling.

I gave him a big hug and buried my face in his chest. I whispered to those black lungs inside of him, "Please get all clear and well."

Clemmie came running over and wanted to be part of the hug. "Come on, Clem," I said. "We got work to do."

"No, I want to play!" He stomped his little bare foot, though it hardly made a sound.

"Well, we have to make you a toy first, and you are going to help me make it."

"Oh, Minna, I really need you to finish carding that pile of cotton," said Mama, desperation creeping into her voice. "I have to get that order done."

Since Papa had been sick with the miner's cough, Mama had worked day and night making quilts to pay for our food. My job was to comb out the weeds in the cotton stuffing that went inside the quilts.

"You two are keepin' lots of folks warm, even if I can't give 'em coal to heat their homes," Papa would say, but he wasn't happy about it. If he wasn't playing his banjo, he just stared out the window from his rocking chair. I think he was trying to catch up on all the sunlight he had missed.

"I can card the cotton today," Papa said. "Let Minna play with Clemmie."

Mama looked doubtfully at Papa. I was the expert carder in the house.

"It won't take Clemmie and me long, Mama. I need to find him something to do so he doesn't get his sticky hands in all that cotton. He makes my job harder."

I had made a doll for myself from Mama's scraps and stuffed it with fluffs of cotton. I called her Fifi and talked to her like she was my friend, since I didn't have any others. Clemmie didn't count, being my little brother and most times a pest. The last toy Mama made for him had fallen apart, so I was thinking maybe I would make him a new friend to play with.

"How about if I make you a little bear to play with, Clemmie?"

"Will it bite me?"

"Nah, only if you want it to."

So a bear it was. Papa helped me draw it, and Mama fixed it into a pattern that I could pin to the cloth and cut out. She showed me just how I should stitch it.

Clemmie was twirling in circles, he was so happy. When I finished sewing most of the bear, I left an opening for Clemmie to stuff the cotton inside.

Then Papa played his banjo for us. He didn't sing much because it made him cough, so we just sang louder as Clemmie stuffed his bear.

But then Papa had us change it to "Little bear, little bear, hop through the window." And we also changed "Mary wore a red dress" to "Minna wore a green dress."

And "Poor old crow sittin' on a tree" to "Poor li'l bear, skinny as can be."

Papa said, "Clemmie, as you're stuffing the insides of that bear, you tell it all the things you hope it might be."

Clemmie's chubby little fingers poked the cotton into the head, and he whispered to the bear, "You be nice and not bite, but if you see a bad bear coming for me, then you bite him."

"How about Li'l Bear just telling Big Bear to go away?" I asked Clemmie.

Clemmie shook his head no.

Then Li'l Bear was finished, and we all took turns kissing it to make it "come alive." I looked from Mama's face to Papa's face to Clemmie's, feeling so happy, like all was right in the world. It was another special thing I would have put in my treasure box for safekeeping, if I could have.

Chapter 4

If That Mockingbird Don't Sing

The spring air seemed to make Papa feel better. He was awfully busy around the house, mending old boards that had come loose, gathering firewood, and making plans to build a bigger garden and barn. Mama just shook her head, but she was smiling to see Papa so full of life.

One morning Papa grabbed the Log Cabin quilt Mama had made and told me to put on my boots. "Minna, you're coming with me. We've got business with Aunt Nora."

Aunt Nora wasn't really an aunt, but everyone called her that. I guess because she was like everybody's aunt. She was the healer and midwife on the mountain and had delivered a lot of us on Rabbit Ridge. Most folks called on her if they were sick or hurt instead of going down into town to see the doctor. But some folks were afraid of Aunt Nora, saying she was a Cherokee witch with powers she shouldn't be using.

"How come Aunt Nora's so smart about the plants, Papa? Is it because she's old?"

"She's not that old," said Papa. "Her face has just seen a lot of sun."

Mama looked curiously at Papa and said, "That's gonna be a steep walk back for you. Why don't you let me go get what you need, so you don't have a coughing fit?"

"I'll manage. I have Minna with me," Papa said, and I felt so proud. Poor Clemmie was crying in Mama's arms because he couldn't come with us.

I called back to him, "Clemmie, watch over Fifi for me, and I'll find a present for Li'l Bear!" He smiled and nodded through his tears.

Walking down the mountain through the woods, we could hear Mama's pretty voice fading. She was singing,

"Minna, you know what's worth more than a diamond ring?" Papa asked me, adjusting the quilt under his arm so he could hold my hand.

"Yep. Mama's singin'," I said, because that's what he always told me.

"Yep, and your voice, too. No diamond ring can do what a pretty song can. You keep singin' and don't ever stop, okay?"

"Okay, Papa," I said, squeezing his hand.

When we reached Aunt Nora's cabin, we saw her grandson, Lester, in the yard, pulling clay pots out of a shallow pit dug in the ground. His skin was even darker than Aunt Nora's, and he seemed big for being just nine years old. Papa explained that Lester and Aunt Nora had made the pots from the clay they dug up from the riverbank. The pots had been hardening in the fire pit and were now cool enough for Lester to lift them out and hard enough to be usable. Lester nodded a hello to us and pointed to the house. I hadn't heard him speak a single word since he had come to live at his grandma's.

Aunt Nora opened the door before we could knock. Maybe that's the kind of thing that made some people call her a witch. She didn't seem like the ones I had heard about, though. She was short with a face that was brown like old leather. Her eyes were as black and shiny as marbles, and I liked looking at them. But I was a little nervous, too. I started sucking on the end of my braid, until Papa pulled it out. He and Mama were always trying to break me of that habit, but my mouth and braid had minds of their own.

"Whatcha have there, Jack?" Aunt Nora asked, first staring at my face, then eyeing the quilt I was now holding, as if she had just laid eyes on something that sparkled. It seemed she could hardly keep from touching it. "A Log Cabin quilt? Is this one of Marcy's?"