Free To Make My Bread by Grace Lumpkin Page A

tell.
    Across from the upper end of Swain’s meadow, Laurel Creek made a bend around the base of Little Snowbird Mountain. At this bend was Fraser McDonald’s cabin. Just before it was the old ford. Now there was a rough log bridge built across. The road that led from this bridge went past Fraser’s cabin and followed the creek around the base of Snowbird until it turned into a sledge trail further on. About a mile beyond Fraser’s a sand and rock beach in the creek sloped down into deep water. This was where the baptizings were held.
    Baptizing day came early in August. Whether a person was religious like Basil, or defiant like Granpap, they all attended Baptizing. It was an occasion for neighbors and kin who had not seen each other for a year or more to meet. People came from miles around, some even from the distant South Range neighborhood. In some way the news traveled that on such a day there would be baptizing on Laurel Creek; and the poorest and most isolated tied up some corn pone and cold potatoes in a cloth and set out before day to reach the place in time.
    On the other side of the creek a low hill rose up almost from the water. Behind the hill were higher mountains enclosing the place. On the beach side there was more room. Little Snowbird had a gentle slope at the bottom with few trees and some thickets of calico plant and laurel scattered between the rocks. Between the road and the creek there was a wide bank covered with green grass. This was a favorite place for those who had brought lunch. They could use the flat rocks for tables and sit around in comfortable family style. Those who did not have jugs of cider went to the creek side and drank.
    Granpap, who had accepted something stronger than cider from a neighbor, nevertheless took a drink of creek water. He came back to the place Emma had selected for their lunching place and spoke to Basil who was eating his piece of corn pone and bacon.
    â€œNow,” he said to Basil, “the preacher can’t baptize ye. I’ve swallowed the creek, holy ghost and all.”
    Basil did not answer. With his bread in one hand and the bundle of clothes in the other he walked away up the road toward the place where the men were to dress.
    â€œIt was ugly of you to say that,” Emma reproved Granpap.
    â€œShucks, Emma,” Granpap said. “He knowed I didn’t mean anything.”
    â€œYou should talk better before the young ones,” Emma went on. “It’s you that helps Kirk in his bad ways.”
    Granpap was silent. He would not defend himself too much before a woman. Emma began again to wonder about Kirk. He had not appeared for dinner. She was keeping his part of the lunch and wanted to find him. Jesse McDonald, Fraser’s son, passed and she called him.
    â€œYou seen Kirk?” she asked.
    â€œNo’m,” Jesse said, and went over to the Frank McClure group where Sally was helping Ora with the younger children. Sally was faithful that day for she was to be baptized. She was full of a spirit of helpfulness. Jesse did not tell Emma that he had been looking for his friend. Kirk had vanished. And since he could not find him among the company, Jesse had decided that Kirk must have gone to visit the still again.
    â€œCome along, Son,” Granpap said to John. “Maybe we can find him.”
    They walked off together, John tagging along at Granpap’s heels like a faithful puppy. Emma and Bonnie joined Ora McClure.
    â€œNow, you run along, Sally,” Ora said taking a sly look at Jesse who was hanging around, waiting to get a chance to speak with Sally. “You run along, Sally. Emma’ll help me. But remember, you’re going to be baptized with water to-day.”
    Sally blushed almost to her fingers’ ends. Sometimes her mother said the most indecent things. Sally could bear it very nicely when other girls whispered with her and they spoke of experiences that were ahead of them. But