A Morning In May, A Morning In June

Abstract

A Morning In May, A Morning In June by JEANNE SHANNON Jeanne Shannon was born in Virginia and attended school there and in Kentucky. She and her husband moved to New Mexico years ago, but she writes—as many dothat her roots are still in "Appalachia". Her sketch is based on actual events with the names changed to protect the privacy of individuals. "Don't tell your dreams before breakfast, without you want them to come true," Grandmaam always said. So on that still, foggy morning in 1941 she waited until we had begun to eat breakfast before she told us what she had dreamt the night before. She had dreamt about our neighbor, Davey Phipps. About bis wife Lockie May and their nine-months-old son, Quinlon. And about Kendrick, Davey's halfbrother . They were all out in the deep woods, where the oaks and maples shut out the light from the sky. They were passing through a darkness that was so deep, when suddenly Davey ran ahead of the others, into an open space, across a meadow of broomsedge, and into an orchard where apples ripened in a light so sweet. The others stood watching him as if wishing they could follow him into the yellow light, the dappled light under the fruit trees. He did not turn to say good-bye. "I don't know what it means," she said. "But, oh, I feel a dread." Davey was our neighbor Garnie Maydew 's oldest son. Her baseborn child. He was twenty-five years old. Garnie lived the next house from us on the road toward Yarrow. Davey and Lockie May lived a mile away, near where the road forked to go to Spruce Pine Gap. We hadn't quite finished breakfast when we heard someone calling at the gate for my father. It was Kendrick, come to teD us that Davey had been shot last night on the streets of Yarrow and was in Ute hospital now, dying, beyond a doubt "Now don't be scared, honey," my mother told me as we walked up the lane and out toward Gamie's house that afternoon. They'll all be crying and takjng-on, but don't you be afraid." Grandmaam, mother and L going to comfort Davey's family on the day he died. The air was still and grey, suffused with the pearly light of early May. Grandmaam wore a voile dress, a print of faint purple flowers that somehow matched me day· Garnie came out to meet us, weeping. She embraced my mother. "Oh, ZeIIa, he followed Davey out into the street and shot him. And that nurse . . . that nurse . . . she wouldn't give Davey a drink of water when he called for it. And him dying." Mother tried to comfort her. They say drinking water is bad when you're shot in the stomach." A crowd was slowly gamering. EBsha Potter and his family, and Ransom Trivett. And PoDy Hoskins, "Pretty Polly," so small and dark and shy. Snowdie Vanover was there. She had been Gamie's closest friend since they were very young. Years ago they had gone to62 gether to the frolics and plays at the Willis home, and to the dances and carousings at the Red Onion Cafe on Bold Camp Mountain . "Wild" was how my mother described the way they had been then. Snowdie was always laughing and full of life. Now she was sitting in die back yard under the dark leaves of the pawpaw trees, joking with Elisha Potter. Garnie went out and sat with them. Lockie May carried Quinlon out and sat in a rocking chair on the front porch, rocking back and forth and wailing, "Oh, Quinlon , if only we'd a went with Daddy last night, this might not have happened." "You must forgive," Grandmaam said to Garnie as we were leaving. "I had to forgive Claude Mullins when he wrecked the car and killed Randall. The Bible says to forgive. So you've got to try to forgive that boy that shot Davey." Garnie said yes, she would try. We walked home for supper. Grandmaam talked about Davey, how he always loved to go...