June 2, 1945 was a hot, dry summer day and I was exhausted! Mama had called me to her bedside early that morning and informed me of coming events for the already overcrowded shanty we called a home. There was to be another addition: a new baby! I had suspected this but it had not been discussed with me, since I was only twelve years old. She instructed me to hurry and scrub the floor, cook some food, do the washing, and put the bedding out to air.
Momma and her three sisters would take turns helping when one of them had a new baby, which was often. I tried to guess which aunt would be coming and was startled when she announced that I was to be the elected one; that while she was in bed for ten days, I was in charge. I was cook, babysitter, nurse, laundry person, and anything else needing to be done. There seemed to be no doubt in her mind of my ability to handle the job and I knew I would do my very best.
Hours later, after the departure of Dr. McCreight, I was again called to her bedside. She lifted this eight and a half pound baby boy into my waiting arms. He was adorable and I knew he had won my heart for always.
“Louise, I'm turning this baby over to you. He is your responsibility. Take good care of him.”
That little guy and I bonded immediately and it has never been broken. That first night that little guy fussed and cried with the colic and the only way I could get him quiet was to walk the floor and gently pat his back while he snuggled against my shoulder. Around midnight, there was a bright shaft of moonlight filtering through a large crack in the wall. The baby woke up and I wanted to get another look at his little face. I sat in a chair and positioned both our faces so we could gaze into each others eyes. For a time, his big blue eyes held mine and my heart was overflowing with love and also a deep responsibility for this child. I began talking softly, explaining to this little boy that big sister would watch over him. How foolish for a twelve year old to think she would always be able to keep that promise!
Mama believed what the scripture said about spare the rod, spoil the child. Well, I did my best to rescue him quite a few times. I would grab him in my arms and run like the wind. He was my shadow and I delighted in showing him the first violet blooming in early spring, or the sundew plant, or letting him examine a tadpole and telling how it would grow into a frog.
One summer day I was sent to the little country store about one mile from our house. Little brother wanted to go with me. I knew it was too far for his little legs, and he was too heavy to carry. The older boys had bicycles so I borrowed one and put the baby behind me and started our journey. Highway 87 was not paved at the time and if you were riding a bicycle in the rut, you were OK, but if the wheel happened to cut into the deep sand beds, you were bound to wreck!
We made it to the store with no problem but coming back, I was running out of steam, and considered stopping to rest under a tree. Instead, I found myself pedaling for our very lives. The baby announced, “Oouise, dere's a bull.”
Cattle roamed freely and many times had a bad bull in the herd. They were just off the road and I'd failed to see them earlier. The bull gave a loud bellow, paused to kick up dirt, lowered his horns, snorted, and made a lunge for our bicycle. I knew our one chance of survival was for the bicycle to hold in the rut and not to go in the sand bed, and find the strength to make my legs peddle faster than I'd ever thought possible. I asked aloud and the strength came. When the bull pitched forward, his horns barely missed the wheel. I didn't slow down to see if he would charge again. I just knew this was the little guy I'd promised that first night to always take care of and protect. I didn't slow down until I reached home.
Years later, when he did three tours in Vietnam, I knew I couldn't be there to watch over him so I trusted in Divine Intervention. He came back!