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MOLASSES MAKING TIME
by Grace W. Looper
Original Title from Bella Rosa Books

Chapter One
The Dream

Aaron ran. The brisk October breeze ruffled his hair. His feet beat a steady rhythm on the sun-baked dirt of the road. He sprinted toward the creek where his pa and brothers were making molasses. His head was thrown back and laughter bubbled from his wide-open mouth because of the sheer joy of being alive. Molasses making was his favorite time on the farm. He could hardly wait to smell the sweet, heavy aroma of the boiling mixture. His mouth watered as he thought of dipping a stripped cane into the syrup and popping it into his mouth.
Suddenly the sky darkened. Stunned, Aaron saw that the sun had disappeared. A huge dark cloud hovered over the creek. Panic rose like a lump in his throat, threatening to choke him. The pleasant, brisk weather became a bleak chill that sent shivers along Aaron's spine. Fear clutched at his heart as he watched the cloud loom larger and blacker.
   "Aaron, wake up, Son."
   The voice persisted, accompanied by a gentle hand shaking Aaron's shoulder. He came out of the dream like a drowning man rising to the surface of the water. Aaron blinked and looked at Pa's concerned face as it loomed over him.
   "Bad dream?" Pa asked, straightening up.
   "I dreamed about molasses making time," he said, trying to push away the suffocating fear still clinging to him like a second skin.
   "That look of panic on your face isn't one I would expect to see at your favorite time of year."
   "There was this cloud . . ." Aaron broke off. He didn't want to tell the dream because Granny always said if you told a Friday night dream on Saturday morning, it would come true in nine days. Even though he had only begun to tell the dream, a shiver of fear slid down his spine, reminding him of a cold drop of water condensing on a glass and running to the bottom. He wanted to push the dream out of his mind. The fear had become a bad taste in his mouth. He threw the covers back and jumped up, going to the window. Pushing back the curtains, he was relieved to see a blue bird day. He searched the sky. No sign of a cloud.
   He turned to Pa with relief. "Are we still going fishing?" he asked.
   "We are if I can get my lazy fishing partner down to breakfast before the fish give up and go back to sleep," Pa said. He put his arm affectionately around Aaron's shoulders. "Okay now?"
   "Sure, Pa."
   "We're having pancakes. Best hurry. Your ma frets if they get cold. Your sister is already downstairs."
   "I'll be down quicker than a frog can snap up a fly."
   Aaron watched Pa as he turned to leave. It always amazed him that he could be the son of such a handsome giant. Pa was well over six feet tall. He had broad shoulders, wavy blond hair, and warm, twinkling brown eyes. In Aaron's eyes, Pa was perfect.
   Aaron sighed as he considered his own slight build. He was tall for eleven, but he was so skinny his middle and shoulders were just an extension of his long, gangly legs. His legs and arms seemed to grow inches each night while he slept. His hair was straw-colored and coarse, as unruly as their mule Mustard's mane. Granny said he had a cowlick, and there was nothing his ma could do about his unkempt look. He wished he had Pa's laughing eyes. His own eyes were sort of like grayish creek clay. What he loved most about Pa was his laugh, a chuckle that started deep in his throat and became a deep belly laugh with his head thrown back and his mouth wide.
   Aaron came back to the present. He would be late and Ma would be upset. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of a faded blue shirt and pulled on his overalls. He'd only had them six months and already they were too short. He grabbed his lucky fishing hat from the shelf in the closet and bounded down the stairs.
The aroma of frying sausage whetted Aaron's appetite and banished the last lingering thoughts of the dream from his mind. The warmth of the kitchen enveloped him like a pair of loving arms, melting the chill of fear that had frozen his heart during the dream.
   As the door banged behind Aaron, Ma turned, her face rosy from the heat of the wood stove. She looks almost pretty, Aaron thought as she smiled at him. A few wisps of hair had escaped the bun on the back of her neck. She flipped the last pancake on the griddle and tucked the loose strands of hair back in place. Aaron wished she'd left them alone. He had seen her with her hair down only a few times. It was long, straight, and light brown and made her look younger and not so stern.
   "Good morning, Lazybones," she said, placing the last pancake onto the stack already on a plate and handing it to him.
   Aaron took the plate, his grin fading a bit. Sometimes he felt Ma's teasing wasn't really teasing. He didn't believe she thought he was lazy, but she was almost always critical of him in some way.
   Pa rose from the table and poured himself another cup of coffee from the blue enameled pot. The perking coffee smelled delicious, but Aaron knew from experience that it didn't taste that good. Pa poured coffee into the cup at Ma's place.
   "Come on, Sarah, let's eat these pancakes before they get cold," Pa said as he returned the pot to the stove and playfully swatted her bottom.
   "Matthew Fowler, behave yourself," she said, slapping his hand away. Her voice sounded sharp, but her eyes softened as she looked at her husband.
   Pa chuckled as he returned to the table. "Something tells me thou protesteth overly much, Sarah my girl," he said. The chuckle stopped short of his usual laugh as he placed his brimming cup of coffee on the table.
   "Watch your tongue, Matthew Fowler. Do you think you can manage to say the blessing so we can have these pancakes while they're still fit to eat?"
   "I'll try, Sarah girl. Lord, make us truly thankful for this food my Sarah has so lovingly prepared, and Lord, if you can see fit to sweeten her disposition as I'm about to sweeten these pancakes, I'll be much obliged. Amen." Pa raised his head, and with his eyes twinkling, poured a generous quantity of molasses over his stack of pancakes.
   "Matthew Fowler, you're impossible," Sarah said, a hint of suppressed laughter in her otherwise stern voice. "A fine example you are to these children," she scolded as she looked from Aaron to his sister Elizabeth.
   "Father is only teasing you, Mother. We understand," Elizabeth said, in the affected tone of voice she had recently acquired at the same time she stopped addressing her parents as Pa and Ma.
   Matthew Fowler's eyes met his son's, and they exchanged knowing looks that clearly said, "Women, what can you expect?"
   Aaron felt a warm glow that had nothing to do with the hot cakes he devoured. It was this understanding between Pa and him that made their relationship so special.
   "These flapjacks sure are good, Ma," he said, using the term his granny always used. "You make the best flapjacks in all of Craggy Creek."
   "Why, thank you, Aaron, but I would be obliged if you ate them more slowly so you can enjoy the flavor."
   "Sure, Ma. Pass the molasses, please." He covered the remaining pancake with the thick, amber sweetness. He reached for the butter and cut a generous portion from the firm round ball flattened on top with the pattern of a flower. Ma took great pride in her butter making. He forced himself to eat the remaining cake in four bites instead of two and gulped the last swallow of milk from his tall glass.
   "I'd best get on with the milking," he said, looking at his ma to be excused from the table.
   She nodded and said, "I'm sure Maybelle will be relieved."
   Aaron frowned. Why was there always that hint of criticism in everything Ma said to him? He could never seem to please her.
   "Now, you mustn't be too hard on our lazybones, Sarah," Pa said. "After all, he has only two more days before he has to be up bright and early to have the chores done before school."
   Aaron glanced at Pa with gratitude. Pa understood, and his "lazybones" sounded teasingly affectionate. Aaron didn't mind it one bit.
   He got up from the table and took the milk pail from its hook in the corner. He whistled as he left the kitchen, letting the door slam behind him. The late August morning was pleasantly cool, and he searched the sky again for clouds. Finding none, he sauntered down the path to the barn, pausing to smell one of Ma's roses. She loved her flowers. She would choose entries for the county fair from this last flourish of blooms before frost killed them. Ma had a scrapbook of blue ribbons she'd won for her roses and the other things she entered at the fair. Her preserves and pickles were famous throughout Yancey County, but her cakes were Aaron's favorite entry. Her chocolate pound cake with the fluffy chocolate frosting was really special. She always made it for Aaron's birthday, knowing how much he liked it.
As Aaron approached the barn, his nose twitched at the musky odor of the stables. Soon they would be hauling in the new hay with its fresh, outdoors smell. Aaron loved haying almost as much as molasses making. Fall of the year was good on a farm. Reaping what had been sowed. That sounded real Biblical and reminded Aaron that the Craggy Creek Baptist Church would be getting a new minister tomorrow. Ma had met Reverend Jacob Massey. She served on the committee that helped select the new preacher. She'd told Pa that Reverend Massey seemed to be a fine man of God. Aaron hoped he wouldn't get as carried away and loud as Reverend Edwards had during his preaching. It was mighty hard for a feller to catch forty winks during one of Reverend. Edwards' sermons.
   Maybelle stood waiting for him outside her stable, in the fenced area. With her shiny black nose, she nuzzled the pail he carried. Aaron stroked her red and white shoulder. Ma always kept a Guernsey cow for milking because the milk is rich in butterfat.
   "Hungry, Maybelle?" He dipped a bucket into a barrel of cracked corn and placed it in front of the cow. Taking the milking stool from a peg inside the barn door, he sat down beside the cow's flank. "Steady, Girl," he said.
   The squirts of creamy milk made a splashing sound as they hit the sides of the pail. Maybelle swished her tail, trying to hit a fly that clung to her side. Aaron dodged the tail, sending a stream into his face. He flicked out his tongue to catch its warm sweetness.
   "There, Maybelle, take it easy," he crooned as he rested his head against her round belly.
   Hearing the jingle of a collar, Aaron looked up to see his redbone hound lazily lope into view.
   "Hi, there, Tater ole feller. Thought you'd forgot about milking this morning. Want your treat?"
   Tater skidded to a stop and rested on his haunches, his tongue hanging out.
"Ready?" Aaron asked, aiming a teat at Tater's tongue and squeezing. A spurt of milk shot out. Tater drew in his tongue, seeming to savor it, a satisfied expression in his big soulful, brown eyes.
   "You sure have got big since Granny brought you here. Must be this milk twice a day. The first time we saw you, Ma said, 'Why he's no bigger than a sweet potato and just about the same color.' So I said, 'That's what we'll call him.' Now look at you; your floppy ears are as big as taters now, so I guess the name still fits."

   When the milk foamed to the top of the pail, Aaron pushed back his stool and stood up.
   "Thanks, Girl," he said, giving Maybelle a pat on the rump.
   He returned the stool to its peg, placed the now empty bucket back in the corn barrel, and gave the cow a bunch of hay.
   "More tonight, Maybelle," he promised. "Come on, Tater." He carefully carried the brimming pail of milk to the house.

~end of chapter one~

©2004 Grace Looper

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