Maggie and I have been working on the songs you taught us. She is a lot better at it than I am. She has a real talent, Luke. I hope you will encourage her.”
“Does she have a sweetheart? I have noticed when a youngster thinks they are in love, they put more heart and soul into their music.”
“No. I have tried to keep her from thinking too much about boys, but she is at that age when girls are in love with love. She told me that even you make her swoon!”
They laughed together about it. “Sounds like we should have a merrymaking and invite all the young folks about. Get her interested. How is she doing in school?”
“Good grades, but she says she doesn’t want to go next year. She will get her two-year secondary diploma in the spring.”
If the truth were told, Maggie swooned over someone who was more than a boy. Her declaration of love for Papa alone was a ruse. But her mother was totally unaware of it. She only saw the blossoming of her daughter’s womanhood and enjoyed watching her grow up.
Once Luke was settled in, he went to the customary places to sell his instruments. As usual, buyers had to do the typical dickering with him over a period of days before he dropped the price to what they were probably worth.
His spiel often went like this: “You need to understand not only the skill of the luthier, but consider the time-consuming hours he puts in to produce these beautiful instruments. Each one is specially crafted and bears the remarkable touch of amazing talent. Truly an art. The woods, harvested from the north side of the trees, produces a sound that you may not find in any other instrument.” It was as though he could brag on the skills of someone else, if he pretended they had not been his own construction.
Several evenings each week, he and Martha would make certain Maggie had something to occupy her time and that Jesse and Georgie were home, in case she needed something. They went to speakeasies where he would entertain. He would put his derby hat on the stage in front of him, and customers would toss in coins and bills. Some nights he would come home with little, and the next time there might be a couple hundred dollars or so.
Often he would be urged to drink the bootlegged liquor, but he was adamant that he never drank or smoked. “If I were to start, I might never stop. No, I’ll keep myself clean.” Luther Willson knew what high price alcohol could exact from those who never thought their first drink would jump start a lifetime of misery. Back home there were family members—his own brother, in fact, among them—who had their own still way up the hollow and suffered from it along with their families. No, he wouldn’t drink as either Luther or Luke. Some of his folk songs reflected the misery of demon alcohol, but the speakeasy patrons didn’t care. They drank anyway.
Luther Willson had a postal box as a means to keep in touch with Zanny and the children. He would check it twice a week and write a monthly letter to them. Right before Christmas, he received a letter from Zanny.
The baby come early, Luther. I was afeared she would be too small, but I birthed a healthy little lassie. Named her Carolina.
He shipped a box of oranges and grapefruit to Zanny, and little gifts of candy and nuts for the children. He included a silver baby rattle for baby Carolina.
Christmas in St. Petersburg was a festive affair with lots of good food, friends coming by to share the holidays, and of course, lots of music. In 1921, Luke decided it should be a party for Maggie, who had decided she liked cooking. She would be in charge of refreshments. Boys and girls from her school would be invited and several adult couples. The house would be filled with gaiety. He and Maggie would play and sing, entertaining the guests. They practiced together, and Martha put her stamp of approval on her daughter’s ability to play banjo.
“You are really good at it. With talent like that, you should be able to catch a young man without trying.”
Martha had never learned to cook and depended entirely on Georgie, but Maggie wanted to cook. Georgie was more than happy to teach her. But along with cooking, the girl began to put on the pounds. Of course she had to eat all the wonderful things she had learned to cook. When Martha chided her about gaining weight, she did the typical teenage girl thing and ran to her room crying.
Luke laughed, almost slipping and telling about his teenage daughter, Rancie, at home. “That’s what Ra—uh, re-really what all young ladies go through, Martha. Let her be.”
Preparations for the party were going according to plans, and Georgie had covered all the culinary bases with Maggie’s help. “Yo’ gwine be a baker when yo’ grow up, gal, making fancy cakes fo’ parties, weddings, for all dose fancy folks. Dat’s de troof!”
The party, on Saturday, the week before Christmas, was a great success. Ten of Maggie’s friends and their parents came; twenty-three people in all. Music, food, and lots of good fun. No booze.
Then on Christmas Day, Martha had a special Christmas surprise for Luke. She whispered in his ear that she was in a family way. He was shocked. They had been together since even before the war, and she had never conceived.
“Are you certain? Could it be the change?”
“I’m only thirty-five years old! Of course I’m not going through the change. I know what it feels like to carry a baby. I am delighted, and I hope you are. I hope I will have your son, Luke. A son!”
That seemed to satisfy him, but he would not be there when the baby came. It would not be due until July.
The baby grew in her, but so did the lump in her breast. He had noticed it at first when he came in October. Now Luke could tell it was growing. Martha went to the doctor regularly, but she neglected to mention the lump. Finally, Luke intruded into that delicate area and point-blank asked her about the lump. I have to talk to her about this.
“Martha, I know you have a lump in your breast. I hope you have told the doctor about it. You need to have it taken care of, even if you are with child.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t notice. No, if I tell him, he will want to remove it. I couldn’t stand to lose my breast, Luke.”
She refused to tell Dr. Morgan, but in his routine examination on her next visit, the last one before Luke would be going back to the mountains at the end of March, he did examine her breasts. Before examining the breasts, he explained that if she wanted to breastfeed her baby, he needed to make certain all was well.
It was not. Not only did he note the large mass, but there were smaller ones in the other breast and in her arm pits. Dr. Morgan urged her to have both breasts removed immediately. She refused.
Dr. Morgan said he was surprised that Martha was even able to conceive a child with the cancer already metastatic. He expected it had already spread to the ribs, lungs, and maybe the liver. “But Mrs. Harvey, this is cancer, and you will most certainly die if we do not remove your breasts. Think: who will raise your baby if it even survives to the end of term. There will be a fair chance that you will have a miscarriage if you do not have surgery.”
Luke was torn up in shreds. Martha would die; the baby would die; the good life he had made for himself in St. Petersburg would come to an end. He thought about Zanny and the new baby back in North Carolina. Suddenly, he felt his world being ripped apart. My sins are about to catch up with me. He didn’t know whether to remain in Florida with Martha until the baby arrived or to go home. He had to make a decision.
Just like the post office box Luther had in St. Petersburg, when he was in the mountains, Luke Harvey had a post office
