style="font-size:15px;"> “I doubt the doctor can do much about that. Most likely he’ll tell us she’ll have to figure out for herself how to deal with the problem,” he said. With that, the subject was dropped. It didn’t take long. True, Addie had a limp, but when she mastered walking, she was everywhere at the same time. As she grew, the limp became less pronounced. Her main attraction was her older sister’s doll. This created constant conflict. Finally Florence asked George to get her a burlap sack from the barn which she washed and created a crude doll body, stuffing it with wood shavings and sewing it closed. She made a cloth ball for a head, painting on it an outline of eyes, nose, and mouth. Taking some yellow yarn, she sewed it to the back of the head and made a long colorful dress, sewing it to the body. As a finishing touch, she sewed to the head a wide-brimmed hat, hoping it would be more desirable to Addie. She was delighted and kept the doll for many years.
George had cut blocks of wood two inches square, painstakingly sanding them smooth as glass, removing the possibility of slivers and painted letters of the alphabet on then for little George and Amy. After Addie’s birth, he made several more hoping to avoid quarreling. John, one of George’s coworkers, built a wooden rocking horse with leather reins, halter, saddle, and stirrups. He finished it off with real horsehair for a mane and tail and gave it to the children. Mrs. Griffin, a neighbor, donated some baby rattles along with a stuffed yellow chicken similar to those roaming the yard.
December mornings were very cold, typical of Northern New York. Just before Christmas, George cut the Spruce tree from the fence line he had selected back in October. Also, he collected several branches which Florence placed throughout the house giving it the wonderful scent of pine. She decorated the tree with holly, painted pinecones, and some figures she had made. A stocking was hung on the mantle for each of the children which contained walnuts (the trees grew everywhere), some apples, cranberries, chunks of chocolate, and a few pieces of candy Florence had managed to barter for a loaf of her homemade bread. Addie, just seventeen months old, was dazzled by all the new sights. Both sets of grandparents came on Christmas day. The children were intrigued by each of their grandfather’s version of good Old St. Nick. Grandma Bitney read the Christmas story of the baby Jesus from the family Bible which sat on a small table in the living room. Each of them were delighted with several presents. Addie understood what was hers. Little George spotted a large wooden cannon behind the tree. It had his name on it. The house bustled with activity, full of wonderful smells filtering through the house from the kitchen—meat, cakes, and pies combined. Just before setting for the meal, George said the blessing, thanking God for the bounties He had supplied them with. There was baked chicken, venison, salmon, potatoes with rich creamy gravy, sun-dried corn, and beans reconstituted by soaking overnight in water, johnnycake with fresh butter, a minnehaha cake, apple, and pumpkin pies.
“What a splendid meal!” exclaimed George lighting his pipe as he and the other men headed for the living room. The women put away the food as Florence put the girls down for their naps. Then they joined the men for an afternoon of conversation. After supper, George took the remaining meat and fish outside and placed it into a wooden chest he had built for that purpose. There it would remain cold for a couple more meals. Later they sang Christmas Carols as they roasted chestnuts placed in the fireplace.
Addie was two and traveling around like any other two-year-old, always underfoot and always willing to spa with Amy, especially over her doll. It was prettier than hers. And that horse, she rode it so hard it scooted across the kitchen floor into the living room and back.
One day after Addie ran through the house chasing Amy, Florence decided to measure her legs again. The little girl was so active; she had completely forgotten one leg was shorter than the other. “Well, I’ll be,” Florence uttered under her breath, “there’s only a half-inch difference now. No wonder she’s such a terror. Maybe someday they will be the same length.” It was not to be. Addie walked with a slight limp the rest of her life.
Florence was again pregnant in 1883. George hoped for another boy to help him and young George around the small farm. It was another girl. She was so much different than Addie. Her weight was normal, just shy of seven pounds, both legs the same length, something Florence insisted on knowing the moment of birth. She named the baby Gertrude, after her best friend. Just before the spring thaw, the children came down with colds. Amy’s was the worst. Florence doctored her with hot and cold compresses on her chest and gave her doses of Stickney and Poor’s Paregoric, an alcohol and opium dose designed for treating various illnesses.
It seemed to work. Within a week, she was back to normal.
Addie, now three and a half, accepted her little sister like she was her second doll, always wanting to hold her. Florence, busy making baby clothes for Gertrude, was always careful to sit next to her while she held the baby. She marveled at the care Addie gave to her sister considering her age.
“It’s like built-in instincts,” she said to George later at the supper table. “Amy doesn’t have it nor is she the least bit interested. To her, Gertrude doesn’t exist. How can the two girls be so different?”
“I have no idea,” George replied, “Other than Addie seems determined to be her own person.”
Chapter 4
The Schoolmarm
When she was seven years old, Addie began school. It was a large single room in which eight grades were taught. At the back was a large woodstove which was started every morning. Beside it was a metal rack for the wood the older boys split before classes began. The front wall was covered with two large blackboards. Both were equally divided so the teacher could put notes on them for four of the grades at a time. There were no inside facilities, the outhouse was behind the building near a clump of trees. Every day after roll call, the class stood, repeated the “Pledge of Allegiance,” and remained standing for prayer. Then school began.
What had become perfectly normal behavior in Addie’s daily life suddenly became a big problem. Leaving the sheltered life of a farm girl and exposing herself to the world, her teacher, Miss Bootson, a molded prim and proper schoolmarm, believed all normal children were right-handed. Addie May seemed perfectly normal except for holding the pencil in her left hand. Miss Bootson was well aware of tales concerning left-handed people being evil and possibly devil possessed. Fearfully she determined to transform this little girl into what she believed to be “normal.” The first time Addie picked up a pencil in her left hand, Miss Bootson called her to the front of the class and smacked the back of her left hand hard with a twelve-inch wooden ruler. Of course Addie began to cry. Never in her seven years had anything like this happened to her. The look of surprise on Addie’s face caused Miss Bootson to explain, “I’m telling you now, never hold your pencil in your left hand. You do know your left from your right?” Miss Bootson asked sternly.
“Yes, but I can’t hold it in my other hand,” Addie blurted through her tears. “It just falls out.”
“You have to learn how to hang on to it,” was her reply.
Addie went home that night with a swollen and blistered hand. At first, her parents, not wanting to create a division between themselves and Miss Bootson, told Addie it was necessary for her to obey the teacher.
“But I can’t do that,” Addie May protested, “I can’t hold it, and I make mistakes.” After a week of this abuse, George accompanied her to school. Leaving Addie outside, he went inside, spoke to her teacher, and demanded the punishment stop.
“You will not change Addie May,” he said to Miss Bootson. “Her mother and I have tried everything for the past seven years to no avail. We’ve heard all the horror tales about left-handed
