Giant Steps Page 2

  She said, “Not exactly.”

  “Well, you look right tuckered out. Would you like a ride?”

  She hesitated momentarily. She knew Mr. Granger would tell everybody in town he had seen her dressed in boys’ clothing. However, she decided to risk it. The broken bicycle and her desire to get to the boys before all the excitement was over, had nearly ruined her plans.

  Mr. Granger climbed down from the wagon seat and lifted the bicycle up onto the back of his wagon. This time she wiped her still greasy hands on Ben’s overalls and clambered up on the hard wooden seat beside the old man.

  “Well now, this is the first day of summer vacation. What will you do today?”

  Bernie blurted out, “I’m going … I’m going on a picnic.”

  He turned and looked at her sharply. “Appears like you forgot your lunch.”

  Bernie sighed, but only said, “Uh-huh.”

  Fortunately he soon lost interest in the subject and didn’t ask her anymore questions. He was too busy telling her about seeing what Henry Schmidt had done that morning. Schmidt had knocked his wife to the ground in their backyard as she was hanging out the laundry. “That man is going to get his comeuppance someday because of the terrible way he treats that poor woman.” Bernie agreed completely but didn’t want to get involved in a conversation about the man whose wife, Edna, helped Mother with their housework. If Papa found out she had gossiped, he wouldn’t like it.

  Bernie asked Mr. Granger to drop her off at the road that led out to McClarty’s pasture where the barn was located. As soon as Mr. Granger’s wagon rattled out of sight, she hid Ben’s bike in the bushes. She tried to make her way toward the barn, moving quietly behind a line of sycamore trees. She meant to stay concealed, but it was hard to get a good look at what the boys were doing. She crept closer and closer to where the horses were grazing. She would have been alright if Sheppie hadn’t sniffed her out. He came bounding toward her through the undergrowth yipping happily.

  “What are you doing here?” Nick, demanded, when he caught sight of her. “And, who else did you tell about this? I suppose Lizzie will be the next one to show up.”

  Bernie put her hands on her hips and said, “I didn’t tell anyone else, especially not Lizzie.” Everyone knew that Lizzie simply could not keep a secret.

  “How come you always have to hang around us and stick your nose into business that doesn’t concern you?”

  Bernie had a notion to tell him, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he, Ben, and Jack were always doing something interesting and exciting. She wanted more than anything to be a part of those things. Boys got to have all the fun.

  “Go home,” Nick shouted and picked up a dirt clod and flung it in her direction.

  As she dodged it, Bernie said, “If I go home, I’ll tell—I’ll tell what you’re up to and someone will come out and put a stop to it.” She didn’t remember that there wasn’t anyone at home to tell.

  “Let her stay,” Jack said. “Maybe she can help.”

  Nick turned on his best friend and shouted angrily, “It was you! You told her, didn’t you? She would never have found out about this on her own.”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  “He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Bernie said, with her hands on her hips. “I heard you talking and figured it out all by myself.”

  Ben turned and walked toward the barn, “Forget it, Nick,” he said. “We’re wasting time. Just ignore her.”

  Ben may have used a camera such as this No. 1 Autographic Kodak, Junior. However, it would have been difficult for him to take pictures that weren’t blurry with only one hand, since one hand was generally used to hold the camera steady at the bottom and the picture was taken with a lever-like button on top of the lens. This camera allowed the user to write the date and other information on the negative to record the event and when the photo was taken. If Ben was taking a lot of pictures at one time he would have had to stop often to reload film. (Emergence of Advertising in America Digital Collection - K0207, John W. Hartman Center for Sales, Advertising, and Marketing History, David M. Rubenstein Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Duke University)

  It took most of the morning for the three boys to haul their strange contraption up and onto the launching ramp they had built in the barn loft. Ben took photographs of it from every angle. Bernie watched, itching to be part of the action. They could have used her help, as Jack suggested, but every time she stepped forward, Ben and Nick waved her away impatiently. Finally, they got their flying machine into position where they planned to shove it out of the haymow door. By now, the sun was high in the sky, and the boys decided that it would be a good idea to eat lunch before the test flight. They climbed down the ladder and settled in the shade under a large sycamore tree. Bernie found a place to get out of the sun just inside the barn. She sat, gloomily regretting that she hadn’t been clever enough to bring a lunch with her. Neither Ben nor Nick offered her anything to eat, and she was determined not to give them the satisfaction of asking for something. They were mistaken if they thought they could starve her out. She intended to stay to the end.

  Jack stood up and Bernie heard him say, “I think I left something in the barn.”

  Bernie sat quietly as she watched him come through the wide doors. He picked up a wooden water bucket and turned it upside down in front of her. On it, he placed half a sandwich and an apple. Then, without a word, he went back outside to join her brothers who were talking and laughing.

  She had a mind not to eat any of it, but her empty stomach got the better of her. As soon as he left, she gobbled Jack’s offering eagerly. And then an idea popped into her head. She checked to see if her brothers were looking in her direction. When she was satisfied that they were not, she quickly clambered up the ladder and into the loft. She was waiting there when the boys appeared. When he saw her, Ben pursed his lips in irritation, but was too busy snapping photos to do anything about it.

  Nick, the skinniest of the three boys, climbed onto the seat where the pilot was to sit. Jack grabbed a rope and held on as they tried to control the ungainly craft. He struggled to keep the plane balanced on the sloping boards that were to serve as a runway at the opening of the haymow. As strong as Jack was, he could not hold the weight of the plane with Nick on it.

  “Ben,” Nick called out. “Take the other rope.”

  Ben grabbed it with one hand but continued to try and snap pictures with the other.

  Ben and Jack were struggling, trying to keep the plane on course as it slid forward.

  “Ben, you’ve got to help us,” Nick insisted.

  “I can’t hold onto the rope,” Ben yelled.

  “You could if you put the camera down,” Nick shouted angrily. “Use both hands.”

  Ben continued to take pictures. “We’ve got to record this for history.”

  Nick shouted, “The right wing is going to hit the.…”

  “Jump, Nick, jump!” Jack screamed hoarsely as the plane careened forward with a splintering sound.

  Bernie rushed forward and grabbed the end of Ben’s rope. She tried to hold on, but her feet slipped on the hay in front of the opening of the mow. She felt herself falling. Desperately she tried to hold onto the rope. It eased her fall somewhat, but she hit the ground with a sharp jolt that knocked the breath out of her.

  After that Bernie drifted in and out of consciousness, not fully knowing what was happening around her. She didn’t feel the rope burns on her hands. She didn’t feel the large bump on the back of her head. She didn’t know that her right arm was bent awkwardly under her body at an unnatural angle.

  Bernie could hear Ben as he bent over her and called her name. It sounded as though he were miles away.

  She heard hoof beats thundering on the ground but did not see Jack jump on the bare back of one of the horses. She did not hear him call back a
s he galloped down the lane, “I’ll go get Doc Bender.”

  Bernie didn’t understand when Ben shouted to Nick, “Go tell Aunt Lolly what has happened.” She didn’t see Nick mount one of the other horses as he rode to their aunt and uncle’s farm.

  She was only vaguely aware of the feeling of cool wetness as Ben dipped his red bandanna into the water of the horse trough and bathed her sweaty forehead. She didn’t know that her big brother leaned over her to try and shield her from the sun. She didn’t understand his frantic words, “Don’t die, Bernie.” She didn’t see that his dirty face was streaked with tears. “Please, don’t die, please.”

  A jumble of strange images flashed in and out of Bernie’s semi-conscious awareness during the next several hours. There was pain as the doctor examined her arm. A strange and unpleasant odor filled her nostrils as the doctor clamped the anesthetic mask over her nose and mouth. A loud buzzing sound enveloped her head.

  The door on the top half of this barn would likely have opened out from a high shelf in the barn where a farmer stored hay. Ben, Jack, and Nick planned to launch their flying machine from such a haymow and out the high door. While it looks like fun, playing in a hayloft such as this could be perilous—as Bernie learned the hard way. (iStock Photo 1155920)

  When she awakened, Bernie was in a cool bed. At first, she thought she was at home. It took a while to realize that a woman in a white cap kept asking if she knew where she was.

  Then another voice said gently, “You’re in the hospital, Bernie.” That was Aunt Lolly. “You’re going to be all right. Just go back to sleep and rest.”

  Aunt Lolly was always sympathetic and understanding. She didn’t scold before asking how Bernie felt.

  When Bernie woke again, she could hear people moving quietly about the room. She could hear whispering. She tried to identify the voices. One was completely unfamiliar—no, it was the nurse in the white cap. Then she heard Aunt Lolly again. Finally, she recognized Papa and Mother speaking softly. Her eyelids were simply too heavy to open and she sank back into a half-awake stage. She could feel someone standing very close to the bed. It was Mother. Bernie did not open her eyes.

  “My dear little girl,” Mother whispered, as she touched Bernie’s forehead gently with her soft hands. “I would give anything to spare you the pain of learning not to reach for things that you cannot have. But, I fear you’ll have to learn it for yourself the hard way, just as I did.” Mother leaned over and kissed Bernie’s cheek. Bernie would not really understand the importance of what Mother had said until much later.

  Wilbur Wright flying his glider at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in 1901. Gliders, forerunners of airplanes, relied on people launching them and being carried by the wind. Once airborne, the glider could be steered with a controller. This is the type of machine that Ben, Jack, and Nick would have been trying to make and fly. (Courtesy of Special Collections and Archives, Wright State University)

  She knew without opening her eyes that Papa was standing beside Mother. Even though he was whispering, she heard him say, “Whatever will that girl do next?”

  Bernie could tell from Papa’s tone exactly what the expression on his face must be. His lips would be drawn in a thin line and his nostrils would be slightly flared in exasperation. He would probably be shaking his head in disgust. Goodness knows, Bernie had heard that same question on his lips and seen the irritation on his face many times before.

  There had been the day last year when Ben had dared her to climb the big old oak tree in front of their house to rescue a frightened kitten. She had been wearing Ben’s trousers then, and her belt had hooked on a branch behind her so that she couldn’t get back down. A small crowd of neighbors gathered as the boys went downtown to borrow the tallest ladder from the hardware store. Jack climbed up to get her and the yowling kitten down safely.

  Then there had been the time the boys had challenged one of the river gangs to a “battle” in Murdock’s Ravine. Bernie had sneaked over and started pelting the “enemy” flank with oak apples. Instead of being grateful for her help, her brothers had turned on her.

  Ben had called out, “No girls allowed.”

  Nick shouted, “Go home and play with your dollies.” He lobbed a walnut in her direction. It hit her on the forehead just above her left eye, making a terrible bump. Her eye had turned black and blue.

  Jack had rushed forward to stand between her and the barrage, only to be pelted by both sides. He had offered to walk her home, but she shook him off. “Let me alone! I can take care of myself. I don’t need a boy’s help.” She refused to run and stamped deliberately away, her head held high as she endured the catcalls from her brothers as well as the other boys.

  No matter what mischief the boys thought up, she seemed to be the one to suffer the consequences. It just wasn’t fair. After each incident, Mother would lecture her about unladylike behavior and worry about what the neighbors would think. Papa scolded her about the effect her actions would have on their family’s reputation in town. “The Eppersons have been in this place for three generations, and I run a respectable business establishment.”

  “How come the boys never get scolded?” Bernie demanded of her parents.

  Papa sputtered and said, “You don’t know what goes on behind closed doors.” But she did know. She was certain that Ben and Nick never got the kind of lectures she did. All Papa would usually say to them was, “Try to think about the consequences before you act.”

  Once in a while Mother would intervene and point out the unfairness of it, but Papa would say, “Boys will be boys, won’t they?” It was almost as if he was proud of them and the hijinks that they got up to.

  So that was it. It was an unfair world. Boys were allowed to do pretty much what they wanted to do, unless it might get them in trouble with the police. Girls were expected to behave in a different way. Bernie wondered if there would ever come a day when things would change.

  2

  Summer 1916

  An Unusual Turn of Events

  Papa told Bernie that perhaps her broken arm would keep her from getting into trouble that summer. In one respect he was right, but in another he was quite wrong. It was just the beginning of trouble—or trouble as Papa defined it. For trouble was a matter of one’s perspective. Bernie didn’t see it that way at all. At first she had thought, as Papa had, that having a broken right arm would limit the things she could do and where she could go. As it turned out, this would be the summer that laid the groundwork for a new direction in Bernie’s life.

  It started the day her seventeen-year-old cousin, Alice Mifflin, drove up to the Epperson house in the Mifflins’ old flivver. Alice had brought her younger sister Lizzie into town to visit with Bernie. Lizzie and Bernie were the same age and in the same classes at school—just like Ben and Alice were. Instead of driving away after Lizzie had settled herself onto the porch swing beside Bernie, Alice got out of the car and came to sit on the front step.

  Ben and Nick were busy painting the front porch ceiling and railings. The night before Bernie had heard the boys bargaining with Papa. He agreed that if they completed this chore today, they could have the next day off from working at the store and do whatever they liked. Bernie was frustrated, because it meant that the boys could go off by themselves and there was no way she would be able to tag along. Having her arm in a sling was a great disadvantage.

  “It isn’t fair,” Bernie whined. “How come they get a day off when I don’t?”

  Nick laughed uproariously, “Why would you get a day off? What work do you do?”

  Ben added, “Everyday is a day off for you.”

  Bernie was dying to know what their plans were, so she settled herself on the porch swing, pretending to drink a glass of lemonade. It was an ideal place for her to listen to the boys’ conversation as they painted.

  They threatened to splash paint on her if she didn’t move, but she
stubbornly held her ground. She was certain they were planning another adventure that she would love to be part of, but to her frustration they seemed to be talking in some sort of code that only they understood. Some of the words she heard were “voyageurs” and “archaeologists.” Was this some new game they were going to play?

  When Lizzie and Alice arrived it was impossible for Bernie to pay attention to what the boys were saying, let alone try to figure out what they meant. Lizzie kept chattering on about the party that a schoolmate of theirs was planning and who had been invited.

  Bernie could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Alice pick up a paint brush and ask Ben if they wanted help. He looked at Nick and said, “Sure, Carrots, why not? The more help we have, the sooner we can finish this job.”

  Bernie held her breath, waiting for the explosion. Alice hated it when people called her “Carrots.” Alice’s reaction to that detested nickname was usually as volatile as her bright red-orange hair. But today, Bernie was surprised that the usual eruption didn’t come. Instead, Alice smiled, sweet as sugar, and started to paint.

  Just then the hinges on the front screen door screeched, announcing its opening. Mother came out to the porch and said, “I just took some oatmeal raisin cookies out of the oven.” She put a platter of them, along with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, on the small wicker table that stood by the door.

  The boys snatched these up immediately.

  “Save some for the rest of us,” Bernie said.

  “Would you girls like to come inside to eat yours?”

  Lizzie jumped up and said, “Oh, yes please. I’d like some cookies.”

  Bernie thought about saying that she didn’t want any. Let Lizzie go inside and eat cookies by herself. Bernie would much rather stay outside to watch and listen to the boys, but she took a look at her mother’s face. She had seen that mind your manners expression before. She sighed and obediently left the porch swing to follow Lizzie inside where they could sit at the large kitchen table at the back of the house. Alice, always the rebel, stayed outside with the boys.