Got me a real good farm now. You might say, I got it good. Place to live, a roof over my head, eleven youngs ones helping out with the chickens and cows. Ain’t nothing more a widow could ask for. All things considered, it ain’t too bad.
Old Man Honeywalker, he done died two months ago. He done brought me to this place back in ’71 from Cincinatti. That’s where I escaped back in ’62. Underground took me there, before Lincoln’s soldiers done freed the place in ’63. Shoot, could’ve waited just a year and wouldn’t a had to escape on the underground. Could’ve walked right out the front gate and throwed a tomato at Old Master and Old Miss. What’s done is done, I say. Got me a real life here up the state in New York.
We got us a real cold winter here. Rain’s bone-chilling cold. Got us a leak in the roof in December, just before Old Man kicked the bucket. Aloysius, our oldest, fixed the leak. Then after Old Man died, it froze over something fierce and we had an ice Christmas like none other I ever experienced, not even in Cincinatti before I met Old Man.
Nothing could stop me, though, being faithful at Christmas. Got me and the young ones out to St. Bartholomew’s for a real nice Christmas mass. Near done got frostbite from the cold on the walk down the hill to church. Beetrice, the youngest at three, she near slipped and fell. But we got there, all twelve of us, healthy and happy. No husband, no heat in the house, just four fireplaces and kindling. Happy to wish Jesus his birthday praises.
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