The Old Lady Of Tulip

The Old Lady Of Tulip(Rich Puckett) She walked the woods of Tulip Arkansas some say they have seen her others admit they never have. She is a old woman, hair long and mostly white, her dress is sheer and of a pale blue color. No one knows just how old she is, are where she was born, and the stores about her flow like water from the river, most of them more lie then truth.

Some say she has bright blue eyes that shine even in the darkest night, some say her teeth are still perfect, white and straight. It has been said she does not walk but floats through the woods as if searching and never finding that which she seeks. She appears to be strong, and though no one would guess her age they say she seems to have the agility of a young woman. Some claim to have heard her singing, rather in truth or while they were more bombed by the effects of cheap whiskey no one knows. When asked the name of the song or at least the words, it is said she sings, but just can’t remember what the words were.

Her name, no one knows for sure, but she has been called by a multitude of them by the locals. The camp fire stories are as different as her many names and yet try to find a person who at least admits to having ever spoken to her, is like trying to find a needle in a hay stack.

I like most boys my age, longed to see this old woman in person, and yet know I would no doubt run through the woods wetting myself it were to happen. On more then one occasion while sitting around a campfire, the flames beating the wind, a story would begin about her and end, with sleep finding our eyes and our minds seeing her in our dreams. Stories ranged from her looking for a lost son from the War Between the States, other say she was seeking to find the Indian that had murdered her family. Some say she is seeking to find her children that ran away from home. No matter what the story it is always a deep dark story that drags you into the fold of wondering and yes, even fears.

Never before yester night had I ever wandered into the woods of Tulip alone. If asked why, I would not of told you that it was because of fear, no, I would of said it was because there just had never been such a need. Now like most boys of that day, at least those in that part of the country, I could use a gun with the ease of using a fork or spoon. I had the gift, so my old grandpa would say, I could aim that old rifle and take a quick shot and hit a moving rabbit and get him right in the head. The War had been over now about a year and most of the men and boys had come home. I was more then a bit upset that I had been too young to go away with my Poppa and my Brother, but guess it was the good Lords will, for none came home again. Poppa had joined up with the South, he said he was tired of them darn Yankees always putting more and more taxes on him when he could barely feed his family. My brother joined up with the Yankees, said it just wasn’t right that folks could own blacks and call em animals, yet there wasn’t anyone in Tulip that I know of ever owned a slave or could of even afforded to own one.

I have often wondered if Poppa and my brother ever met on the battlefield. Their passing left us pretty much as most of the folks around Tulip, poor and with out much left. The Southern Army had a fort or garrison for a while, and Ma would sell them our eggs and what milk we could get from the old cow. Grandpa had a steel down by the creek and he would sell them all the corn whiskey they could use, but soon we ran out of corn and no money to by seed and with the solders who would march over the fields and destroy the crop. What they didn’t kill the Yankee cannon balls did. Grandpa was one of the last to die in Tulip by the Yanks, seems they found him at his steel and when he refused to give them the last of his makings they shot him. I found him crumpled on the ground under an old black jack tree and buried him there. Seems that was the only spot that really seemed to make him happy and he loved making corn.

Not many of the men folk made it back, and the town that once was a flourishing little city was left mostly burned out and shot out. Most of what folks that were left, if they had any means to do so, had packed up and moved to Malvern where at least there was a bit of work that could be done. Ma didn’t have any money and me being only 13, even if we would have moved wouldn’t of been much work. Sides Poppa had left us about 400 acres and most of that was woods; I cut firewood, fence poles and some logs to rebuild a few cabins. I guessed that was not going to make enough money to be rich, but maybe enough to one day buy a few more cows and keep the place going.

Over all we were lucky compared to most folks around us, the only real battle that took place anywhere on our lands were from a group of Indians that had jumped a Yankee patrol. Now if I am pressed to say, I guess I would just soon see more Yanks killed then Indians, cause wasn’t no Indians that destroyed our home and town, but Yanks.

Now Ma and I had just one old cow left, she was a big ole Holstein and her teats were sore and worn but she still gave a gallon a day of milk, a few chickens and one pig I stole from neighbors Jacks place before the Yankee’s got it.

That night, the night of my memory came, as the bible would put it, a theft in the night. I had just got done chopping up some wood for the fireplace and it was a bitter cold night coming on us. I was thinking of the chicory coffee Ma would have going and ready to go warm up with a tin cup full. Been a long time since we had any real coffee and no doubt was going to be a long time before we got us any more.

Just out of no where the sound of thunder, my first thought was to duck and run thinking those Darn Yankee’s were back and beating us with canon ball. Then I remembered the war was over, and it was a quick Arkansas storm that was on us. Before I had time to find a rain slicker or even get under a tree the rain begun to fall in a flood of drops. I swear to this very day I have never seen raindrops so big and falling so heavy. As I ducked to run for the ragged old wooden steps to our house, a house that needed some new white wash, and more then a few repairs, a big ole bolt of lightening flashed and wouldn’t you know it, it hit the gate post. Now if it had of only been that darn ole cow, I would kept running for cover, but as that gate dropped to the ground that old pig took a run toward the woods.

Now let me tell you first hand like, if you an’t never tried to grab a wet muddy pig, I wouldn’t recommend you try it. Cause its like trying to grab a greased up snake. That old pig was headed out toward the south woods and I was about as hot on his tail as a Reb on a Yankee’s butt.

I don’t know how far I went, but I can tell you I was soaking wet and cold to the bone, and I found myself in the places I would never go alone. It was pitch black except a lightening flash from time to time. Now I guess you could say us back woods Arkansas boys were a bit hard of head, even a might dim in the wits and if there were a doubt about that I proved both that night.

In the bright light of a flash of light I saw that old hog rutting and I made me a plunge for it. Now I thought it was a dang good jump, like a Indian stealing a horse, well now I hope the Indian did better than me cause instead of grabbing me some fat ole porker I whooped my head right on the base of big ole Oak tree. Now could be you will think the rest of this story is the effects of an angled mind and after such a blow it may well be, wonder that myself from time to time.

I was lying in the mud and a pool of water was building around bout me like a pond. I can’t say I knew it, cause I wasn’t seeing stars in fact don’t guess I was seeing anything at all. I came too just as a pair of hands grabbed my ankles and begun to pull me through the mud. Now my legs and feet were plenty slippery, and well weren’t no boots or shoes on my feet as the only pair of boots I had I saved for trips to town, they was a old pair I found on a dead Reb and not what you could call a very good fit at that.

I was to dizzy and the night to dark to see who’s hands had a hold of me, I could hear heavy breathing and just hoped whoever it was, was going to be friendly. You see there was more then just a few both Yank’s and Rebs that had no place to go to roaming around our parts, along with them was just a few Indians left and most of them would take a scalp and be proud to ware your hair on the rope around their waist.

Now I can tell you this, whoever it was a dragging me sure enough was strong, and not any to gentle. My head was a bouncing over rocks and fallen limbs. I could feel the mud roll up my back but those hands didn’t let me go. Soon, well I guess it wasn’t really all that soon, I was dragged into the mouth of an old cave. Now I had lived in these parts all of my 13 years, hunted these woods, heard almost every night time camp fire story there was and never knew there was a cave. Sure enough the opening was so small who ever it was a dragging me had to duck down and as my back went over the rocks, I felt the sharp stones take a bit of flesh. Yet soon I was inside and in the dim light from a fire that set right in the middle of this rather large caravan stood an old woman. Her hair was mostly white, and even in the dim light I could see the bright blue eyes look at me. I guess I tried to speak, but she put a old skinny finger to her lips. She took a rag and a pot of water and washed my wounds on the top of my head first, getting the blood off, then she wiped my face clean, she rolled me over and even washed the mud and blood off my back. Now she had to change water more then a couple of times, but she didn’t stop till it was all done.

Now I was a bit embarrassed as I felt so weak I couldn’t even raise up, and here she was taking my shirt off, and next she grabbed my worn old pants and pulled em off me, bearing my privates for her to see, and she didn’t even turn her head away, in fact she looked and didn’t even seem to see. Now I would reckon this was the first time I was ever naked in front of a woman since I was a baby and my Ma had wiped my butt or gave me a bath, and I didn’t like it one bit. The woman grabbed a heavy blanket that smelled of wood smoke and throw over me and then rolled me in till it was so tight around me I could but barely breath.

Next she took an old tin plate and put something on it, not sure to this yer day what you would call it, but she fed that stuff to me. It was not to bad and trust me in the days of the war and those after I ate a many of thing that did not taste nearly so good. Seems like I only took a few bites and then was off in dreamland.

I woke up again, this time, I think it was morning but hard to tell as I could only see a bit of light coming in from the opening of the cave. Rain was still falling and there she sit, her thin blue dress, her face hardly had a wrinkle on it, and I noticed for the first time, that she was beautiful and not nearly as old as I would of guessed. In fact the more I looked the more I decided she was but a few years older then myself.

My clothes were laid out beside me, all clean, and there to my great surprise was a pair of sharp black boots. My shirt was not the one I had came in with, but a fine, cloth shirt like some dandy might of worn, and the pants the thick coarse cotton of what a solder might of wore.

She unrolled me from the blanket, and pointed at the garments, which I quickly grabbed and got dressed. Now I guess my face had to be a more then a bit red, cause here she was looking at my body from head to toe, and worse now I knew she was not an old lady after all.

I asked her name, she never would say a word, and she gave me more soup to eat. We sit in the cave the rest of the day and that night as I lay back listening to rain, she began to sing.

“Swing low sweet chariot coming forth to carry me home,” Now I didn’t know all them words to that there song, but I had heard it being sung by a group of blacks headed for Hot Springs to be sold one time. Still she never spoke a word to me, only sang her song. I soon fell asleep, when I woke up sometime in the night I found my head was on her lap, she was fast asleep and her gentle breathing was a comforting thing to hear.

The next morning when I woke up, she took my hand, her hand was strong and I know you won’t believe it but soft. She led me along the bank of the creek, up and down the hills, finally we came to edge of the woods, there tied to a tree was that dang ole pig and I could see Ma out washing clothes on the rub board.

She smiled at me and I tell you here and now, my heart beat so fast I thought I was going to die or fly. She bent into me and kissed my cheek, I heard the soft voice of an angel or a ghost, maybe a goddess, whisper, and my name is Mary.

With that she was gone, for the last few years I find myself roaming into the woods to find her, once in a while I will see her, she will stop, let the wind blow her hair and wave at me, then she is gone. I have stood at my window at night and I have seen her in the clearing below and have run to talk to her and by time I get there she is gone.

Tonight I am going to the woods, to night I will walk through those woods and sing at the top of my voice, I won’t come home till I find her, for she is going to be my wife.

“Mary marry me, Lips of gray………..”