Wedding Bells for Mama

by Donna Poole

Author’s note: I posted a photo of lilies of the valley on my Facebook author page and asked for suggestions for a title for a Mother’s Day story. I chose Jim Karen Herd’s title but also used all the other suggestions somewhere in the story. Thank you, and look for your contributions: Tom Kelly, Marcie Hatfield, Kitty’s Books, Michelle Romano, Andy Luci, Jackie Shaw-Grossman, Joann Freeland, Kathi Ridley Driskell, Loretta Gutierrez-Archuleta, Judy Ford, Deborah Pearson Hatt, Maria Sibson, Michelle Rossow Horton, John Purnell, Sandy Long, Audrey Potter, Carolyn Neinas, Dan MacDonald, and Sue Hatt Hodges.

Wedding Bells for Mama

by Donna Poole

Mama had the soul of a poet, so she named us three girls Lily, Violet, and Iris. I’m Lily; the oldest of seven, and I’m named after Mama. Her name is Lily too.

Daddy was a preacher, so when my brothers came along, he named them Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Then when John was only two years old and I was nine, Daddy up and died. I was mad at him for years for leaving us in that kind of mess.

The tiny chapel in the poor part of town closed after Daddy died; the congregation couldn’t find anyone else to preach for what they’d paid him, and they couldn’t afford to pay more. They were good people, and they gave Mama the parsonage, such as it was.

That two-bedroom home with its leaky roof and peeling paint was the only thing that stood between us and homelessness. Mama homeschooled us every morning then went off to work a twelve-hour shift in a factory. She left food for our supper so I could warm it up and feed the littler ones. On Saturdays Mama cleaned houses for the rich people. The nice homes started right next to ours. Uncle Sammy’s big, beautiful home was the first one, only he wasn’t our real uncle.

I had a hard time keeping the kids in our yard, especially in the spring and summer; they wanted to go play in Uncle Sammy’s big shady yard. But Mama said stay in our own yard and not bother him unless we had an emergency. Our small yard was mostly dirt and weeds and stood in full sun. It was hot, and ugly too, except for a tiny corner I named “My Mother’s Garden.” We tried to help her keep her straggly flowers alive by watering them, but it was mostly a losing battle. The sun baked the life out of them. And then mama got tears in her eyes.

I hated it when Mama looked sad. Of all the mothers of the valley we lived in, I knew she was the best. She said we kids were the best. And she always hugged me tight before she went to work and whispered, “Sweet Lily, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My memories of mom from those years are of an exhausted face, a sweet laugh, and worry lines. She hated leaving us alone, and I don’t believe she could have made herself do it if Uncle Sammy hadn’t been our neighbor.

Looking back, I suppose we kids used the slightest excuse to run to him. Mama had said “only in an emergency,” but when a little boy has an invisible scratch on his hand and won’t stop crying, that’s an emergency, right? Or when an arm falls off a doll, that’s an emergency, right? Uncle Sammy usually sent us home with something he’d accidentally bought too much of.

“Can you kids use a dozen donuts? They were buy a dozen get one free. Don’t know what I was thinking. How could I eat two dozen all by myself?”

“Take this half-gallon of ice cream home and surprise your mom with a treat. Somehow, I have too much in my freezer, and I can’t eat it all.”

“Matthew, you’re getting so big and strong. Can you carry a gallon of milk home? This is going to spoil unless someone helps me drink it.”

“Lily, I stopped by the farmer’s market and bought too many chocolate chip cookies. I can’t make myself eat another one of them. They’re going to sit on my counter and get stale if someone doesn’t help me eat them.”

Uncle Sammy gave us more than treats too. He mysteriously seemed to have too much cereal, or hamburger, and once in awhile even too many steaks.

Mama would shake her head and wipe away a tear when she got home and we showed her what he’d given us. “That’s Sammy. He always was like that.”

“Mama,” I asked, “have you known Sammy long? Is he your friend? Why don’t we ever have him come for Sunday dinner?”

Mama smiled and touched my cheek. I thought then and still think now that there’s nothing sweeter than the delicate touch of a mother. “Sunday is the only day I have to spend with you kids. I’m not going to give a minute of it to anyone else.”

“But Mama,” I protested, “Uncle Sammy is our friend. You need to have friends too.”

Sunday was our favorite day. Mama was home all day. We went to church together. The other mothers had pretty dresses, hats, and gloves to wear to church. Mama had only her one church dress, worn and faded, but she had a kind of beauty that can’t be hidden. It came from the inside out. And I was pretty sure, even though I was only twelve years old by then, that I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Most of the mothers wore corsages for Mother’s Day, and I wanted to get one for mama in the worst way, but I didn’t have any money. Even if I’d had it, I wouldn’t have spent it on that. Mama never talked about money, but I’d caught her wiping away tears and had asked what was wrong.

“I’m a hundred dollars short for bills this month, sweet Lily, but don’t you worry. Pray about it, okay?”

I did both. I prayed, and I worried.

The next day John refused to let me pull his lose tooth that was hanging by a thread. After Uncle Sammy pulled the tooth, he and I sat at his picnic table and watched the kids run and play in his yard. I seldom cried, but I did that day, and between sobs, the whole story tumbled out.

Uncle Sammy patted my back and said things adults say like, “There, there, it’s going to be alright,” even when it isn’t going to be alright.

When I finally quit crying Uncle Sammy said, “So, let me be sure I have my facts right. You want flowers for mom. Mom needs money for bills…”

“Please, don’t tell her I told you!” I interrupted. “She’d be embarrassed. She tries so hard to take good care of us.”

“No one could try harder,” Uncle Sammy said. His voice sounded hoarse, like he had a cold. “Your mom is the essence of a mother.”

“What’s that mean?”

Uncle Sammy smiled at me. “It means I think your mother is wonderful. And I think we can do something about flowers for her. So many lilies grow in this valley. My yard is full of them.”

“Is that what smells so good?”

He nodded and hollered, “Who wants to pick flowers for your mom for Mother’s Day?”

While the kids came running Uncle Sammy said to me, “I happen to know lily of the valley is her favorite flower.”

“How do you know that Uncle Sammy?”

His smile looked sad. “Long ago, before your mom met your dad, we were friends. I gave her a corsage of lilies of the valley to wear to my senior banquet when I was in high school.”

We all stared at him, shocked. “We thought you were way older than Mama!” John said. “Did you love her?”

I groaned. “John, remember what Mama says about good manners. I don’t think she’d like what you said!”

Uncle Sammy just laughed. ‘Let’s just say I thought your mom was as sweet as the lily of the valley. Now, let’s pick some for her. Under the big fonds you’ll find tiny beauty. Some people call them May bells.”

“I like that name,” Iris said. “We can pick May bells for Mom! Lots of them!”

And we did pick lots. Uncle Sammy helped us. He grinned at me and said, “I just remembered something I used to say to your mom about these flowers back in our younger days when I was feeling poetic. ‘Under the turmoil of wild leaves grows a dainty flower striving to be noticed.’ I wrote her a poem once too. I titled it, ‘Bloomed love.’”

I couldn’t help it. I giggled.

“What?” Uncle Sammy asked. “I wanted to be a writer. Maybe it’s a good thing I became an engineer instead. I probably made more money. That’s why I got to retire when I was so young, even though you think I’m old.”

I giggled again.

“We missed that big patch over there,” Uncle Sammy said. “Why don’t you pick a few of those, and we’ll call it quits for the day and put these flowers in water?”

I bent over to pick the lovely white flowers and breathed in their fragrance. I thought of something poetic myself, “The lily of the valley is my mom.” I was just about to go tell it to Uncle Sammy when I spotted it, a hundred-dollar bill! And even though the flowers were wet from last night’s rain, the bill was dry and looked brand new. I forgot all about my newfound poetic abilities and could only think of the newfound money.

“Uncle Sammy!” I yelled. “Look what I found!”

He grinned. “Well, well, well. You know what they say. Finders, keepers.” And he insisted I do just that. “Who knows,” he said. “Maybe God sent it down from heaven. I’ve heard of that happening.”

Two wonderful things happened on Mother’s Day. I gave Mama the money. “I found it beneath the posies,” I told her. “Now you can pay the bills!”

Before she could question me, the doorbell rang. It was Uncle Sammy with the flowers we’d picked. He’d put them into a beautiful vase.

“These are from the children, Lily,” he said. “And this is from me.” And then he pinned a beautiful corsage of lilacs and lilies of the valley to the shoulder of her dress.

“Oh, Sammy,” Mama said, and then her cheeks turned pink. Do you think mothers can bloom just like flowers can? Mama did that day.

Uncle Sammy sat with us in church. The pastor’s sermon was, “Consider the Lilies.” I think Uncle Sammy must have been considering the two Lilys and Violet and Iris and Matthew and Mark and Luke and John. I think that because the next May, wedding bells rang out for Uncle Sammy, I mean for our new daddy, and for Mama. The only flowers they had were lilies of the valley. It was perfect because the lily of the valley is my mom, forever my mom.

The End
***

These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume 1: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume 2: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume 3: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume 4: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

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