Grandmother Eunice Robinson Stevens was a woman of unimpeachable character. She had an inner strength and outer beauty that didn't come from any cosmetic bottle. Her skin was a smooth, white that glowed with a pink undertone and when she fastened her clear, blue eyes on you, you knew that you were looking at someone "special." She had long, blond hair that she kept pinned up in big rolls on the top of her head. She stood just over five feet three and she walked with a regal-ness that most people, even those of royal birth, didn't have. She was a "lady" in the truest sense of the word.
She married Grandfather Stevens when she was about sixteen years of age and they proceeded to have four children together. Her life with grandfather was one of tremendous strife and suffering because he was a man of violence. This violent nature combined with his love of alcohol made him a man to be reckoned with.
My father, William James, was their first-born child and by the time Dad was nearly grown, his father's life was totally consumed by alcohol. He had turned into a ranting, raving madman. It wasn't uncommon for Dad to come home to find his father beating his mother. Anyway, something, or someone finally intervened one dark night and grandfather was found dead in his own wood box. He had been shot to death and the ruling at the time was suicide.
After grandfather's death, Grandmother remained single for nearly twenty years and when she finally did consent to remarry, she married a man, Warren Peterson, who was twenty years her junior. This age mismatched marriage was cause for much talk in the small settlement of Garfield and the surrounding towns. However, she and Uncle Pete seemed very compatible together and it was obvious that "Uncle Pete" as we called him adored her and the ground she walked on. Dad must have found it a bit disconcerting to have a step-father who was about the same age as he was but they always seemed to have friendly, cordial interactions whenever they met.
Since I had the good fortune of having been named after Grandmother, I often got to go stay with her at her house. Grandmother had many virtues and one of those was that she was the cleanest housekeeper ever. It was often said by all those who knew her that "you could eat off her floors!" And you really could!
Her tiny cottage consisted of two rooms downstairs and two rooms up. There was a narrow porch that ran across the entire front of the house that she used for extra sleeping in the warm, summer months. Her house contained all kinds of treasures to us kids and when ever I would get invited to spend some time with her, she'd sort through her jewelry box and always find something for me to take home.
Grammy loved plants and she had the most beautiful peonies, roses and lilac bushes scattered about her lawn all around her house. Her flowers always seemed to be bigger and sweeter smelling than all of her neighbors and she was constantly being asked what she did to make them grow so well. She'd just shake her lovely, blond Swedish head and with a twinkle in her blue eyes, disavow any knowledge of doing anything "special" to her plants. But, she did have a little secret that she didn't share with anyone. She'd always take her dish water or her wash water out and dump it on her flowers and that was the secret. At that time, the detergent manufacturers added Phosphorous to their detergents and the dirty dish and wash water was full of phosphorous and all her plants just thrived on this chemical.
Grammy had loads of grandchildren and we were all equally welcomed at her house. Over the years, she'd had a log cabin built across the driveway from her home and from time to time, all the cousins would gather there for a barbecue and a sleep-over. Most of my happy childhood memories are of Grammy Stevens and her home.
Christmas just wasn't Christmas without Grandmother Stevens. Mother had a rule where Grandmother was concerned that was never broken. Christmas couldn't begin at our house unless Grammy and Uncle Pete had arrived and we couldn't open our gifts until Grandmother had arrived and we had to wait until Christmas dinner was over before we could do that too.
Mother used to put the Christmas tree up the week before Christmas, and it was always in the same place at the foot of the stairs. She'd wrap the few presents she'd either sewn or managed to buy over the course of the year and put them under the tree. My two older brothers, Walt and Jake had perfected the art of slipping one of their gifts under their pajama tops and each night on their way up to bed, they'd grab a new one and head for their bedroom to check it out. Depending on what the gift was, they'd unwrap it. If it happened to be a pair of pajamas or other clothing that they particularly didn't want or need, they'd fling the present to the floor with a groan or swear word. It if was a toy that they'd been hoping or praying for, they'd play with it for a little while, then they'd rewrap it and sneak it back downstairs and put it under the tree. Come Christmas day, Mother always used to wonder why the boys weren't the first ones up and down the stairs and why they weren't more enthusiastic about opening their presents.
First thing after breakfast on Christmas morning, we'd all rush up to the attic where we'd scratch a hole in the frosted-up window pane and keep a vigil there until we saw Grammy's car coming down the road. Sometimes the snow banks on the Goding Road would be plowed so high that they nearly touched the wires on the telephone poles.
When I was about sixteen years old and when visiting her one day, Grandmother decided to give me some words of wisdom. We were sitting in her lovely living room and she was ensconced in a high, wingback chair. She laid the book she was reading in her lap and gazed intently at me for a couple of minutes before she spoke. "Toots," She said. "Now that you are a "young lady" you should be very careful about your reputation because you can't trust any man to take care of you." Surprised by her serious tone, I waited for her to continue. She went on to explain that there was a sure-fire way for a young girl like me not to be seduced by an unscrupulous male. "What's that, Grammy," I asked. She said that men were going to notice me if they hadn't already and that whenever I had a date with a man who I thought was particularly handsome, I should wear my most worn out, holey underwear. Hearing this odd statement, I looked at her. Her bright, blue eyes slid over me and with a twinkle in her eyes she said. "If you wear your oldest, rattiest underwear, you might not be in such a hurry to have him see your undies." I stared at her until this sage advice sunk in and then we laughed and laughed.
She and Uncle Pete lived a happy life together in their modest home on the Garfield Road until Uncle Pete died of cancer in nineteen sixty-three. She continued to live alone in her neat little house on the Garfield road until one snowy winter's night, something or someone did something which badly frightened her. The next thing we knew, she'd put everything up for sale and moved to live with her only daughter, Ada, in Washington, DC. She lived to the age of ninety-eight until she was diagnosed with breast cancer. When told that her doctors recommended immediate surgery, she declined. When asked why she didn't want them to operate, she said that she had lived a good long life and most of the people that she'd really loved were long gone now. She finally died of breast cancer because she wouldn't let the doctors operate. She had chosen her time and her way to die.
Grandmother once showed me a picture of herself when she was about sixteen years old. She had on a long, blue Victorian dress with a bustle on the back and she was standing behind her sister Ruth, who was seated in a chair. Grammy was looking directly at the camera. To me, she was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. She looked like a lovely Swedish princess. She told me that someday, when she was gone, that picture would be mine. Grammy is long gone now and I have never received the picture but I really don't need that picture at all because I have her image etched in my mind till the end of time.
Grandmother Stevens is buried in the Ashland cemetery next to her first husband, James Stevens. When I was home a few years ago, I went down to the cemetery to pay my respects and was shocked to see that she had been buried next to the man who had treated her so poorly and not next to the man who had loved her so much. But, Grandmother, being a woman of honor, well that's the way she wanted it. May you rest in peace forever and ever Grandmother. You certainly deserve it.
And by the way Grandmother, I thought you'd like to know, I never showed my underwear, well not too often anyway.
Martha Stevens-David 2003
Martha Stevens-David Column Magic City
Email: lmdmsd@megalink.net
Childrens Stories include:
See also Vengeance is Mine a short mystery novel published at Magic City over 4 days.
