A Girl from Yamhill Read Online Free PDF Page B

across our waists to keep us from falling out. The wheels began to turn, and slowly we rose. Mother clutched the bar until her knuckles were white. When our rocking seat reached the top, the wheel’s motor broke down and we were stranded. I had never been so high or seen such a view: neatly laid-out farms, automobiles crawling along roads, and in the distance, a train breathing out a plume of smoke. I wanted an even better view. I slipped out from behind the bar, happy and free, and stood up on the tilting seat. Mother gasped and grabbed my skirt. I held out my arms and made the seat tilt more.
    â€œBeverly, sit down this minute,” Mother said through clenched teeth.
    â€œBut, Mamma, I want to see.” I was on top of the world and had only begun to look.
    â€œSit down!” Mother dragged at my skirt, forcing me to sit, spoiling my fun. I sat scowling until the Ferris wheel was repaired and we reached the bottom, where Mother demanded that we be let off.
    I objected. “But, Mamma, our ride isn’t over,” I told her. “Nobody else is getting off.”
    Mother did not answer. She had to sit down awhile. When she recovered, she scolded me. “Don’t you know you might have fallen?”
    I could not understand why Mother was such a scaredy-cat. After all, she had taught me never to be afraid.

Children
    Children were part of everything that went on in Yamhill. In winter we went to dances in the Masonic Hall, where, after sliding on the dance floor, we fell asleep on benches along the wall and were covered with coats. We sang or recited in church programs, and afterward ate drumsticks at potluck suppers.
    On May Day, we took part in a pageant at the high school and ran around with bunches of wildflowers, which we left at people’s doors. On Memorial Day, we went with our families to the old cemetery at Pike, where the graves of our pioneer ancestors were pointed out to us. We played among their tombstones while the adults weeded their graves. On the Fourth of July, we took part in a parade with little girls, dressed in their best,riding on the bed of a truck disguised with bunting as a float. I recall a man nailing a board across our stomachs so we couldn’t fall off. Each girl wore a ribbon bearing the name of a state. I probably brought disgrace to Ohio as the only state whose white stockings had dirty knees.
    School did not open until after the prune harvest, when the whole town turned out with picnic lunches to pick prunes to be hauled off to the dryer. Children played among the laden trees but were careful to stay away from the yellowjackets. I stayed away from them but loved to watch them suckling at the plump purple bosoms of fallen prunes.
    I went to birthday parties where boys wore sailor suits and girls wore their best dresses, with big bows held to their hair by metal clasps. The curly-haired girls were lucky. Their bows stayed in place. We were always accompanied by our mothers, also dressed for the occasion. Sedately, we played London Bridge, drop-the-handkerchief, and ring-around-the-rosy. I could have played all day. Mothers chatted, and those with straight-haired daughters darted out to adjust slipping hair ribbons. Ice cream and cake were served, and we all went home.
    Once I received a written invitation to come to play with Elma, the daughter of the town electrician. Elma had a little electric stove in which webaked, with the help of her mother, a little cake. The stove was plugged into a fascinating electric socket near the floor. All the houses I knew had one electric bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. After the cake was baked and the stove unplugged, Elma’s father cautioned us that we must not touch the socket, which in those days did not have a built-in plug but had, instead, a tiny metal door. I could not keep my eyes off that door, which hid a round hole lined with metal the color of the sun. Finally, when no one was looking, I opened the