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From Theophilus H. Goodwin

                              CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
               CATFISH STEW’ & MORNING SICKNESS
  
   By the twenty-first of April, both mine and Young G.’s land was cleared and planted.
Four hundred acres were in cotton and ‘bout eighty acres in corn. Young G. had two
hundred forty acres in cotton and saved a ten acre shaded plot for his buildings.
   We convinced Young G. and Elizabeth to stay with us and get our house finished as
early as possible. Then we could all pitch in and build theirs. With Young G.’s supervision
and planning, and the work of ten Negroes, we were able to get outta tha’ tents and into a
nice, comfortable home by the middle of May. We were able to get plenty of fine pine and
oak lumber from David’s sawmill over on the headwaters of Mulberry Creek.
   By the first of July, Young G., Julius, Harris, Wiley, William Andrews, and Dempsey
Hatcher were living in nice houses and had their crops growing. 
   Young and Martha invited all of us over to their place for a big fourth of July party.
The idea was to celebrate our freedom from British rule. As Young put it, “A meet yo’
kinfolk and neighbors day.” Young’s idea turned out to be very popular. Everybody in the
area showed up. 
   David Goodwin and his wife, Temperance Andrews Goodwin, were there with their
children, Louanza Goodwin Wilson, and her husband, William Harrison Wilson; Lorrain
Goodwin Carruther and her family; Temperance Goodwin Pounds and her husband;
Henrietta Goodwin Whatley and her husband; David Goodwin Jr. and his wife, ten-year
old Andrew Jackson Goodwin, their unmarried daughter, Mary Goodwin and
twenty-three-year old, Elijah T. Goodwin. Elijah’s birthday was just two days ago, and he
had his girlfriend, Nancy Page, with him.
   Ira Portis and Mary Ann Goodwin Portis were there with all their children, Mary Ann,
Joseph Pernelle, Solomon Wilder, Samuel Goodwin, David Young, Maria, and John
Wesley. Their children ranged in age from the youngest, John Wesley, six, up to Mary
Ann, eighteen.
   Of course, all a’ Young and Martha’s children were there. Their oldest boy, William W.
married Jane Sanders back on the fifteenth of January in 1815. She bore him three boys,
Nathaniel Young in 1816, Thelston in 1818, and William Jr. in 1820. She died on May 13,
1823, while giving birth to their daughter, Jane Sanders Goodwin. William married Susan
Swift in December of the same year. William and Susan were there with the four children.
   Young’s daughter, Elizabeth, was there with her husband, James Reid and their
children. Elizabeth’s first husband, William Hill, was the father of her children, Martha and
William Jr. He died after blood poisoning set in from a bad cut on his leg from a crosscut
saw. Elizabeth married Reid in 1820 and has two daughters , Mary Ann and Jane, by him.
   Young’s daughter, Mary, married Richard Bird Jr., in 1812. They were there with their
children, Charity, Martha, Emily, Mary, Elizabeth, Rebecca, Richard III, and Young.
   Young’s daughter, Emily, was there with her new husband, Daniel Norwood. Daniel is
a Baptist preacher. Young’s son, Nauphlet, was there with his wife, Eustacia (Stacy), and
their two children, Eustacia C. and Horatio Turner Goodwin. The unmarried children of
Young and Martha are: John, Emily’s twin brother, twenty-four; Young, Jr., twenty;
Turner Myrick, seventeen; Martha, fifteen; Robert, thirteen; Ann, eleven; and Rebecca,
nine.  
   Listed below are all a’ mine and Becky’s folks:  Sarah, now twenty-two; Julius and
Margaret, with their children, Aquilla Miles, Mary Ann, Myrick, Theophilus J., and four
month old, John Kinnard; Harris and Mary, with their children, Warren and Nancy; Wiley
and Amy, with fifteen-year old Caroline; William and Elizabeth Goodwin Andrews, and
their children, Wyche, Rebecca, and three month old, Frances; Dempsey and Charity
Goodwin Hatcher, and their children, Jackson, Elizabeth, Rebecca, and Dempsey Jr.;
Young G. and Elizabeth Goodwin, with their son Jasper Tompkins Goodwin.
   We had an opportunity to meet a lot of people for the first time who live in the area.
When we met Preacher Isaac Suttle and his family, he immediately insisted that we make
the Ebenezer Baptist our church home. We assured him we were planning on doing that.
He said, “We’re starting a big revival meeting on the third Sunday a’ this month and if tha’
Lord’s willing, we gonna add a passel a’ people to tha’ church roll.
   We also met a few others who belong to Brother Suttle’s church. The families of Lewis
C. Davis, Samuel Crenshaw, John Gandy, John Allen, and William Herrod. We also were
introduced to Joseph Williams and his family. Joseph came to this area with Young and
David in 1817. There were over a hundred people at the celebration.
   The next afternoon, Sarah, Becky, and I, were relaxing on our front porch, discussing
the events of the previous day. During the conversation I innocently asked, “Sarah, you
heard anything from your friend, Captain Gilbert, in Georgia?” Sarah immediately burst
into tears and ran in the house. I glanced at Becky with a look of total surprise and
bewilderment. She said, “Theo, we’ve been tryin’ to keep it from you, but you have to
know. Malachi Gilbert was killed a few days after we left Fort Hawkins. He and some
others were ambushed while trying to round up a band of renegade ‘red stick’ Indians.” 
   I asked, “Why would you wanta keep that from me?” She answered, “We just found
out about it a month ago. Julius checked on him for us and found out the bad news.” Now
I was even more confused and asked, “Why would you ask Julius to do that?” Becky said,
“‘Cause Sarah’s pregnant with Malachi’s baby.”
   As I leaned over, propped my elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands,
Becky came over, put her arm around my shoulders and said, “I know you’re devastated,
Theo. So was I. We’ll help Sarah raise the baby and care for it and love it as our own.” I
asked, “How is Sarah holdin’ up so well? I’ve never noticed a change in her at all.” She
replied, “Sarah has been mournin’ his death for a month now. She has a three page letter
from him, written the day after we left Fort Hawkins. It was found in his belongings after
his death. I guess he planned to post it once he got our address. The Fort Commander
mailed it after hearin’ from Julius. I think she’s read it every day since Julius brought it
over.”
   I asked, “Did she let you read it?” Becky answered, “Yes, and it’s a wonderful letter
explainin’ how much he loves her. He said he had a thirty-day leave comin’ up in July and
wanted to come over and marry her if she felt the same way about him.” Becky continued,
“Sarah’s convinced now, the Lord has rewarded her with this child as an expression of his
love for both of them, and she’s so thankful she’s left with this miraculous treasure of the
brief and wonderful time they were able to know and love each other here on earth.”
   As I got up, I said, “I know it’s gonna be hard, but I’ve gotta go in there and let her
know how much I love her and support her in her convictions.” Becky asked, “You want
me to go with you?” I said “No, this is somethin’ I have to do by myself.” I knew
everything was gonna be all right after I finished my conversation with Sarah and with
tears in her eyes, she said, “Papa, it’s kickin’ the daylights outta me. You wanta feel?”
   Bright and early the next morning, Young came riding into the yard with the new
buggy I asked Captain Johnson to bring up from Mobile. With a broad grin, Young said,
“Theo, you sho’ got a good ‘un here. This saddle hoss a’ mine pulls this thing like he
don’t even know it’s in back of ‘im. I took tha’ privilege a’ openin’ her up back down the
road a piece. This thing, hitched to a good hoss, will prob’ly outrun most racin’ hosses
‘round these parts.”
   Young unhitched the horse, lifted his saddle out of the buggy and put it on the horse. I
asked, “How much I owe you?” He said, “Boy, you got a bargain. Frank picked it up
down at the Mobile Buggy Works fa’ only twenty-five dollars.” I paid Young and he
mounted his horse and waved goodbye as he rode away. 
   I hitched Hickory up to the buggy and went for a ride with Becky and Sarah. They
both loved it. Hickory took to it like it was a part of ‘im. As we pulled back into the yard,
Becky said, “Now, next week we’re goin’ to see William and Mary and spend a few
days.”
   On July 12th, Becky, Sarah, and I, were by the docks at the mouth of Mulberry Creek
by sundown. The Nettie Quill was already docked for the night. We introduced ourselves
to Frank Johnson. He said, “I’ve met your son and grandson down at Big Bend a few
times. They’re sho’ gonna be surprised to see y’all.” He turned and yelled over his
shoulder to a couple of heavy-set Negroes, “Green, you and Mint, unhitch that hoss, lead
‘im up the ramp and put ‘im in a’ stall. Then push the buggy up.” He turned his attention
to us and said, “Y’all come on aboard. I’ll get y’all settled in ya cabin, then I want y’all to
come on over to my quarters and have supper with me.” He continued, “I hope y’all ain’t
already et’, ‘cause my cook, Adalina, is fixin’ up a’ big pot a’ tha’ best catfish stew you’ll
eva’ taste.”
   The next morning I woke up swaying back and forth in my bunk and to the gagging
sounds from Sarah with her head over the slop jar. She was throwing up eva’thing but her
toe-nails. Her mama was trying to comfort her, saying, “Now, Sarah, you’ll be all right in
a little while. It ain’t nothin’ but a touch a’ mornin’ sickness.” Sarah, between vomiting
spells, said, “No, Mama, it’s this swayin’ boat, catfish stew, and mornin’ sickness. I think
I’m gonna die.”
   When I walked out on deck, we were pulling up to the docks at Cahaba to pick up
some freight going downriver. I was watching all the proceedings when Adalina wedged
herself out the galley door and yelled, “Missa Theo, y’all come on down heah. I got a
buncha fried eggs, grits, bacon, biscuits and coffee fixed up fa’ y’all.” As I sat down to the
table, I said, “This sho’ is nice a’ y’all to feed us like this. We wadn’t expectin’ to be
treated like royalty.” 
   Adalina said, “Missa Theo, Capt’n Frank done tole us anytime his frien’s walks on dis
boat, dey’ gonna be treated jus’ like dey’ wuz’ family. Dis is his home.” I said, “Becky‘ll
be along shortly, but I don’t think Sarah‘ll be eatin’ any breakfast.” She replied, “Must be
mawnin’ sickness. I had it bad wid’ all fo’ head a’ mine.”
   About that time, Frank walked in, poured himself a cup a’ coffee, sat down and said,
“They’ll be through loadin’ in a few minutes, and we’ll be on our way.” 
   He continued, “Theo, yo’ boy, William, told me exactly how to get to his place.
Wanted me to come by and visit with them if I eva’ got a chance. Let me tell ya, when you
leave tha’ docks, you follow tha’ road straight east ‘til you come to a place called Bragg’s
store. That’s at a crossroads. Then you turn south on the Greenville road for a few miles.
He says they live ‘bout a mile above the Montgomery, Butler County line by a small
stream that flows into Wolf Creek. Y’all need to stop at the store and find out exactly
where they live, though.”
   Someone rapped on the galley door. It was Green who said to Frank, “Capt’n, we’re
loaded, suh.” At that, Frank headed out the door, saying, “Theo, y’all ‘ll get a lot better
view from up at the bow. Y’all head on up that way when eva’body’s through eatin’.”
   Becky and Sarah walked in and sat down. I said, “Sarah, you look a hundred percent
better than you did earlier.” She replied, “I feel a lot better. Maybe a cup a’ that coffee will
help, but I sho’ don’t want to risk eatin’ anything.” Adalina immediately got up and
poured them both a big mug a’ coffee.
   As we left the galley, I asked Adalina, “What is the bow?” She laughed, pointed and
said, “Tha’ front, Missa Theo, tha’ front.” 
   It was a beautiful sunny morning, and we all thoroughly enjoyed the breathtaking view
from the bow. The river was at its summertime low, and the water was a clear greenish
blue. As Frank expertly guided the boat through the deep turns in the river, carefully
avoiding the sand, we were astonished at the abundance of waterfowl digging for mussels
and other food in the shallows and along the big sandbars. 
   We saw a few deer, and more often, large flocks of wild turkeys scrambling off the
sandbars as the steamboat approached. In places we could actually see the bottom of the
river and occasionally saw large schools of fish. We passed a few large plantation houses,
which, according to Frank, had only been built in the last two or three years. 
    As we passed small streams flowing into the river, we saw people fishing from the
banks and from small flatboats. Most of them waved and in a manner of bragging, held up
large strings of fish for us to see. Being polite, we waved back and nodded our heads in
recognition of their success. 
   We pulled into the docks at Big Bend ‘round eleven o’clock that morning and were
hitched up and on the road by noon. Hickory seemed happy to get off the boat and was
very spirited. He traveled at a slow trot for a couple of hours until we stopped by a small
stream to rest and water him. We were back on the road after ‘bout a thirty-minute rest.
About two hours later we came to Bragg’s store. 
   As we pulled up to the front, we saw a man getting off his horse and tying the reins to
the hitching post. I handed my reins to Sarah, hopped down from the buggy, and said,
“Mister, can you tell me how to find William Goodwin’s place?” When he turned around,
I thought he looked familiar. He smiled, streched out his hand and said, “I can tell you
don’t quite recognize me, Mr. Goodwin, but you shared a hunk a’ cheese with me and my
brother ‘bout ten years ago.” 
   As I shook his hand, I said, “Dan Sullivan, sho’ I remember. My Uncle Young told me
you were in these parts, but I sho’ am surprised to run into you like this.” He said, “Yo’
boy, William, is my neighbor, and we sho’ have enjoyed their comp’ny since they’ve been
here. They only live four or five miles down the road from us.” I introduced him to Becky
and Sarah, and then said, “Young told me ‘bout ya brother, James. Sho’ was sorry to hear
‘bout his death.” 
   Dan said, “Yeah, that was a hard time for me. I still miss him eva’ day that passes.” He
continued, “Mr. Goodwin, I gotta run in tha’ store here a minute. If y’all wait, I’ll ride
along with y’all and show ya right where they live.” I said, “Fine, but call me ‘Theo’; you
make me feel like an old man with that ‘Mr. Goodwin’ stuff.” He grinned as he turned to
go in the store and said, “I’ll sho’ do that, Mr. Theo.” 
   After leaving the store, we continued for a few miles and then turned left on a less
traveled trail. As we forded a small clear stream, Dan pointed out the beginning of William
and Mary’s land. I was pleased to see that they had a good stand of cotton in the fields
next to the trail. Dan took a left turn and started up a gently sloping hill, covered with
beautiful hickory and live oak trees. As we reached the top, their new house came into
view. Jack, Simpson, and Willie T. came running out the front door to see who we were.
Jack was the first to recognize us, and without saying a word to us, took off ‘round the
house toward the kitchen, yelling, “Mama, Papa! Y’all come on out! It’s Grandpa,
Grandma, and Sarah! They done come to see us!”
   After all the hugging and handshaking, Mary and Harriet took Becky and Sarah on a
tour of the new house, while William and the boys gave me a tour of the barn,
smokehouse, springhouse, and garden. We all met back at the front porch as the sun was
setting. All the children, including the two-year old toddler, Nancy Jane, were playing out
under the oaks. Sarah informed Mary of her pregnancy and the tragic news of Malachi’s
death. Mary said, “I’m so sorry to hear ‘bout Captain Gilbert, but I’m certainly happy
‘bout the baby. I’ll bet it will be a handsome youngun, considerin’ how pretty you are and
how handsome that captain was.” 
   Mary continued, “Now I’ve got some good news for y’all. We gonna have another
baby. The best I can figure, it oughta be here in ‘bout six more months. Yours must be due
in December, is that right, Sarah?” Sarah laughed as she replied, “You’re sho’ right about
that. Ain’t no secret ‘bout when it happened.” I interrupted with, “Sarah, I’m tickled to
death ‘bout yo’ baby and glad you have such a positive outlook about it, but y’all
womenfolk ought not be talkin’ ‘bout such things right here in front of me and William.” 
   With that, Mary burst out laughing and said, “Lord a’ mercy, Papa, don’t tell me y’all
done had eleven younguns, and you don’t know what causes ‘em yet. I said, “‘Course I
do, but that’s women’s talk. It’s not for mixed company. Y’all embarrass me, and just
look at Williams face. It’s red as a beet.” 
   Becky said, “Lord knows, we don’t want to embarrass y’all, so I’ll change the subject.”
She turned to Mary and said, “Now y’all have got to come up and visit us. You won’t
believe how easy it is to get up there on the Nettie Quill. We spent the night on the boat,
and here we are at yo’ place today. That Captain Frank is as fine a’ folk as you ever met.
He treated us like special guests.” William said, “Me and Jack, been hankerin’ to ride that
boat from the first time we laid eyes on it. We’ll just plan on doin’ that when we get all the
crops in.” Mary said, “We’d better make that after this new baby’s born.”
   I asked, “Y’all got any more neighbors, other than the Sullivans?” William answered,
“Yeah, Calvin Cassady and his family live right on up the road past the Sullivans. You
remember where y’all turned at the store? Well, y’all coulda gone straight on past the
store a few miles and turned back down this a’ way on that trail right out there. If you
look way out over the trail through those trees you can see a little bit of Wolf Creek and
the Federal road on the other side of it. That part of it is ‘bout half-way between Fort
Deposit and Fort Dale.”
   He continued, “The Greenville road, the Mt. Willing road and the trail out there make a
big triangle. Our three families are the only ones livin’ in that triangle right now, but
accordin’ to the land maps, there’s hundreds of acres left for sale. All good rich virgin
land. I ‘spect there’ll be a bunch more folks movin’ in ‘fore too long. Dan and Calvin call
this area Palmyra, for some reason. Must be some name they brought with ‘em from South
Ca’lina, just like they named Mt. Willing.”
   Mary said, “If it’s all right with y’all, I’d like to invite the Sullivans and Cassadys over
Saturday afternoon for supper. Y’all just won’t believe how nice and how helpful they’ve
been to us.” William said, “Lord knows, that’s the truth. If it hadn’t been for their help,
we’d still be workin’ on the house, without any crops in the ground.” I said, “Mary, that
suits us fine. If they’re all as nice as that Sullivan feller, y’all sho’ got some fine
neighbors.”
   We stayed with William’s family for five days and headed back upriver on July 18th.
On the way back, Becky and I were sitting on a bench in the bow of the boat enjoying the
scenery. She turned to me and said, “Theo, we have so much to be thankful for. Most of
our children live close to us, they are all healthy and prosperous, we have a nice home, and
our future seems to be very secure. The Lord has blessed us, and I think we should
express our appreciation by gettin’ more involved with tha’ church.” 
   I agreed and said, “Becky, we’ll be at the Ebeneezer Church when the doors open this
comin’ Sunday mornin’. From what Young tells me ‘bout ole Issac’s preachin’, we better
get ready for some strong words on ‘hellfire and damnation’.” Becky laughed and said, “I
know you don’t care much for that kind a’ sermon, but we all need it once in a while.”
   Sure enough, bright and early the next Sunday morning, Becky and Sarah were rattling
the pots and pans in the kitchen, fixing a breakfast of biscuits, ham, redeye gravy, grits,
and eggs. I thought I’d kill myself eatin’. When we finished breakfast, Becky had all my
Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes laid out on the bed for me. She and Sarah got all gussied up
right down to two new fancy hats they’d bought over at Bill Wilson’s store.  
   As we climbed in the buggy, I remarked, “I’m gonna be the envy of all the menfolk
when I pull in that churchyard, with a handsome, hickory-colored gelding, pulling a brand
new fancy buggy, carrying the two best looking women in the whole state a’ Alabama, and
them both sporting fancy new French headdressin’s.” Becky said, “Oh, hush up, Theo.
We’re just goin’ to hear the word of the Lord, not to impress anybody, and these are hats,
not headdressin’s. What’s more, they came from Mobile, not France.” I said, “I betcha a
French woman made ‘em.”
   In addition to the church members we met at Young’s house, we met several more
families after preaching that day. We met the families of William Clark, Enoch Hayes,
William Allen, David Moore, and Robert Martin. Robert Martin was the same man that
served as preacher for Young and David’s wagon train when they came over. Julius,
Margaret, and their children were there and so was all a’ Young and Martha’s family. 
   Preacher Suttle preached a fine sermon on the ten commandments in general and said
he’d cover each one in depth over the next weeks’ revival services. He announced that the
meetings would start promptly at four o’clock every afternoon through the week, ending
with a sermon and dinner-on-the-ground next Sunday morning and a baptizing next
Sunday afternoon.
   On the way home, Sarah didn’t say a word. She seemed to be fuming ‘bout something.
Only when we started into the yard, did she say, “Did y’all hear that old biddie, Mrs.
Jones, when we were walkin’ outta the church?” Without waiting for an answer, she
continued, “That old witch whispered to Mrs. Clark, ‘we oughta had a sermon on
fornication today’, and I know she meant for me to hear it. I felt like poppin’ her up side’n
tha’ head.  If that old hag, or anybody else, for that matter, thinks I’m gonna crawl up
under the house and hide like an old bitch dog to have this baby, they better think again.”
She rubbed her stomach as she continued, “The Lord gave me a special blessing with this
child, and I’m gonna raise it just that way.” I burst out laughing and said, “One thing’s for
sho’. If it takes after it’s mama, it’s gonna be a fiesty ‘un.”   
   The rest of the year of 1825, was very productive for all the Goodwins. The combined
cotton production proved to be too much for Young to handle, even though he had put in
a second gin during the summer. It was late October before we finished the ginning and
had the last bales on their way downriver. On mine and Becky’s place alone, we picked
and ginned four hundred and five bales. Cotton was selling for twenty-three cents a pound,
so after paying Young, we cleared over twenty-two thousand dollars. Becky and I were
elated. 
   Young and I accompanied the last load of cotton down to Mobile. We went to the
Bank of Mobile, which Young used, and he paid me. He encouraged me to open an
account there, and I did. I said, “Young, I ain’t too sold on leavin’ all a’ that money way
down here in Mobile. What if I need some of it back home?” He replied, “Any time you
need money, all you gotta do is go ova’ to Bill Wilson’s store, write ‘im out a draft for
whateva’ amount you want, and he’ll give you the money.”
   I said, “Young, I hate to act so dumb, but I ain’t eva’ had enough money that I
couldn’t just keep it under the mattress. What’s a draft?” He laughed and said, “That’s just
a piece a’ paper you sign, tellin’ the bank to give Bill that much money out’n your
account.” I continued, “These folks don’t eva’ make any mistakes with our money, do
they?” When he answered, “None that I’ve eva’ seen”, I felt better. While we were in
Mobile, I bought Becky a bolt a’ pretty cloth for making curtains and  Sarah some cloth
for baby clothes.
   On the afternoon of December 10th, Sarah started complaining of stomach pains and
went into the parlor. Becky told me to go over to Young G.’s and get Elizabeth. I asked,
“Is she gonna have it right now?” Becky replied, “No, but it ain’t gonna be too long. The
first one usually takes longer, but you better get on over there anyhow.” When Elizabeth,
Young G., little Jasper, and I got back, Sarah was already in bed moaning and groaning.
Elizabeth went in to help.
   Young G., Jasper, and I went out on the porch and sat down. About that time, William
Andrews rode up, and we told him Sarah was in labor. He never even got outta his saddle. 
He just spun his horse ‘round and said, “I’ll go get old Mandy. She’s the best when it
comes to birthin’ babies. She helped bring all a’ tha’ Andrews younguns in.” He was back
with Mandy in ‘bout thirty minutes. By that time, Sarah was a’ lettin’ out a yell eva’ two
minutes. We finally heard the baby squallin’, and Becky came out on tha’ porch and said,
“Theo, we got us a brand new healthy grandboy. His name is Malachi Gilbert Goodwin.” I
immediately asked, “How’s Sarah?” Becky said, “Sarah is fine but a little worn out right
now.”
   It was an unusually warm Sunday afternoon for January. We had just finished dinner
and were all sitting out on the front porch. Becky was knitting baby clothes, Sarah was
nursing the baby, and I was whittling on a toy for him. I said, “Y’all know, I’m near ‘bout
sixty-four now, and my hands are gettin’ a little shaky. It’s gettin’ harder and harder to
hold a writin’ quill and make it put down what I want it to. I wind up makin’ a mess eva’
time I start to write. If I take a good snort a’ likker, it helps, but my thoughts don’t come
too well after I’ve done that a few times.” 
   Becky said, “Well, Theo, why don’t you just turn it ova’ to one a’ tha’ boys. Julius has
a beautiful hand. Turn it over to him.” I said, “No, he’s too wrapped up in politics, the
military, and gettin’ rich. The one who’s shown more concern and care ‘bout family affairs
is William. I know he lives farther away, but if y’all ‘ll write ‘im a nice long letter each
month, I’m sure he’d be happy to take over all those family records in there.” 
   Sarah said, “Papa, I’d be happy to do it, but Mally here takes up all a’ my time. I’ll help
Mama with the letters though.” I said, “That settles it then. I’m loadin’ all that stuff and
goin’ down to William’s tomorrow. I’ll be back in ‘bout a week.” Becky said, “You better
get started if you gonna get down to the landin’ ‘fore dark.” I immediately saddled
Hickory, packed the saddle bags and headed down the Mulberry Creek trail. 
   William and Mary were surprised to see me riding up the hill late the next afternoon.
William immediately asked, “What’s wrong, Papa, is somebody sick or somethin’?” I
answered, “No, can’t I just come to visit my grand-younguns when I get a hankerin’ to?”
They looked relieved, and we walked into the house. William said, “Jack, you and
Simpson take Hickory on out to tha’ barn, unsaddle ‘im and rub him down good.”
   I caught them up on all the goings on since we last saw ‘em. Mary, now plump and
‘round as a gourd, said, “We received several nice long letters from Becky and Sarah and
was tickled to death about the new baby.” I said, “Don’t look like it’s gonna be too long
‘fore y’all have one.” She said, “It’ll be any day now.”
   We were just finishing up a fine breakfast Harriet cooked for us, when Mary, while
gently rubbing her stomach, said, “Jack, you’d better go on out to tha’ barn, saddle up
Charcoal and go up and fetch Jennie. This youngun’s trying to get outta here.”
   We got Mary to the bedroom and left her there with Harriet. As we walked back in the
parlor, I asked, “William, you know anything ‘bout birthin’ babies? Looks like we might
have to deliver this ‘un and outta all eleven a’ y’all, I never seen a’ one a’ y’all come out.” 
   A look of panic came over his face as he answered, “Papa, I’m as useless as tits on a
bo’ hog when it comes to birthin’ babies.” Thank goodness, Jennie Sullivan came rushing
in ‘bout that time. Martha Cassady came in ‘bout fifteen minutes later. She asked, “Is the
baby here yet?” When we answered “no”, she said, “Y’all both just calm down, take Willie
T., Nancy Jane, and Simpson on out on tha’ porch and sit down. Me, Jennie, and Harriet
will take care of her.” Me and William both breathed a sigh of relief as we sat down on the
front porch. 
   Henry Claiborne Goodwin was born ‘round nine o’clock that morning, January 12,
1826.
   That night, William and I were sitting at the kitchen table. It had turned a little cold that
afternoon, so we had a roaring fire going in the stove. I pulled out the Goodwin family
records and asked William for a quill and some ink. By the light of two candles, I recorded
the birth of Henry Claiborne Goodwin right under the name of their last child, Nancy Jane.
This would be my last entry in the records. I then explained to William, the real purpose of
my visit. He was tickled to death. I could see the glimmering of the candles in the tears
that welled up in his eyes. He was still pouring over the old records of mine and Pappy’s
when I went to bed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN                                                                BACK