(I found this post card in my mother's childhood scrapbook)
Herself is giving advice on the decor.
Now where to put the wreath?
Making progress...
Time to gather for another meal that can't be beat.
They was a time when I had bad dreams . . . dreams of Old Spearfinger standing by my bed and I would wake crying and shivering and crawl in bed with Granny Beck for her to hold me and comfort me with her soft words. But when I got to crying out in my sleep two and three times every night, Granny said that we must get rid of the bad dreams for once and all. That was when she showed me what the Cherokees called Going to Water.
And because I fear what will happen if Dorothy dreams that one last dream, I decide to break my promise to Luther.
“Dorothy,” I say, “let’s you and me drive down to the river. I believe that I can stop those dreams.”
***
“This here is something my granny did for me when I was little and had real bad dreams,” I tell Dorothy as we are driving along the dirt road that runs from the bridge back up to the burying-place.
“It seems to me,” I say, trying to convince both of us that I am right in what I purpose to do, “it seems to me that if your prayers and your Bible ain’t helping against this Cherokee witch that has got into your dreams, then maybe a Cherokee spell will do the trick. Do you have a handkerchief or some such with you?”
She looks at me, kind of doubting, but I know that she is past arguing. “I have a bandana there in the glove compartment,” she says, pointing to it. “A blue one.”
‘That’ll do just fine,” I tell her. “Now here at this wide place in the road, you can pull over and park. The riverbank ain’t too growed up and it’s easy to get to the water long about here.”
She pulls over, cuts off the engine, and starts to get out but I say, “Now Dor’thy, I’m trying to remember the words my Granny said more than seventy years ago. So while I’m working this charm, I don’t want you to speak for fear I’ll get bumfuzzled and not be able to finish, do you understand?”
Dorothy is wide-eyed but she presses her lips tight together and nods, then reaches over and pulls a folded blue bandana out of the glove compartment, She offers it to me but I tell her to hold on to it. And so we make our way to the water, just as Granny and I did so many years ago.
Me and Granny couldn’t get all the way down to the river, though she said that it would have been better. It was hard enough for her to hobble out the back way and to the little branch that bordered the field back of the house. But it had been a wet April and there was water enough . . .
“Now, Dorothy,” I say when we have reached the river’s edge and the water is lapping around the toes of our shoes. “You hold the bandana in your right hand and close your eyes. I’m going to dash some water over your head. When I’ve done it seven times, then you open your eyes and throw the bandana in the river. When it goes to floating away, I’ll say the charm that’ll end the bad dreams.”
She nods and squinches her eyes shut. I lean on my stick and bend over to catch some water in the jelly jar I have brought for the purpose. It ain’t much but it is enough that Dorothy jumps when I pour it on her head and it dribbles down her face.
“No, leave it be.” I catch her hand as she is bringing the bandana to her face. “Let it work to wash away the bad memories and the fear the dreams has put into your mind.”
I wonder what Dorothy would think was I to tell her how the Injuns used to do this spell. If we did it the old way, she would take off every whipstitch of her clothes but her shirt and then she would wade out and dip herself all the way under seven times. Then she would take off the shirt and let it float away.
It makes me smile to picture what folks would think was someone to pass by and see two old women, one standing naked in the river. Even as we are, I’m just as glad don’t no one travel this way but very seldom.
