From: velvanaderman@gmail.com   
      
   FICTION The Old Cellar_______________________ Alethea Adams (1775)-A large   
   pine tree sheltered the fine Tennessee walker horses as they lazily swatted   
   flies while their master sat on the front porch of the newly built store. The   
   men sat stately so as not    
   to wrinkle their silk riding attire. They laughed, traded men jokes, and gazed   
   at the store-keeper's beautiful wife as she carried each sealed jar to her   
   cellar. Oh, how it delighted her to see her pretty jars all shiny and sitting   
   with labels upon the    
   newly built shelves! As she walked by the store, she'd hold her head down and   
   wink at her husbandman, thanking him for this fine cellar he had built just   
   for her. They had been married for two years, had one daughter, and life could   
   not be better for    
   them. A nanny watched the baby as the fire-boy kept the cans the right   
   temperature and the late butterflies were grasping life's sweetness from the   
   late summer flowers. Yes, life was so sweet and so young! She loved this fine   
   prosperous year of 1773.    
   Most ofthe wild Cherokees had been removed from this area and promised better   
   things somewhere down in Tennessee. The young woman stopped for a minute to   
   give her baby girl a mama's sweet kiss and tickle her button nose with a   
   flower! Then on back to her    
   canning. "Yes, I shall have at least five hundred jars canned for 'winter   
   selling' in my husband's new store!" Later that night as she knitted new   
   booties for their baby, they talked ofhaving a son to carry on the business   
   ofthe store and ofhow he must    
   have a good marriage. A wife that would can and keep the store well stocked   
   for selling. As time passed a son was born and raised; eventually they became   
   grandparents and they watched their son carry on the business. Now maw and paw   
   tended to their    
   grandchildren so often but mosdy the Alethea Adams, born in Pikeville,   
   Kentucky, was stricken with polio when she was two weeks old, and did not walk   
   until she was seven. All through school and college, teachers encouraged her   
   to write and paint. The    
   author ofthree books, Message in the Wind, Somebody's Child, and Zady in the   
   Moon, Adams lives in Salt Lick, Kentucky. 21 nannies did the children's   
   chores. The two of them were needed most days down at the local church. "Yes,   
   my life is good and all is    
   well. My daughter-in-law is doing fine with stocking my cellar!" (1875)-As the   
   flowers flourished, the garden produced and the hens laid many eggs, Nadine   
   was so happy! The large farm thatwas a gift from her in-laws was a great one!   
   Some Cherokee war and    
   removal was over and she was singing, canning, and her work-hands were setting   
   the jars gendy upon the cellar shelves under her watchful eye! The store had   
   now become so busy with sales and many gents' talks that a post office was   
   added on. Her    
   husbandman tended to everything. All she wanted to do was see her children   
   marry well, tend her gift garden, and plant her flowers. Everyone knew they   
   had to be of great wealth or they couldn't have put up that five   
   hundred-dollar bond so her husband    
   could become a selfappointed postmaster. Only one thing bothered her. Their   
   one and only son had been seen with the family buggy, riding upon the ridge   
   with some Cherokee woman. She prayed that this sin would surely pass by. Their   
   other children had    
   married and moved to Northern states and were doing well. Their only business   
   heir was becoming an embarrassment! That night, their son walked in with   
   whisky on his breath. That was nothing new, because his father was bootlegging   
   from the store. But when    
   the son bellowed out that he was drinking his Cherokee moonshine , this set   
   his parents aflare! "Why, Son!" the father blared at him. "You are a disgrace   
   to us! Why ... we can't hold our heads up in our church cause of that squaw."   
   The son grinned,    
   leaned up against the fancy oak door facing and...   
      
      
      
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