Momma Keets
Marion, Virginia
Virginia is hot. The sounds of children playing vibrate through the air. Screams and giggles come from children playing some sort of tag game. Behind the incredibly large yard sits a massive octagon-shaped house, called unsurprisingly, the Octagon House. The seventeen-room house built by slaves thrums with life as I walk up to meet the woman who runs it.
Momma Keets – as she instructed me to call her – is waiting for me in a rocking chair in the wrap-around front porch. She is a short woman, not quite reaching five feet. In her seventies, she radiates energy that equals any of the children playing. She greets me with a hug after slapping away my extended hand.
Hello Mr. Journalist man, come on and sit down now. It’s hot out here. Drink that sweet tea, young man; it’ll break that heat. You from up North? It doesn’t matter none no way. Drink that tea while it’s cool. Now, what does some Yankee reporter want with me?
I explain I am not from up North, but she waves the answer away.
My story? Well, it’s simple, really. I found some kids and took’em in. It’s what any Christian woman would do.
She throws her head back and laughs, then slaps me on the arm.
I’m just messing with you, son. Now, let’s see. I was working in an old folk’s home when them devils came a knocking. I was a nurse, about to retire. I’d been working there going on thirty-five years, and I was planning on going to see my kids. They were done grown by that time and off doing their own thing. The Good Lord kept them safe that day, but they’re rascals, the lot of em and they don’t come and see their momma enough.
Anyway, I was at the old folks home when that noise came along. Child, what a noise! I near about became sick, but I managed, though I couldn’t hear a thing for a spell. We don’t live near no city as you can see, but that noise carried down the state, near as I know. But nearly all the people that lived at that home died. Poor dears. They didn’t have much, but they went to the Good Lord, and that’s all any of us will do one day.
My youngest boy, Jeremiah, was twenty or so around that time, working on his degree; he came by all a flutter and got me. He tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear a thing. Well, I got home and found my old man passed out cold on the floor. No account old man. (Gives a large wave.) He was fine. Woke up all confused. We slept like the dead that night, not knowing what was going on. We didn’t watch T.V. much then anyway—nothing but trash on. We slept and slept, and when I woke up, I could hear a bit.
Well, we found out what happened, and not one bit of it was good. We stayed home, tried to find out what happened to our kids, and wondered if we would meet some of them invading devils. Never did see one. A few weeks go by, and we stayed home, keeping our noses clean when one day, I told my husband I needed some things from the store. He tried to tell me no, but I set him straight on that.
My youngest took me to the store and the streets were a madhouse. More cars and trucks than I had ever seen. People I didn’t know hurrying this way and that, carrying their goods on them. Most people were just looking for a safe place, but I saw some evil that day too. These tough times brought out the devil in some folks, and that’s the truth. But most people just wanted to get away, escape from fighting, and I don’t blame em one bit.
Well, we made it to the store, but there wasn’t much left to call it such. Thankfully, I knew some of the people there, people from the town and church, and they gave me some flour and such. There wasn’t any meat.
Well, we got what we could, but on the way home, we drove by the home of a lady from the church. I knew her and her husband were looking after their grandchild after their no-account son took off. Well, I told Jeremiah to pull on in, and I went in to check on them.
I found them passed on, sorry to say, but sitting there in their living room, his tiny face frozen in horror, was their grandson. His name was Ben, a boy of six, and a fine young boy. I picked up that child, hugged him, and told him he was coming home with me. We drove home, I told my husband we had a new child, and that was that.
He was the first child I came upon and the first I took in. The very next day, Mrs. Washington comes by, her whole family in their minivan. She comes up to the house and tells me she’s leaving to stay with family further up in the mountains. She said she found a child walking the streets last night and asked if I could take her in. Her name was Grace, a child of five if you can imagine that. Well, I took that girl right in, and she hasn’t left me since. I told my husband we had a new child, and that was that.
I don’t know if word got out or the Lord directed them here, but I started collecting kids left and right. Most of them came in the first year when the fighting was heavy, and things were so confusing. People going this way and that way, the telephone always going down. Couldn’t get ahold of anybody, and people couldn’t travel without ending up in the fighting or robbed.
The youngest I took in was almost a year old, and he was one lucky little boy. That noise bomb killed a lot of young children. Their small bodies just couldn’t take it. (She shakes her head back and forth.) The poor babies. The poor babies.
How did you manage with just you and your husband?
Lord, no, it wasn’t just me and my husband, no sir. Children weren’t the only people we took in. We took in mothers also, with their kids in tow. They needed a place also, and someone to look after them. Everyone needs someone to love them, young man, and it’s never wrong to love someone. So, we had help. Those adults we took in helped us with all the little ones.
Then one day, I said to myself, this is nonsense. All those people in that house. Well, I started looking for a place to go to. I remembered this strange ole house because I’d been here a time or two; it was a museum see. Well, I had my boy look up the owner, local folk, and I had someone drive me right to their house. I told them I wanted to use their house since there won’t no tours anymore. They asked me why, and I told them directly. They gave me the keys right then and there. Don’t tell me the Lord doesn’t provide.
So, we packed up and moved everyone out here. This old place has some seventeen bedrooms, and they’re all full to the brim, but it’s kept us dry and safe. It’s got a big kitchen, and that old front yard gives them plenty of space. Now this here house was built by slaves, but the Lord took what was used as evil and turned it for his purposes, and you can believe that young man.
Oh, I’m not going to say we haven’t had some hard times, but those were promised, weren’t they? Food has been scarce many a time, but we’ve always pulled through. When you needed something, the Lord provided. A lot of good people have helped us out, dropping by what they could. Times were tough all over, young man, as I’m sure you know.
And my fool of a husband, that’s who you hear talking so loud in the house, can make corn grow in the desert. We’ve always had a lovely garden to help us along.
There’s a young man down the road, about twenty-five now, I believe. Well, he lives alone now, lost his parents in the attack, poor boy. He likes to hunt and always drops some meat by. I told that boy to come stay near us, but he won’t. He likes to come sit and watch the children play though. He’s dealing with things like we all must, but I hug him when I see him. There’s not too many hurts a good ole hug won’t soothe.
Were you concerned about the Veech?
Not worried at all, young man; the Good Lord will keep us and protect us. Now, I’m not some ole crazy woman saying that. Even at the best of times, nobody came to this place, cause it ain’t that easy to find. Besides that, young Jackson Thompson told me it shouldn’t be a problem.