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had to wash the bed linens every day. I did my laundry outside—no electric washing ma­
chines or dryers then. A few of the wealthier families in town may have had hand-wringer

washing machines.
Tribble was so weak that he couldn’t turn over. We had to keep turning him over to
keep the pneumonia from settling more. Finally one morning both doctors came and listened
to his heart and lungs. They said he was no better and that they couldn’t to anything else.
The doctors said they would just have to leave him in the hands of the Lord.

Mrs. Deliah Markham, a former country neighbor who had moved to Lake City, lived
about three blocks down the street from us. Mrs. Deliah came to visit, cornered me off
where Ma and Pa couldn’t hear what she was saying, and told me if we would let her put hot

onion poultices on Tribble’s chest, she could break the pneumonia.
I passed on this information to Ma and Pa who said they’d talk to Dr. Bishop about
her suggestion. Dr. Bishop told us that it couldn’t hurt anything even if it didn’t do any
good. Sometimes those old remedies were better than anything the doctors could do. Mrs.

Deliah sent Pa to the store for several pounds of onions. She mixed com med and water in
an iron frying pan and continually stirred this mush. As soon as I could get a batch of onions
peeled and chopped up, she would add them to the meal gruel and cook it until the onions

were cooked fairly done.
We then took an old sheet and cut it into pieces about twelve inches square to fit on
Tribble’s chest. Mrs. Deliah put about four or five of these squares of sheet on top of each
other on a small white enamel table that I had' in the kitchen. She then took a large kitchen

spoon and dipped a layer of the hot mush over the squares of sheet. Next she put six squares
of clean sheet on top of the mush, folded the edges over, rolled the entire thing up, and
placed it on Tribble’s chest. She put a clean towel over the poultice to keep it as hot as

Tribble could stand it—without burning him.
We had two sets of these poultices which we alternated. While the poultice on him
cooled, we fixed another hot one. That way we kept a poultice on him at all times. We fixed
the poultice applications all! night. The entire house reeked with the odor of onions.

The next morning, Tribble began to talk and complain. He hadn’t said a word for
weeks, so we knew he was better. He smiled at me when I’d talk to him. His chest was as

red as a beet. We stopped the poultices. He wanted to throw the covers off, but Mrs. Deliah
said he would have to keep the covers on or he would take a fresh cold and have a relapse.
When the doctor came that morning and listened to Tribble’s lungs, he looked up at us
over the top of his half glasses and smiled so big that the comers of his mouth reached each

other on the back of his neck. He said Tribble’s lungs were perfectly clear.
“Don’t tell me those old remedies don’t work!” he said.

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