Martha Ruth, Preacher's Daughter: Her Journey Through Religion, Sex and Love. Marti Eicholz

They had an older daughter who lived away from home, and she had come home for a visit. Lucky me! Sarah and I shared a small, cramped room upstairs. It reminded me of a storeroom or a small attic. That did not matter. Sarah shared stories of her life, read to me, and played music, and one day she took me for a walk through the woods. We came upon a flowing creek. Quickly, we removed our shoes and stockings and were tickling our toes in the water, jumping from one stone to another. Finally, we sat down by a tree to savor the stunningly beautiful view. It was so quiet and tranquil. As we were returning to the house, all I could think about was revisiting this walk, the flowing stream, and the sense of peace. And it happened. Sarah’s mother prepared a picnic lunch so we could have another outing in the woods. Sarah took her guitar, and I carried the lunches. When we arrived at the stream, we tossed off our shoes and stockings, jiggled our toes in the water, and ate a bite, listening to the quiet and savoring the scene. Sarah began to strum, stroking her instrument lightly with her fingers. All of a sudden, her beautiful, light, delicate, clear voice gave me my first taste of “Cool, Clear Water.” That was where we were: in the midst of cool, clear water flowing between our toes.

      “The shadows sway and seem to say

      Tonight we pray for water…cool, clear water

      And way up there He’ll hear our prayer

      And show us where there’s water…cool, clear water”

      I don’t remember all the words, but I do remember “cool, clear water.”

      It was cool, it was clear, and it was water. As I watched, listened, and felt, I thought, “This beauty must last forever.” And it did in my mind.

      The church was blossoming. My dad was getting recognition in the district. The district superintendent, Melvin Snyder, was a frequent visitor, and we always remembered his love of buttermilk. General officials in the church were guest speakers.

      One in particular was Paul Elliott. Dr. Rev. Elliott took a liking to me. It was a defining moment in my childhood when he asked my parents if he could adopt me. Apparently, at the time, he and his wife were unable to have children, and they would be able to educate me. The point I remember was, “We will give her a good education.” What impacted me is that I really believed my parents gave his offer serious consideration. I always wondered why, and in my mind were a number of reasons; but I really didn’t want to know, so I never asked. As I reflect back, did he see a curiosity, a vivid imagination that was being squashed? Did he think my parents were poor and always going to be poor, so my education would not be affordable? Did he notice or sense a conflict between me and my mother? Was he attempting to save a really troubled child? What was the motivation? I will never know.

      I must have been a handful. But was I really? Or was it like I thought at the time—that I was just living life? Exploring, testing, discovering, questioning, and attempting to make sense of the world that surrounded me? I had not long before experienced a few minutes in time wondering, “What had happened to the world?” Now that I had a second chance to try and find out about this thing called “the world,” I wanted every taste, every smell, and every sight and sound. I wanted more and more.

      When family, friends or visiting dignitaries came, it was fun and a joy to take a day trip to Marengo, Indiana. Traveling less than 10 miles we visited the most incredible cave with mineral deposits and beautiful stalactites and stalagmites. Marengo Cave was discovered by two school children in 1883. A brother and sister were playing in the thick wooded grove with undergrowth of vines and ferns. They stumbled and fell into a sink hole and were attracted by an opening, leading to the discovery. Tours commenced soon after. It was an awesome sight and a thrilling experience sharing this underground wonder.

      The lady who owned and operated the nearby grocery store, June Walts, became close friends with my mother, and they remained so for the rest of their lives. June’s husband, Bob, taught school in Grantsburg a few miles up the road. Twighla, their daughter, became my close friend.

      We did not attend school together. She attended school in Grantsburg, where her dad taught. Twighla and I would play together on non-school days and during the summer. One day, after Twighla and I had finished a game of checkers and I was headed home, I stopped to glance at the candy bar case. I asked June if I could have a candy bar and pay her later. She gave me my Baby Ruth, and I was on my way. Remembering seeing my mother take a bill from my father’s wallet, I was thinking I could take a coin from my mother’s purse. I ran upstairs, pulled open the bottom dresser drawer, and took a dime from my mother’s coin purse. I closed the drawer and ran downstairs, not realizing how much commotion I had made and how much attention I had drawn to myself. I was out the front door and down the lawn when I suddenly heard a loud call: “Martha Ruth, where are you going?” My little hand was gripping the dime tightly. I answered, “Nowhere.” The reply: “Oh, yes, you are! And what do you have in your hand?” Dropping the coin (thinking it wouldn’t be noticed), I lifted my hands and said, “Nothing.” “What dropped on the ground?” I was caught. And it was not a happy catching. I was marched into the house. My father got his leather belt, and I was ordered into the back bedroom. My father and I had quite a contest. He was trying to whip me, but I was dancing and jumping from side to side trying to avoid his lashes. He finally wore me out, and I had to lie down and take it. It was soon over. Afterwards, the discussion began, “This hurt us more than it hurt you.” I KNEW BETTER! This was silliness. I hadn’t heard anything so stupid in my life, and I wondered for days, “Isn’t there a better way?” “There has to be a better way.” No one talked about it. Why didn’t someone say, “Let’s work this out together”? It made no sense. Candy bars never tasted good again.

      I do believe my mother began to think that I was really trouble and that I was going to wreck the whole family. It was easy for her to get nervous and upset. I have no idea what on earth ticked her off, but out of the blue, she decided I should be sent to jail. The jailhouse was on the opposite hill. So, in a fit of rage, she tells me she is calling the jailhouse to have someone come and pick me up. I can still hear myself agonizing, fighting with her, and trying to grab the phone away from her clenched fists. I decided I had better have a quick talk with Jesus, so I yelled, “Jesus, help!” That’s all I remember. A little later, as I was taking an afternoon nap, the song “Jesus Loves Me This I Know” came floating through my mind. I could feel no other love but the love of Jesus. I was glad that I had invited Jesus into my heart, because I needed him. It never occurred to me to doubt whether my heart was spacious enough to accommodate a person like Jesus. It seemed to me a pretty grand thing to have Jesus living in my heart.

      I had enjoyed so many good and beautiful things in my life, I figured I must observe and witness some ugly ones. Doing so awakened me and exposed me to things I didn’t quite understand. Pondering over these matters, I found them difficult to comprehend.

      After first grade, there were two grades in each classroom. In fourth grade, musical instruments were introduced. I had already started piano lessons before entering school, and I was doing well. I tried to mimic the church pianist, who could play all the runs and fly his fingers up and down the keyboard. I thought, “Someday, that will be me.” My mother played the accordion, so I thought that I would probably continue in her footsteps; but the instrumental music teacher and other advisers thought that the accordion was too big for me. I appreciated their insight. I was introduced to the cornet, a brass instrument very similar to the trumpet but distinguished by its conical bore, compact shape, and mellower tone quality. The cornet became my musical instrument to study for the band. I believe everyone noted a lot of “hot wind” blowing around that could be put to good use.

      My mother’s sister Barbara married her sweetheart, Max Hamilton.