A life story told to her Niece during her visit, and she wrote the following. I have permission to post. Thank you, Michelle,

Peggy and the Hard-Boiled Egg

Creative non-fiction by Michelle Turner, as told by Bertha Creel to Peggy Parks (circa 1937, Oklahoma)

Bertha drew lukewarm bath water in the kitchen sink for her baby, Verona. Her older child, Peggy, had seemed content playing in the living room with her toys. At two, the child was sturdy on her feet and curious. But she could also entertain herself quite well while Bertha worked around the house. As Verona sat in the bath splashing, it occurred to Bertha that Peggy had become very quiet. She turned to see blocks and a doll, but no child. “Peggy,” she called out while moving a wet cloth over the baby’s shoulders and neck, thinking her daughter must have wandered to another room. She listened for the patter of footsteps that she’d normally hear throughout the day, but the only sounds about came from the bathwater. It was odd not to hear a babble or other noise from Peggy. She lifted Verona from the water and wrapped her in a towel. Holding her, she walked the entire house checking each room, behind and underneath the beds and chairs. Back in the living room, the front door remained open with its screen closed. Neither were ever locked due to the family feeling safe living out in the country. Bertha quickly set Verona on the floor, still bundled up, so her infant wouldn’t roll off of anything. When she pushed the screen, she realized it was shut but not latched. Thankfully, the road was far from the house. She circled the yard, looking around the flat terrain. But there was no sign of her daughter. The calling of Peggy’s name seemed to disappear into the soft breeze. Then a horrible thought crossed her mind.​ Bertha scurried over to a small opening that led to the crawl space under the house. Her husband Speegle had spoken of snakes and spiders hiding in there. When she got down to her hands and knees beside it, Peggy’s giggles startled her. She squeezed the dirt unable to see the child in the dark recesses.

“Peggy, you come out of there. You hear me?”

The laughter stopped.

“Crawl back to the light, honey. You need to come here to Mama.”

Silence. Her Peggy had a stubborn streak. And there was no way Bertha could fit through the passageway. She’d have to somehow get Peggy to come to her. A memory graced her mind. Her daughter loved hard-boiled eggs. Inside the house, there were several fresh eggs. She gathered one from the kitchen, almost dropping it in her hurry. An uncooked one will have to do, she thought.

She set the egg just outside the cursed gap and waited, quietly. After what seemed forever, a little hand came out and grabbed the egg. Bertha was able to latch onto Peggy’s arm just as quick. She dragged her dear little girl out, who whined in protest while being dusted off and checked for bites.

After Verona went down for a nap, Peggy got a bath and a lovingly boiled and shelled egg with a pinch of salt. The door remained closed for the rest of the day until Speegle came home from work. Standing on the porch, he laughed at Bertha’s story before taking his hammer and nails to board off the perilous snake den from adventurous children.