The grandchildren, the Seattle trip
Sunrise in Indiana, and a last goodbye to her sister in Toledo
After a doze, the passengers wake in Indiana to a line of black Amish-style buggies; the young Mennonite man says he hopes to get away and own a car and house. Agnes then reaches Toledo and visits her ailing sister, shopping with her nieces. At parting her sister embraces her twice, saying 'be a good girl so you can get to heaven,' and dies about two months later.
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What Agnes says
Words in light grey italics were hard to hear, so they may not be exact.
most of us must have dosed off then for a hour or two because the sun was kind of peaking out a little bit when we got into Indiana, I think. And, you know, from through Indiana, we're supposed to go to Ohio or Toledo on there, you know.
And we happened to look out, and here we see a buggy with the top on, you know, and a horse and another one after a while we've seen two, three of them. Always one horse one nice buggy, black buggy and nice horse trimmed and go and see.
And this man and I come out there and he says, I'm kind of glad that I told you what I told you. And he says I know you ain't going to snitch on me or nothing, but he says definitely I might run across you in some town or some place.
He says, I can work pretty good in them making these men of freezers and stuff, so I am not so that I couldn't do it. And then I'll have my own house and my own car. He wanted a car very badly and everything.
And I can buy my own clothes. I don't have to wear what they give me and all that. So he said, wish me luck. It's quite bright. and everybody shook his hands around there were that talk to him and listened to him and then his wife come all what you call it and she says I would like to have a breath of fresh here so the bus driver opened the window about three inches she stood with us for a little while nice looking woman and he says well let's go back to this in a little while he says I see them coming around with the
buggies so in the next town they already had to get off. And all those buggies and horses was centering and going in that same direction that our bus was going, so we kind of figured that's where they're going to be visiting, you know.
So I just wonder if he had the luck that he was wishing for and was freed by himself from that. But he was quite confident that he's going to pull it off, so whatever, you know. So then I finally got to Toledo and visit my sister.
And we had a fine time. The girls took me to different stores, Kroger store, and here and there, you know. So I could see something that I don't see out on an northern Wisconsin farm, you know. And I stay there a few days and then I'm back.
So that, well, I stay there for about a week, week and a half. And my sister was sickly. And she says, and she had a big tour. And she says, I don't think I'll see you again. and Edna, not alive, but we had some nice times together.
It was nice of you that you got. When she wasn't sick, she used to come with the children, two of them at a time or two or three of them at a time. And she'd stay four, five days, or a week and a half, two weeks.
You know, two weeks was about the long as she stayed. And so now she couldn't travel, so she was glad that I'd come and that. And when she was given me goodbye in Toledo, when I started going for home, And she went and embraced me, and she says, goodbye, Agnes, just be a good girl so you can get to heaven.
And I'll meet you there. I says, you'll be all right. I'll see you again. And so she was crossing the street after she left me stand by the Dastepo outside, you know. And she stopped in the middle of the street, whirl around, and she walked kind of hard.
But she walks back to me, embrace me again, kissed me. and then the two of my nieces took her, put her in a car anyway, went there's for the last I seen her alive. About two months later she died and I happened to get there to the funeral.
My son took me there and we just made it. But she was a wonderful sister, the oldest one. I was the youngest one. But she was very nice to me. The children still, it's already 15, 16 years ago since I was to her funeral.
and my niece's nephew's right to me and everything. They says, I'm the only one left, you know, now. I kind of little sad, but it can be helped. We all got to go one time or another. So that's it.