by Deanna Edens
“This was worth the walk. Don’t ya think so, Ida?”
“I reckon,” Ida feebly agreed.
By the time they reached the time-honored Glen Ferris Inn, both women were famished. When they shoved the heavy door open, they were greeted by the mingled scents of beeswax candles, sizzling steaks, and lemony furniture polish. A fan turning overhead rustled the fringed curtains and red linen tablecloths.
The painted glass globes hanging above the long L-shaped bar illuminated painted scenes of fruits and vine-covered valleys. One wall held a huge wooden cabinet filled with matched sets of old china dishes delicately emblazoned with a deep scarlet pattern. Oil paintings encased by thick mahogany frames featured pictorial renditions of Kanawha Falls, New River Gorge, Black Water Falls, and Seneca Rocks – all celebrated landmarks of the great state of West Virginia.
Erma was a bit taken aback by the fancy attire the women were sporting in the restaurant. She briefly considered her mud-caked shoes and wrinkled cotton blouse, as the waiter escorted them to a table in a dimly lit corner and ignited a candle that was centered amidst four snow-white napkins, which were artfully folded to produce perfectly shaped swan silhouettes.
“He probably seated us here so we don’t scare off the other customers,” Ida whispered.
“Do ya blame him?” Erma spotted a grass stain on the knee of her trousers.
“I doubt anyone else in here is sweaty and muddy because their best friend insisted they hike up a mile-high mountain,” Ida begrudgingly spat out.
“It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of us,” Erma set her chin remembering the words of wisdom that Mrs. Jones had once imparted to her. “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.”
Ida whistled softly when she opened a menu that was propped open on the tabletop and perused the choices, “Look at these prices, Erma. We may have to share a bowl of soup.”
Erma nodded in agreement as she studiously examined the choices. “I wonder if they have a cheap special today?”
The moment Erma uttered the words, the waiter approached their table. “Compliments of the gentleman at the bar,” he provided a slight nod of his head in the direction of a young man seated on the tavern’s stool. “Red wine for the beautiful ladies.” Their gaze followed the waiter’s wave only to see a dapper gentleman, sporting a tweed jacket with box pleats and a fabric belt. He offered a casual toast along with an affirming gesture of his head.
He stood and strolled over to their table. “Good evening ladies. My name is John Ruffner, and unless I am mistaken, I believe I noticed you both at the Kanawha County Library in June,” his eyes sparkled. “The night Lenna Lowe Yost was speaking on behalf of the suffrage movement,” he added for further clarification.
Ida and Erma wordlessly bobbed their heads.
“May I join you?” John requested.
“Yes, please do.” Ida extended.
He pulled up a chair and tucked it in between the two friends. “Please allow me to buy you both dinner – the steaks are delicious.” He lowered himself into the chair before continuing, “I admire your convictions and dedication to the women’s suffrage movement and would very much enjoy hearing your views.”
Ida tilted her head appreciatively, “I am Ida, and this is my best friend, Erma.”
“It is very nice to make your acquaintance.”
The waiter returned to the table and scribbled down their orders before placing a bottle of wine on the table.
“Did you know this inn is famous?” John asked, as he refilled their glasses, “Andrew Jackson and John Tyler have both enjoyed the luxurious rooms and meals this place has to offer. It was built in 1810 but it wasn’t until 1839 that it became an inn.”
“I didn’t know that presidents frequented the Glen Ferris Inn,” Ida cooed, her eyelashes fluttering.
“She’s battin’ her eyes at him like a toad in a hailstorm,” Erma observed.
“Yes, they do. It is a very beautiful place, and with the Kanawha Falls flowing gloriously and the mountains towering, it is a very popular stopping point on the Midland Trail. I have also heard that Hawk’s Nest has breathtaking views – it’s only a few miles from here.”
Ida’s spine straightened, “As a matter-of-fact, Erma and I went on an excursion all the way to the highest accessible point of Hawk’s Nest this afternoon,” she provided a quick wave of her hand, “which is why we are dressed a bit casually.” She ran her hand through her already perfectly styled hair. “You must have considered us dreadfully untidy.”
“Dreadfully untidy?” Erma distorted her face disbelievingly.
“You went all the way to the top of Hawk’s Nest? Amazing,” John’s eyes flickered, “I have always wanted to see the view.”
“Yes,” Ida sighed, “Erma didn’t want to exert herself. She wanted to stay back in the vehicle and wait, but I persuaded her to join me.”
“What?” Erma bit her tongue, “You persuaded me?”
“It was worth the trip,” Ida shot her friend a stern keep-your-mouth-shut look, “it was simply superb. I explained to Erma that this was a once in a lifetime experience and we absolutely could not let this opportunity pass us by.”
“Simply superb,” Erma ruminated, as she filled her glass to the top and watched Ida attempt to demurely seduce Mr. John Ruffner. It seemed that her coy effort was, indeed, effectively working.
“Yes,” John continued the conversation as the waiter placed crispy salads in front of them. “I remember seeing you at the suffrage meeting and was appalled that the protesters had attacked you.” Erma flushed as she recalled her egg-splattered wad of hair and her hand shot up automatically as if she needed to conceal it again. “It was a monstrosity,” he added.
“Oh, Lordy.” Erma moaned underneath her breath, as the humiliating event forced its way back into her mind. She began to nervously wind a spray of loose hair around her fingertip.
“We would never allow ignorant, judgmental folks to halt our attempt at making this world a better place.” Ida giggled, “Let them toss eggs at us.”
“What a generous spirit!” The young man commented, as he raised his glass for a toast.
Ida’s lashes fluttered again, “Yes, I am devoted to helping others. I realize that when I help one person at a time,” her hand rose to cover her heart, “it becomes thousands over the course of a lifetime.”
“Really?” Erma recalled trying to explain this idea to Ida only a few weeks earlier. She suppressed a wry cough and quietly watched as Mr. John Ruffner unknowingly fell, head over heels, in love with her best friend, Ida.
“That girl could charm the skin off a snake,” Erma mused as she tossed the wine, in a single gulp, down her throat.
Sissonville, West Virginia
May 15, 1981
{{13}}
A brisk breeze whistled through the trees, bending the tall grasses, as it ushered in skies of blinding azure clarity.
“It surely is a beautiful evening,” Will whistled softly, as he reached gingerly into a front pocket of his slacks.
“Sure is,” I stood motionless contemplating the beauty of mountaintops. The variety of green leaves in spring was always breathtaking, and when I took in the range of colors bursting from the trees, it put me in mind of a box of Crayola crayons. Not the tiny box with sixteen crayons but the large deluxe container crammed full of shades with names such as forest green, sea green, pine, olive and celestial blue.
Will handed a bulky card to me and I carefully slid my finger under the flap to open it. “What is this, Will?”
“Your congratulations card,” he explained.
“Congratulations?”
“Yeah, congratulations on your graduation. I’m proud of ya, and I know Erma and Ida would be proud of ya too.”
“Thank you, Will.” When I slid the card from the envelope a Twix bar fell out, I quickly snatched it up before it hit the porch floor. “You are very thoughtful.”
Will’s eyes seemed to grow cloud
y in rumination. When he spoke, he appeared reluctant. “I have a present for ya. Bet ya can’t guess what it is.”
“Is it bigger than a bread box?”
“Nope. I hope you don’t mind,” he handed a small box to me, “but this gift belonged to someone else at one time. It’s alright to give someone a gift that belonged to someone else before ain’t it?”
“As long as you didn’t steal it.” I looked up at him, “You didn’t steal it did you, Will?”
“No,” he chortled, “I bought it for my wife, years ago, except she didn’t wear it much.”
It was a thin gold chain adorned with a tiny aquamarine stone, its hue the exact shade of the clear blue stream that ran through the valley out by the barn. “Oh, Will. This is lovely. I really appreciate it.” I held it up high to view the stone in the sunlight. “Would you fasten it on for me?”
“I’ll try,” he said, “but my arthritis is flaring up today.”
He fumbled with it for a spell before successfully securing the hook.
“What do you think?” I twirled to face him.
Will beamed, “You’re cuter than a heifer calf in a pansy patch.”
I pursed my lips, “I’m going to assume that’s a compliment.”
“‘Tis,” he nodded slightly before adjusting his hearing aid. “Let me tell ya a joke, Annie.” He leaned heavily on his cane as he shuffled back to the old plaid couch and collapsed onto the sinking cushion. I sat down beside him and Hank sauntered over and dropped his oversized head on my foot. Tessy followed behind and twisted and coiled her furry little head comfortably underneath Hank’s paw.
Will stretched down and rubbed Hank’s head before he began, “A lady drove her little boy from Ripley into Charleston one day, found the doctor’s office and rushed in to declare, ‘Doctor, my son Elmer has swallowed a .22 shell. What are we gonna do?’ The doctor calmed her down, assured her Elmer would be all right, and told her, ‘Just take him back home and feed him a bottle of castor oil,’” Will smacked his leg pretentiously before delivering the punch line, “‘and don’t aim him at nobody!’”
I swear it sounded as if Hank had broken out in a fit of hilarity, causing me to laugh so hard I started making loud wheezing sounds.
“Are ya alright?” Will asked with concern.
Unable to speak, I held one finger up in the air indicating he should give me a moment. Eventually, I was able to calm myself down. “Will, you have got to stop telling me these corny jokes,” I took in a deep breath, “I’m laughing so hard it feels like I cracked a rib.”
Will winked at me and lowered his voice in a manner that emulated conspiracy, “Erma always laughed at my jokes. I think she was smitten with me.” His cheeks deepened to slashes as his mouth turned up at the corners.
My eyebrow rose, “Smitten with you?” I knew firsthand that Will had tried to date Erma for over sixty-five years. Not consistently, mind you, but off and on since the very first day he had laid eyes on her.
“Oh, she might not have known it, but she was.” A sad expression slowly spanned his face as he remembered the evening, back in 1915, when he had met Erma at Luna Park.
“We don’t partake of alcoholic beverages.”
Will twisted the lid, took a long slug and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, “We don’t partake of alcoholic beverages,” he taunted Erma’s words. Shrugging his shoulders, he smirked, “I reckon’ it’s your loss.”
Ida turned and glared at him, “Whoa, fellow. We are very intelligent girls and we can read. We saw the ‘No Alcohol Permitted on Premises’ sign when we entered the park, and we sure enough don’t want to get kicked out of here because of your stupidity.”
“Stupidity?” Will’s smile was like oil sliding over glass. “Did you just call me stupid?” He took another long gulp. Erma could see his face growing red with anger.
Ida kept eggin’ him on, “You’re so drunk, you couldn’t hit a bull in the butt with a bass fiddle.”
“Ya’ll think you’re really something don’t ya?” He squinted at Ida and then at Erma. “Acting like you are all high and mighty. You ain’t nothin’ but country girls trying to put on airs. A bit persnickety, if you ask me.” He looked Ida up and down, “You are ig-nor-ant! You probably don’t even know what ig-nor-ant means do you, farm girl?”
Ida calmly disregarded his foolhardiness, “I believe we are currently witnessing the precise definition of ignorant. Would you concur, Erma?”
Erma numbly nodded. Her face turned as pale as milk. She couldn’t believe the words Will just sputtered out his mouth. She felt embarrassed for Ida, for herself, but mostly for him. “What in the tarnation is he doing?” A burning sensation came up the back of her throat, and she was afraid her eyes might fill with tears. She stiffened. “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission,” she heard Mrs. Jones’ voice echoing softly. Erma felt an ache deep in her gut. She didn’t like it, not one little bit, when someone tried to hurt her friend. She jumped to her feet and pointed toward the entrance, “You best get out of here before we call the authorities.”
Will slowly rose, stumbled slightly, then stood nose-to-nose with her, “Like that’s gonna do ya any good. I work here, remember?”
Erma was very confused by the sudden transformation in his behavior. Only moments before he was telling jokes, and now… was he short-tempered? Drunk? Or simply a harebrained fool? The stench of booze on his breath, mingled with the strong scent of Clubman aftershave, made her stomach churn. She could feel ‘the nerves’ creep up into her throat. “Am I gonna need to wallop this fellow? Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She broadened her stance to secure footing. “I’m gonna have to punch this loudmouth right in the nose.” Erma clenched her fist tightly, feeling her fingernails dig into the palm of her hand.
Will smirked at her, before reaching down to grab the slab of bologna he had brought to the picnic. As he rose up he spied Erma’s white knuckles. He abruptly turned to leave, ducking his head when he saw the punch coming. He somehow managed to kick a box of Cracker Jacks down the bank of the river, and avoided getting smacked in the face, before he took off running. He could hear Erma yelling after him, “You big, stupid…bologna head! The next time I see your ugly face I’m going to whack you!”
Will recalled the event as if it had only happened yesterday. “I did a foolish thing one time and I don’t think she ever forgave me. You know how women are – ya rub ‘em the wrong way and you’ll have a tough row to hoe.”
“Oh, she forgave you.” I informed him, knowledgeably.
Will seemed to reflect on my declaration for a spell before soliciting further information. His eyes widened inquisitively, “How do ya know?
I immediately flashed back to the conversation Erma and I had months before, as we sat philosophizing and drinking hot toddies at her kitchen table.
“It was only after my late husband Ray died that I saw Will again. He just showed up one day as the storeowner at the end of the road. I don’t know why or how,” Erma glanced at me, “and I never asked him.”
“Do you mean he’s a stalker?” My jaw involuntary dropped open. “We should call the police. Haven’t you seen Columbo on television? There are tons of stalkers out there these days. Peter Falk hasn’t caught all of them, you know.”
“No. He’s not a stalker,” she provided a nonchalant wave of her hand, “do you think someone would flourish you with gifts if they were planning to hurt you?” She shot me a doubtful look.
“Erma, just because a man gives you a pineapple, doesn’t mean he’s not a stalker.” I was alarmed at her lackadaisical manner, “I would advise you to be careful.” I studied her with deep concern, “That’s all I’m saying about the topic.” I paused for a second, “Other than, if he starts showing up here uninvited, or peeking through your windows at night, you had better telephone the sheriff.”
“Annie, he shows up uninvited all the time, just like everyone else who lives around here, because I take care of his anima
ls when they are poorly. Will is fine, honey. Don’t worry about him.”
“Maybe he’s mad at you for not forgiving him. Have you thought about that? He could be some kind of revenge stalker,” I provided a deliberate nod of my head. “A revenge stalker can carry a grudge for a long, long time.”
Erma offered up a half smile before thoughtfully informing me, “You have definitely been watching too many television shows – it rots your brain. Plus, I forgave him a long time ago. It was another wonderful lesson I learned from Mrs. Jones. I harbored no ill feelings in my heart, and I immediately excused him. I just knew I wasn’t settling for a mean-tempered ole fool.” Erma winked, “The Lord will give you promptings. All you have to do is pay attention.”
I realized I best not reveal the particulars of this memory, seeing how I categorized Will as a stalker, so I simply shared, “She told me she forgave you a long time ago.”
I noticed a tear form in the corner of his eye and he abruptly swiped it away. “Thanks for sharing what Erma told ya.” He cleared his throat before changing the topic. “I plum forgot to tell ya – I ran into Sheriff Holmes and he said to let ya know that Buster is gettin’ the help he needs. It turns out that he has autism, and after his mama passed away, there wasn’t anyone to help him. The sheriff has referred him to the right place to get some help.”
“This is wonderful news!” I was grateful that the sheriff had investigated the possibility, just as he had told me he would.
“Will, why do you suppose Hank doesn’t like Buster?”
Will looked at me to gauge whether or not I was serious. He evidently decided I was sincere so he answered, “I figure Hank could tell ya were scared, and dogs don’t much care for folks that kick at ‘em. Heck, I wouldn’t either. Would you?”
“No,” I agreed. “I just wonder if Buster is afraid of dogs and that’s why he kicks at them.”
“Maybe,” Will measured.
A contented quietness overcame us as we took in the nature surrounding us.
