by Deanna Edens
“Okay,” I sipped at the steaming cup, “what do you want to know?”
“Where did he take ya?”
“I met him at Fazio’s Restaurant.”
“Over there on Bullitt Street?” Will whistled softly, “That’s a fancy place, the soft music and candlelight is surely romantic. He must have been trying to charm ya.”
I smiled as I thought back over the previous evening. “I had a fine time,” I confessed.
“What did ya think about Bob?”
“When I’m with him, I get more butterflies than a field full of petunias.”
“Oh Lordy girl,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “you’re in love.”
“I did not say I was in love.”
“Ya don’t have to say it for it to be true.”
“Whatever,” I dismissed his assumption. “Now, what did you want to run past me?”
“Do ya know Pearl Chandler?”
“The choir leader over at the United Methodist Church?”
“Yep,” Will grinned, “I’ve got a hankerin’ to call on her.”
“Really?” I was interested now.
“How about us goin’ on a double-date? You could ask Bob and I’ll call up Pearl. I was thinkin’ we could go eat at the Blossom.”
“Seriously?” I considered as I glanced down, only to witness Hank shake a wad of slobber onto the kitchen floor. I shifted my weight uncomfortably in the chair as I painstakingly thought-out his proposal. “I don’t know…”
“Annie,” Will seriously informed me, “you’re gonna have to introduce him to your family,” he motioned from himself, to Hank, then to Tessy, “so ya might as well get it out of the way.”
“True,” I begrudgingly accepted, “what would we do after dinner?”
“We could come back up here to the farm and play a game of Scrabble.”
“Scrabble?” I echoed. “That wouldn’t be fair, you are older than me, so you know more words.”
Will disputed, “You just earned a doctoral degree in psychology – I figure ya should know a couple of words.”
I sighed deeply, “Don’t you think it would be a bit pushy for me to call him up so soon after our first date?”
Will refilled my cup, “I don’t know. How did ya leave things with him last night?”
I ran the scene through my head before replying, “He asked if I’d like to go out again.”
Will waited patiently for me to continue, when I didn’t, he prompted, “And, what did ya say?”
“I told him I would call.”
“Then call him.”
My eyes squinted momentarily, “I guess I could. Unfortunately, I think he is working this morning and I don’t want to interrupt him.”
Will rose from his chair, snatched up the old rotary telephone and trailed the long cord across the floor. He smacked it down in front of me.
I nervously dialed up the veterinarian clinic as Will, Hank, and Tessy gathered around to listen in on my conversation. “Hello. This is Annie. I was hoping to speak with Bob. Is he available?”
“He is in today. However, he’s in surgery.”
“He’s in surgery,” I whispered to my comrades.
“Hold on a minute,” the receptionist inquired, “did you say this was Annie?”
“Yes, it’s Annie.”
It sounded as though the receptionist muffled the mouthpiece of the telephone with her hand, “Go get Bob, this is the call he’s been waiting for,” I overheard her murmur.
I scanned the anxious eyes of Will, Hank, and Tessy as I waited for several long moments. “I don’t know what is going on. Maybe I should hang up and call back later.” My friends sighed in unison.
Finally, Bob picked up the receiver. “Hi Annie,” he said breathlessly, “I was hoping you would call.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, I didn’t mean to interrupt your surgery.”
“No problem,” Bob replied, “how are you this morning?”
“Wonderful. I had a great time last night.”
“Me too.”
I took in a deep breath to gather my courage, “Bob, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a double-date with me, my friend, Will, and the choir director of the United Methodist Church. Her name is Pearl.”
“I would love to. When?”
I held the phone against my chest to mute my voice, “When?” I posed.
“Next Saturday?” Will suggested.
“Next Saturday?” I repeated, immediately realizing it sounded more like a question than a proposal.
“Absolutely!” Bob enthusiastically accepted.
“Will and I thought we could have dinner at the Blossom and then come up here to the farm and play a game of Scrabble,” I illuminated on our plan.
“Perfect,” Bob lowered his voice, “I am looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Thanks,” I turned my head away from the interlopers in my kitchen, “I’m looking forward to spending time together, too.” I hung up the telephone and announced, “It’s a date!”
“Alrighty then,” Will smacked his leg. “I’ll get in touch with Pearl.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment. “Listen Annie,” he approached in a serious tone of voice, “seein’ how Pearl is the choir director, I’d rather ya not mention that I can sing.”
“Okay,” I looked at him blankly, “as long as you don’t mention that I am afraid of ticks.”
“Deal.”
“Or possums,” I added as an afterthought.
The following Saturday evening, Bob pulled his Jeep up beside the farmhouse as Will, Pearl and I stood talking on the porch. Hank ran out to enthusiastically greet him and nudged him with his oversized head before Bob had even planted both feet on the ground.
Bob slid a butterscotch candy from his pocket, removed the wrapper, and tossed it into Hank’s wide-open jaw. Knowing that Hank could easily be bought out with candy, I smiled as the notion occurred to me, “Friends for life.”
I made necessary introductions before we piled into his Jeep and set out for the half hour drive to the Blossom Restaurant.
We hadn’t even reached the end of Black Hollow Road before Pearl started explaining that she was in the process of recruiting new members for the choir.
“It’s so difficult to find a strong baritone voice,” she thoughtfully expounded.
Will puffed up. “I can sing a little,” he mentioned, a bit too casually.
I turned around and told Pearl, who was seated snugly beside Will in the back seat. “Will couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
His eyes darted to mine, “Annie is afraid of ticks,” he blurted out, as a wry smile formed on his face, “and possums, too.”
“Traitor!” I mouthed, as my eyes narrowed.
The four of us told stories, laughed a lot and wholeheartedly had a wonderful time during dinner. We drove back up the hollow and Will pulled out his aged Scrabble game as we settled around the table.
“L-O-V-E,” I spelled out, “seven points.”
Will gave me a deliberate grin, before he placed his tiles on the board, “S-M-I-T-T-E-N,” he puffed up, “nine points.”
“Is smitten a real word?” Bob inquired.
Pearl, Will, and even Hank provided one quick nod indicating that it was in fact a real word.
“Where were ya raised, Bob?” Will asked.
“New York,” Bob replied with a wide smile, “why do you ask?”
We all stared at the word smitten on the board game, as if his inquiry was reason enough to be suspicious of the authenticity of his West Virginia citizenship status.
“I just wasn’t familiar with the word smitten,” he said, “sorry.” He gazed at his tiles for a few seconds before placing them on the board, “Q-U-I-Z-Z-I-F-Y.”
We all gawked in bewilderment – our jaws gaping wide open.
“I had to use the blank tile as the second Z,” he explained. “I’m using the two triple word squares with the Z on a double letter scores square,” he studied it
for a second, “so, I believe it is four hundred and nineteen points.”
“Is quizzify a real word?” Will nonchalantly slid a wad of Mail Pouch into his jaw.
“Yes,” Bob assured, “it means to quiz or to question.”
Will grunted.
Pearl’s turn was next, so she placed her tiles on the board, “C-R-I-T-T-E-R.” She smiled before adding, “the C is a double point, bringing it to twelve.”
“Is critter…” Bob checked himself before continuing.
“Good one, Pearl.” Will complimented his date.
Pearl flushed, “Don’t be silly,” she protested, “it just popped into my head.”
“Let me tell y’all a joke that I just remembered,” Will glanced around the table, before spitting his tobacco juice in a teacup. “My brother is a big hunter and sportsman. I get tired of his tales about hunting in the winter – doves, quail, turkeys, deer, and other critters – and then about fishing in the spring and summer. I heard all his stories about his big fish, bigger than anybody else caught. I found out the real story one day. These neighbors of my brother’s had a baby, and they brought it over to weigh it on my brother’s fish scales. That five-day-old baby weighed thirty-seven pounds!”
Pearl started cackling admiringly, causing us all to break out in laughter. I appreciated the way Pearl regarded Will and hoped their friendship would flourish.
Then before we knew it, midnight had snuck up on us and it was time for us to say goodbye.
“We sure tore up the pea patch tonight,” Bob and I overheard Will telling Pearl as he escorted her to his truck.
“I’ll tear up the pea patch with you anytime,” Bob whispered in my ear as he gently brushed his lips against mine.
My pulse quickened. “This city slicker is catching on,” I mused, as I walked him to his Jeep.
Once I could no longer hear the Jeep bouncing down the rutted hollow, I went inside, tidied up, and decided to relax on the sofa.
I fervently snatched up Erma’s journal and was about to read her last entry, but when I picked up the memoir, it plunked open to the last page. I was pleasantly surprised to see a sketch, with a note scribbled underneath it.
“Most of my memories are stored in the attic.
Annie, I’m glad you are here to discover them.” ~ Erma
“How did she know?” I stared disbelievingly at the inscription tucked in tight underneath a rudimentary drawing of an old barn with a mountaintop rising tall behind its rusty tin roof. “I’m going to check out the attic before I read her last story,” I informed Hank, who did not acknowledge my statement.
I eagerly pulled on the rope hanging from the ceiling in the hall, and when I reached the top rung of the staircase leading to the attic, the moonlight from the rounded window filled the tiny room with soft gray light. Dimly exposed were books, chests, crates, and boxes, which appeared as shadowed lumps on the floor and bookshelf. I lifted the lamplight, lit it with a wooden match, and curiously explored the keepsakes that Erma had left for me to discover.
As I thumbed through the leather journals, peeped into boxes of correspondence, and perused a chest crammed full of antiques and old photographs, I noticed a hatbox in the corner, and wondered if this was the hat Erma wore to the suffrage meeting – the ostrich plumed, egg-splattered hat or perhaps the hat that put her in mind of a week-old cow patty. “Nah, she wouldn’t have salvaged a hat that was flatter than a pancake.” I realized as I opened the lid that it wasn’t a fancy hat at all. It was her old, tattered, brown leather hat. I smiled as I gingerly placed it back and secured the cover.
Tucked beneath the hatbox was an ornately decorated jewelry chest. I tentatively opened it only to find that it was stuffed full of letters addressed from Will. The letters appeared to have been sent to her back during World War I. “Invasion of privacy,” I said to myself, as I quickly slammed the compartment shut.
“There are too many memories here, too many adventures to explore.”
My eyes settled on the dried flowers that were nestled over the round window. I brushed them to the side and peered out. The moon’s light was subdued, barely shining through a horizontal break in the clouds. As I curiously examined the curving valleys, I could scarcely make out the stream that flowed beside the barn. So I pressed my nose against the window and cupped my hands around my eyes to get a better view.
The clouds sluggishly began to separate – spreading unhurriedly to expose the midsummer solstice – revealing the bubbling stream that seemed to be dancing with delight as it reflected the illuminating radiance of the night sky. I delicately fingered the tiny aquamarine stone Will had given to me. Suddenly everything became transparent.
There are a thousand daily marvels that can bring a smile to my face. I appreciated the wondrous shadows of the maple trees that lined the high meadow, and cherished the stars glistening like diamonds of the highest clarity set against black velvet.
“Shining down on me from heaven.”
I gratefully whispered, all the time romanticizing she could hear my voice, “Thank ya, Erma.” I blew a kiss up to the stars, “You’re an angel.”
Charleston, West Virginia
January 3, 1921
“Fire and Ice”
{{18}}
Erma was proudly counting out her coins to buy the new hat she had been saving for over the last few months, when she observed Mr. Geary, the owner of the Diamond Department Store, carefully reading a document in the corner.
She peeped at him sideways before announcing to Barbara, the attractive woman who worked in the ladies’ fine apparel department, “I would like to purchase the eloquent little Boater in the corner.” Erma used her finger to indicate her choice.
“You saved enough money to buy it?” Barbara smiled from ear to ear as her hands clapped together joyfully, “I’m so happy for you.”
“I did indeed,” Erma beamed.
Erma had been saving every penny she could. She would always mail her mama and Mrs. Jones a portion of her earnings each month, but she had been going without other treats for weeks with intentions of possessing this hat. At last, the sacrifice of forgoing soda pop was paying off. Today was finally the day. Erma had enough money to buy the coveted Fire and Ice. It was a turquoise Victorian Ladies Boater with bright, blaze orange feathers that draped down her back.
Staring in the mirror, she carefully placed it onto her head, slanted slightly to the left, as Mr. Geary approached her at the counter. “Erma, I know you have just gotten off your shift, but would you mind delivering this letter to Mr. Smith at the State Capitol? It is very important and I can’t just trust this to any employee. I would be very grateful.”
“Certainly, Sir. I wouldn’t mind at all.” Erma accepted the sealed envelope from his hand.
“You have excellent taste, Erma. That is my favorite hat in the entire department and it looks exquisite on you.”
Erma’s face glowed. “Thank you, Mr. Geary,” she modestly replied, as her hand gently touched the soft feathers.
She left the Diamond Department Store, feeling as proud as a peacock, and primped down Kanawha Street toward the West Virginia State Capitol, carefully avoiding the ice patches that had formed overnight on the sidewalk. When she approached the large building, she realized she hadn’t asked what floor Mr. Smith’s office was located on, so she decided to stop at the information booth to inquire. Just as she approached the reception station, at the bottom of a steep flight of stairs, she heard a man screaming.
She looked up to see smoke pouring from an open window. “A fire?” She squinted her eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She quickly turned around and walked back to the lawn to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. She knew the West Virginia State Police stored ammunition on the top floor of the building in anticipation of civil unrest during the coal strikes, and understood if the building was on fire an explosion was gonna take place at any moment.
No sooner than the concept crossed her mind, a de
afening blast fired from the top floor sending onlookers running in all directions. A vibration shot unswervingly through Erma’s body as she stood dumbly looking at the burning building, and she was still gaping motionless as the fire trucks whizzed in from all directions to the site of the explosion. She watched in bewilderment as a squad truck and horse-drawn hose wagons pulled onto the grounds and started connecting hose lines to the hydrants. Some men entered the building through the front doors, as others hoisted an aerial ladder up the side of the building.
She noticed flames breaking out around the eaves and immediately started winding her hair nervously with her finger. She gasped in horror as a heavy stone arch over a dormer window fell when the roof collapsed.
She could feel a tear form in the corner of her eye as she silently prayed no one was hurt, or worse, killed in this catastrophe. Erma’s gut seemed to jump into her mouth when she witnessed the large fire extinguisher tank blow through the roof and fall hundreds of feet from the building.
It was pure chaos – folks running everywhere. She could hear screams and cries resonating, and she quickly backed away from the building as a wave of panic enveloped her.
Much to her disbelief she noticed two men in civilian clothes hopping into one of the fire trucks. She heard a police officer shout, “Those men are trying to steal the fire engine!” Officers came running from all over the grounds, and when the thieves realized they were about to get caught, they leapt from the truck, leaving the doors wide-open and started running in Erma’s direction. She stood dumbstruck, with her jaw gaped open as they approached her at high breakneck speed. She grasped the important correspondence that had been entrusted to her by Mr. Geary more tightly in her right hand.
When the thieves were only a few feet from her an officer lunged at one of the men, sending him plummeting on top of Erma. She and the unknown man hit the icy ground with a hard thump and slid for several feet across the frozen terrain.
