Charlie turned to get a better look and then realized that this was not a stranger but an old friend. “Well, if you ain't a site for sore eyes!”
Priscilla Miller was now a young teen and had grown considerably since Charlie last saw her.
“How long has it been?” asked Charlie offering her a piece of cheese.
“I reckon about five years,” said Priscilla grabbing the paper sack from Charlie's hands. “What all you got in here? I'm starved.”
“Kind of figured that,” said Charlie amused at her forward behavior.
“Daddy went inside which means he ain't coming out for a spell,” she said after grabbing a pickle and handing the bag back to Charlie. “Want to go somewhere?”
Charlie paused while calculating how much more time he might have until Bill got his fill of yarn spinning. “I reckon I've got some time. But I gotta be back here on the bench when he comes out or he'll kill me.”
Priscilla thought back to the last time she saw Charlie's father. “Ain't changed none, huh?
“Nope. Least he ain't been drinking yet. That's when he gets dangerous.”
When the two teens stood up, it quickly occurred to Charlie that time had been kind to Priscilla. She was filling out in all the right places and was strikingly good on the eyes. For a farm boy who seldom got to do anything but work this was turning into a mighty fine day.
“Wondered what happened to you,” said Priscilla as they headed south on Main Street.
Valley Pike passes through the heart of Woodstock on Main Street. Beautiful homes, business establishments, and the Shenandoah County courthouse are nearby.
Priscilla stopped in front of a small shop and admired a dress on a mannequin in the window. “How you think that fancy dress would look on me?” she asked while pointing.
Charlie looked at the dress and then at Priscilla. “Expect it would it would look right good.”
“Come on,” she said gingerly grabbing his hand and pulling him into the store.
“I'd like to try on that dress in the window. Looks to be about my size.”
Charlie was in uncharted territory. A dress shop was definitely not on his list of fun places to go. He retreated behind a display rack of post cards trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while Priscilla took her leave in a dressing room.
Moments later Priscilla made her grand entrance and yelled across to where Charlie was hiding.” What do you think?”
She whirled around for Charlie's inspection. “That's real nice,” he said trying to conceal a rapidly growing heartbeat and unexplained shortness of breath.
Priscilla stood before him adorned in a pink satin Victorian style beaded gown. His first reaction was to yell for Priscilla to cover herself since the low cut dress revealed her bare shoulders and something he would have never expected in a fourteen-year-old, cleavage. On second thought, since the shop clerk didn't object he thought it better just enjoy the scenery.
“That smile on your face must mean you like it,” she said embarrassing Charlie, who was unaware that his face had lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Would you like me to wrap it up for you, Miss?” asked the clerk.
“My daddy's in town. I'll have to ask him,” responded Priscilla. The clerk shook her head knowingly having expected that this girl would not be able to purchase such an extravagant garment.
They continued down Main Street and stopped for ice cream at Miller's Drug Store, which was her treat since Charlie's daddy never let him have any money. Then something by the courthouse caught Priscilla's eye. A man's hat was laying upside down on a bench.
“This is gonna be fun,” she proclaimed again grabbing Charlie's arm and pulling him along. Passing a street lamp she yanked off a Shenandoah County Fair poster, folded it up and ran across to the courthouse side of the road with Charlie in tow.
“Tell me when nobody's looking,” she ordered.
Clueless to her intentions Charlie obeyed all the while thinking that her mischievous behavior was unchanged since her childhood. Then he realized what she was up to and before he could object she sprang into action.
Courthouse visitors parked their buggies and horses in front of the building. As a result, it was always necessary to proceed with a cautious step when crossing the street.
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey, Priscilla ran toward the horses and scooped up a pile of manure with the poster. “Anybody looking?” she whispered back to Charlie.
Rendered speechless Charlie just shook his head “no.”
Priscilla quickly scooped up the cow dung, ran to the bench, and deposited neatly into the man's hat.
Again she grabbed Charlie's arm and pulled him back across the street where she led him into a hardware store. At her direction, the two pretended to be shopping as they waited for the owner of the hat to emerge from the courthouse.
An enormous bald man with bulging red cheeks descended the steps.
“This could be it,” she whispered while pretending to be looking at a screwdriver.
Slowly the man walked toward the bench and seemed to be pleased that he had found his hat. Then came the moment of truth on this sweltering summer day. He picked up the hat and gingerly plopped it down on his head.
Charlie winced at the spectacle. He knew all too well the effect that heat and humidity had on horse pies.
The man climbed into his wagon and pulled into the street while Priscilla and Charlie walked out of the store to see him drive away.
Strangely, nothing happened until the man traveled about fifty yards up Main Street. Then came a shout and a volley of profane expletives that prompted many people to exit their shops and homes to see the source of the commotion. When they saw what had happened, they greeted the poor man's misfortune with raucous laughter.
He continued his cussing rampage as Priscilla and Charlie slipped through the crowd toward Crable's General Store from where their adventure began.
One more time Priscilla grabbed Charlie by the arm and pulled him into an ally. “Anybody looking?” she asked with a smile as big as Texas on her face.
Charlie looked up and down the alley. “Don't see nothing.”
She hesitated briefly and then planted a big kiss on Charlie's unsuspecting mouth. “How did you like that?” she inquired looking for a reaction.
Charlie was dumbfounded. Didn't know what to say? Then she took off for the General Store. “See you in the funny papers!” she yelled and was soon out of site.
Still startled by the experience Charlie stood for a while thinking about all that had just transpired. And then he returned to the bench outside the store to wait for his father.
No sooner had he sat down than Cilla emerged with her dad, Russell Miller. Not a word was spoken but as they walked away, she glanced back at Charlie and gave him a wink and a smile.
Bill Polk was soon to follow and he and Charlie quickly boarded the wagon. Just outside of town Bill reached beneath the seat and retrieved a bottle of hard liquor. Charlie's good time had ended.
Chapter III – Falling in Love
30 Day Notice – August 15, 1918
The modest home of Moses and Mary Shown was located about three miles west of Mt. Jackson and next door to arguably the oldest church in Shenandoah County, Virginia. By the time the Showns moved into their home the church was called St. Mary's Pine Lutheran Church. The precise date of origin is unknown, but there is sufficient evidence to indicate that congregants first worshiped there as early as 1745 when the church was known at Prude Hill Church.
Between the Shown home and the white framed church stood an old oak tree that had become Mable Shown's favorite retreat. She studied there, read books, daydreamed, and used it as her private place of prayer.
A gentle breeze and shade from the large tree provided welcome relief from the hot August sun. Seated on the ground with her back against the tree Mable looked out over the rolling farmland and cemetery across from the church. It was a scene she had viewed countless times b
efore, but she never grew tired of this tranquil place.
The sight before her brought to mind the words of her favorite Bible passage, The 23rd Psalm. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,” she whispered quietly to herself. She smiled when she came to the words, “He restoreth my soul.”
At 19 years of age, Mable had already acquired a deep abiding faith in God. She prayed continually about everything no matter how trivial the matter and believed that you should speak openly and honestly to the Lord, just like you were talking to your most trusted friend.
Not only did she love to converse with the Heavenly Father but she also loved to talk about God which she concluded had caused eligible bachelors to keep their distance from her. “I'm no goody two-shoes,” she would say. “I'm a sinner just like everybody else.”
The anxious concern that she brought to her oak tree sanctuary this day was not uncommon to other young women of similar age. In fact, her mother had reminded her earlier that morning, “Once you hit twenty you are just about guaranteed to die an old maid.”
Then there was her thirty-two-year-old sister, Pearl, who still lived at home. Mable sure didn't want that to happen to her.
So what was the problem? Wasn't she pretty enough? Wasn't she fun to be with? Maybe she talked too much or said the wrong things.
Actually, Mable Shown was a very attractive young lady with a great sense of humor who could carry on a good conversation with just about anybody. She was sweet, caring, and wise beyond her years, a hard worker, and a splendid cook. Which again begs the question, “What's the problem?”
Mable's problem was she had very high standards. Any young man who took designs on her was given a strict set of rules that must be followed if he was to share her company. To be fair, those rules were not all of Mable's making. Her daddy, Moses, and mother, Mary, had a very thorough vetting process required of her suitors.
“Dear Lord,” she began. “Mama says if I wait much longer to find a husband I'm gonna end up an old maid. So I came today to ask you to send me a man. Now, you give me whoever you think is best for me but if it's all right, I'd like to make a few suggestions. Now, it doesn't really matter if he's a farmer, because that's what most of the men in these parts do for a living, but please send me a clean one. Some of these farmers smell bad and you know how I can't stand that. And please don't send me an old man. My cousin Ina Mae just married a man twice her age because I figure she just gave up looking and didn't think she'd ever find anybody else. And, if it's your will I would prefer not to have a homely fellow like the one that Lola Bell Strosnider married. I know Bucky Jones can't help the way he looks and he is your creation. I'm sure you had a good reason for making him look the way he does. Maybe you make people like him for girls who are hard up for a fella. Just so you know, I'm not hard up, at least, not yet. Daddy has told me many a time that you put somebody on this earth just for me. I don't know who that might be, but I hope you will make him known to me real soon. Preacher said we should pray real specific. So, if it be your will, I'm asking you within the next 30 days to send me a husband. He doesn't have to be perfect but I would like him to be handsome, gentle, kind, generous, loving, godly, smart, caring, hardworking, church-going, compassionate, and wise. And if I missed anything throw that in too. Oh, and please don't forget about the handsome part. That's real important. Finally, please answer me this time. Sometimes you don't answer my prayers but I know you know what's best. Please, please give me a positive response to this one. Amen.”
Hitching a Ride – September 12, 1918
Just after sunrise at Strathmore House, Frank Wissler III was busily wiping the morning dew off his new 1918 Buick Touring Car. He loved that car and gave it the tender loving care that the finest automobile in the Valley deserved. On this day, the shiny green Buick would help make his unpleasant mission in Woodstock more bearable. He had an appointment to register for the WWI draft.
The early departure made it possible for Frank to stop for breakfast at the Virginia Restaurant in Woodstock. No question that his mode of transportation was superior to other methods of the day, even faster than taking the train from Mt. Jackson to Woodstock. Although a pleasurable forty-minute journey for Frank, the travelers by wagon or horseback were less than impressed when he honked his horn to pass them bye.
After dining on corn cakes, Virginia cured ham, and fried eggs Frank headed to the Shenandoah County Courthouse to join the line of others who were assembling for the mandatory registration. Few among them had any interest in military service or fighting in a war so far away. As they saw it, the foreign conflict had nothing to do with them.
“Hope this here registering don't take long,” said a man standing behind Frank. “Setting me way behind in my work.”
“Judging by the speed this line is moving we're going to be here awhile.”
“Well, if this ain't a surprise. You're Frank Wissler, ain't you?”
Frank turned around to get a good look at the man who knew him by name.
“Well, I'll be. Charlie Polk. Don't that beat all? How you been?”
“Doing pretty good till I got an invite from Uncle Sam to come down here and register. Last time I saw you was the last year me and my old man worked the harvest at Strathmore. That was some time ago.”
“What happened that you all stopped coming?”
“Daddy never would say. I think he got mad cause he thought I was getting treated better than him which, thanks to you, I expect I was.”
“People still talk about what you did the night of the fire. That was something.”
“How's your family?
“Guess you heard that grandpa Frank passed.”
“Sorry to hear about that.”
“Daddy and Uncle John still can't get along. Grandpa split up the farm. Daddy still runs the orchard by Uncle John has gone to cattle farming. Would you believe they up and left Strathmore and bought a house on Main Street in Mt. Jackson?”
“How about that?”
“John, Jr. got married and they're living in Uncle John's old house and I'm still living at Strathmore with mom and dad.”
“I guess the farm's still growing.”
“Wish that was the case. With Grandpa Frank gone and Uncle John doing his own thing it's been real tough to keep the orchards up. Got hit with fire blight last year which really set us back.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It's a disease that'll wipe out an apple crop. Hit us real hard. Hopefully, we got it under control but it’s hard to know for sure. So, we've had to cut back. We're running a real lean operation. How's things over your way.”
“Just farming. That's all we do. Daddy still works me hard and is as mean as ever. We don't take in much money, but there's always plenty to eat. My sisters and brother are doing fine, but Mama has been down in the back lately. Daddy says she just being lazy, but you can tell she's really hurting.”
“Ain't found you a wife yet?”
“Ain't got no time for courtin'. If you know a gal who just wants to skip all that courtin' and romancin' stuff and just get hitched, let me know. How about you? Is there a Mrs. Frank Wissler III?”
“Still looking.”
The conversation between the two old friends helped pass the time and finally after more than an hour it was time for them to stand before the draft board.
While Frank III filled out his registration form Charlie agonized over what he would do when it came to his turn. An unfortunate source of embarrassment that would trouble him all his years was his inability to read or write. He recalled little from his two years of elementary education. His sister Lizzy helped him to learn how to sign his name, but that was all he could do.
“Next,” said the registrar.
Charlie picked up the form and stared at it momentarily. “Sorry, sir. But I never learned how to read.”
“Don't worry about that. You're not the only young man here today who missed out on an education. Uncle Sam's not looking for men who can rea
d and write. He wants men who can fight. Looks to me that you're plenty qualified. I'll just ask you the questions and you give me the answers.”
“I do know how to sign my name,” said Charlie.
“Well, alright then. Just put your John Henry right down there. Next.”
When Charlie left the courthouse, Frank III was standing on the steps waiting for him.
“How you getting home?”
“Catching the afternoon train back to Mt. Jackson then my brother Bill, Jr.'s gonna pick me up before dark.”
“Nonsense. You'll ride with me.”
When Frank III arrived at where he had parked his Buick in front of the Virginia Restaurant Charlie Polk couldn't believe his eyes.
“That's yours?” said Charlie.
“Yes, sir. Sure is. 1918 Buick Touring Car. Get in.”
Some of the regulars at the restaurant had a considerable discussion as to who might be driving such a fine automobile. Maybe some high and mighty politician, or a wealthy banker, or even one of them actors from a picture show was the owner.
As Charlie climbed into the passenger seat he couldn't help but notice that people were gauking at them, which he didn't care for one little bit. However, his opinion changed when three attractive young ladies came up to the car and looked in.
“Hey. Like your car,” said one of the girls.
“Never rode in an automobile before,” said another.
“What do you think, Charlie? Shall we give the ladies a ride?”
Charlie grinned about as big as humanly possible. “OK by me.”
The girls climbed into the back seat and off they went down Main Street at the break-neck speed of 8 miles per hour which was the speed limit in Woodstock. Any faster than that would spook the horses.
After a few spins around the block, the girls were bid farewell.
“Does that happen often?” asked Charlie.
“You mean are girls attracted to my car?”
“Right.”
“Yep. This machine draws them in like a magnet.”
In the Valley of Hope Page 8
