Dear Hank Williams by Kimberly Willis Holt

in Rippling Creek.
    Aunt Patty Cake came out of the house. The sun was shining so bright, she rested her hand over her eyebrows so that she could see. “Gayle? Not used to seeing you this time of day.”
    Then she noticed Lovie. “I see you found her. Well, you certainly made Tate’s day. Come in this house. I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”
    Mr. Rockfire opened the truck door and stepped out. “Only if it’s no trouble.”
    Aunt Patty Cake wiped her hands on her apron. “No trouble at all.”
    While Mr. Rockfire followed Aunt Patty Cake into the house, I hugged Lovie, and she wagged her tail like she was happy to see me. I hadn’t thought of Lovie as the romantic type.
    Never planning on being sweet on anyone,
    Tate P.

 
    February 23, 1949
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    V ERBIA C ALHOON BRAGGED and bragged today about how her momma booked her at the Central Louisiana Junior Livestock Show in Alexandria this weekend. When I told Frog and Lovie, we had a good laugh over the thought of Verbia singing to a bunch of calves and hogs. Nothing against the people who go there, but that gives me another reason not to join 4-H or Future Farmers of America.
    I should have let that image satisfy me enough, but when Verbia bragged about it for the eighteenth time, I ignored Aunt Patty Cake’s advice to not discuss Momma’s situation. I said, “That ain’t nothing. My momma is a Goree Girl. She’s singing on the radio in Fort Worth Thursday night.”
    Do you know what she said? “Your momma is doing time in a Texas prison.”
    My hands curled into fists, and it was all I could do not to hit her. But then I thought about the Rippling Creek May Festival Talent Contest, and I didn’t go any further. If I had boxed her chin or yanked her curls, Miss Mildred would have kicked me out of the talent contest for sure. And as much as I hate to admit it, Verbia was right. Momma was serving time.
    The other day I rode my bike to the post office to mail my letter to you. Mr. Snyder asked, “Is that another letter to Mr. Hank Williams?” (Which I do believe is none of his business.) Two older girls from my school, Clara Banks and Evelyn Milton, swung around like they’d caught me stealing something.
    Mr. Snyder snickered. “You got company. They’re fans too.”
    â€œWe listen to Hank Williams every Saturday night,” Clara said, as if she’d discovered you all by herself.
    Evelyn nodded. “We only missed it twice, and that’s because we were visiting my aunt Mertie in Pineville. She doesn’t like listening to the radio. She says music gives her a headache.”
    â€œI’ll have you know, I got three pictures from Mr. Hank Williams,” I told Mr. Snyder, hoping the girls would hear.
    Do you know what they said? Well, I guess you do know. They said, “We have three too.”
    I don’t know why that made me jealous. It might sound silly, but I thought I was the only one writing to you. All the way home I pedaled with a heavy feeling inside me. I’m not proud to admit it, Mr. Williams, but I was kind of mad at you. Then I realized that what I, Tate P. Ellerbee, had predicted back in the summer was happening. You are famous!
    Your #1 fan of all your fans,
    Tate P.

    PS—Two more days until I get to hear Momma sing on the radio and make my big announcement. Don’t worry, I may be busy, but I’ll still be tuning in to the Louisiana Hayride . And so will Aunt Patty Cake (who never gets a headache listening to you).

 
    February 25, 1949
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    H AVE YOU EVER HAD a night that started out being what you thought would be the best night and then something happened and it ended up becoming one of the worst nights instead?
    That’s what happened last night. We were all gathered around the new Victrola. Uncle Jolly set the dial to WBAP, the Fort Worth station where Momma and the other Goree Girls