Dottie’s giving token resistance to the girls’ cigarette habit but since she herself emptied two packs a day, her objections were sounding brass…Daddy’s seeming unawareness of Francine’s shenanigans….
Looking back, I suspect he’d simply given up on her. I figure that decision saved him a lot of frustration and heartache. I know Tack Turner sent her money because she never missed a lick buying cigarettes.
I vaguely remember the wonderful smells of that Thanksgiving — Aunt Dottie had knocked herself out with holiday preparations. Daddy’s other sister, Elsie, and brother-in-law, Glenn, were there as well and they all talked and laughed about old times and how great it was being together again. My grief was such that I cannot recall a word they spoke. Yet amid it all, one memory remains till this day as clear as the peal of a church bell.
I could hardly wait till that first Thanksgiving dinner ended and I could politely excuse myself. I rushed to the large bedroom I shared with Francine, cousin Brandy, and Sheila. Timmy, cousin Eddie, and Daddy shared another room. Only Aunt Dottie had her own private space
I had two letters to write. One to Emaline. Dear, poor Emaline, whose anguish I could feel hundreds of miles away.
And Daniel. My fingers touched the ring. I knew how he’d worked and scrimped to buy it. That it represented our future together struck a deep, resonant chord in me. His beautiful callused hand, pressed to his heart and his husky, fervent, “I’ve got you — right here” rang and swelled in my soul like the Alleluia Chorus . I began to write.
“My dear Daniel, how I miss you!”
~~~~~
The following months’ happenings run together in my head. As happens when one is miserable, I repressed much of it. Now, decades later, I recall it mostly in strobe-like snatches…teachers’ Yankee-dialect, at first like a foreign language…our drawled dialect even more baffling to them…self-absorbed Francine back to high school, in new- kid-on-the-block Paradise, ignoring Tack’s letters till she needed money…boys’ eyes drinking her in…Timmy and Cousin Eddie, both pretty tame sorts, bunking, riding bikes, and playing checkers together while Sheila’s new friend, Lindi, who lived across the hall, included her in many of her family activities, a wonderful, uplifting time for my little sis.
Each letter from Daniel tugged my heart toward home.
~~~~~
Daddy met Rosalee Sanchez at the Top Hat. Things quickly grew serious. For a Yankee girl, Rosalee was pretty likeable. Only in her mid-twenties, she was short, bosomy, and round. Not fat. Just fluffy. Nothing like as pretty as Mama but then, not many could hold a candle to Mama’s good looks.
Yet — with exotic Spanish coloring and even features, Rosalee wasn’t bad looking. I took to her right away, seeing as how she drove back the sadness in Daddy’s whiskey brown eyes.
And I knew that, eventually, she would become his wife. Two years later, my prophecy came to pass.
Francine didn’t like her. But then, Francine didn’t especially commit to liking anybody or anything. Except fun and outlandish characters. Especially those with money. Like Tack, whose daddy was a “boss man,” as cotton mill supervisors were called, and who were regarded as a type of royalty. His clout earned Tack one of the higher paying mill positions. So his gifts to Francine kept a’comin’.
~~~~~
Holidays came and went. Memories of Mama surfaced but I brutally shoved them away. I put on a good face. Inside, I was wretched. Being away from Daniel and Emaline and familiar sights and smells made me nearly crazy. I asked Daddy to take us to visit Nana but he said he couldn’t afford it. I wanted to feel Daniel’s arms around me so badly I often hid in my room and bawled.
Nana wrote occasionally, short terse messages entailing cursory bits of village news like Mama’s playmate, Toy Narson, dying in a car wreck and Shirley Cox giving birth to twin girls. Out
Looking back, I suspect he’d simply given up on her. I figure that decision saved him a lot of frustration and heartache. I know Tack Turner sent her money because she never missed a lick buying cigarettes.
I vaguely remember the wonderful smells of that Thanksgiving — Aunt Dottie had knocked herself out with holiday preparations. Daddy’s other sister, Elsie, and brother-in-law, Glenn, were there as well and they all talked and laughed about old times and how great it was being together again. My grief was such that I cannot recall a word they spoke. Yet amid it all, one memory remains till this day as clear as the peal of a church bell.
I could hardly wait till that first Thanksgiving dinner ended and I could politely excuse myself. I rushed to the large bedroom I shared with Francine, cousin Brandy, and Sheila. Timmy, cousin Eddie, and Daddy shared another room. Only Aunt Dottie had her own private space
I had two letters to write. One to Emaline. Dear, poor Emaline, whose anguish I could feel hundreds of miles away.
And Daniel. My fingers touched the ring. I knew how he’d worked and scrimped to buy it. That it represented our future together struck a deep, resonant chord in me. His beautiful callused hand, pressed to his heart and his husky, fervent, “I’ve got you — right here” rang and swelled in my soul like the Alleluia Chorus . I began to write.
“My dear Daniel, how I miss you!”
~~~~~
The following months’ happenings run together in my head. As happens when one is miserable, I repressed much of it. Now, decades later, I recall it mostly in strobe-like snatches…teachers’ Yankee-dialect, at first like a foreign language…our drawled dialect even more baffling to them…self-absorbed Francine back to high school, in new- kid-on-the-block Paradise, ignoring Tack’s letters till she needed money…boys’ eyes drinking her in…Timmy and Cousin Eddie, both pretty tame sorts, bunking, riding bikes, and playing checkers together while Sheila’s new friend, Lindi, who lived across the hall, included her in many of her family activities, a wonderful, uplifting time for my little sis.
Each letter from Daniel tugged my heart toward home.
~~~~~
Daddy met Rosalee Sanchez at the Top Hat. Things quickly grew serious. For a Yankee girl, Rosalee was pretty likeable. Only in her mid-twenties, she was short, bosomy, and round. Not fat. Just fluffy. Nothing like as pretty as Mama but then, not many could hold a candle to Mama’s good looks.
Yet — with exotic Spanish coloring and even features, Rosalee wasn’t bad looking. I took to her right away, seeing as how she drove back the sadness in Daddy’s whiskey brown eyes.
And I knew that, eventually, she would become his wife. Two years later, my prophecy came to pass.
Francine didn’t like her. But then, Francine didn’t especially commit to liking anybody or anything. Except fun and outlandish characters. Especially those with money. Like Tack, whose daddy was a “boss man,” as cotton mill supervisors were called, and who were regarded as a type of royalty. His clout earned Tack one of the higher paying mill positions. So his gifts to Francine kept a’comin’.
~~~~~
Holidays came and went. Memories of Mama surfaced but I brutally shoved them away. I put on a good face. Inside, I was wretched. Being away from Daniel and Emaline and familiar sights and smells made me nearly crazy. I asked Daddy to take us to visit Nana but he said he couldn’t afford it. I wanted to feel Daniel’s arms around me so badly I often hid in my room and bawled.
Nana wrote occasionally, short terse messages entailing cursory bits of village news like Mama’s playmate, Toy Narson, dying in a car wreck and Shirley Cox giving birth to twin girls. Out
Similar Books
