Leave Well Enough Alone: Silas Tucker Book 2 by Bob Johnson

Claymore County, West Virginia-1926

I’m sitting out in front of the mercantile with a nice cold ginger ale. Balancing on this old rickety stick chair and leaning back against the wall is tricky but comfortable. I been thinking about my family a bit, goings on in this little place folks call a town, and what I might do in the future.

My pencil is itching to write something important. Hate to disappoint that thing.

I have to say this job at the Trumpeter is mighty fine. Stanley Ray Marshall, the editor lets me, more or less, have the run of the place. I walked in at the exact right time that he was getting tired of racing round the countryside digging up news and trying to put the paper out mostly by himself. I remember that day.

“Well son, can you read and write, might be positives to getting on with this job. Gotta have half a brain in that noggin, too. Newspapermen are a rare in the world. We can twist up the thinking of folks with just putting out words, especially in this neck of the woods. Just sayin, not that I am casting any ill will toward those people. I’ll give you a couple of months to prove up, then we will revisit the situation.” The boss man offered after setting some provisional guidelines of qualifying.

One afternoon he came sauntering back from the tavern, or as polite folks call it, the mercantile back room, and started in on talking. The man, some folks would josh, was fatter than a tick on a coon hound. He was big. Always wore the same stained white short sleeved shirt and a tie that was never up to his neck. The wire glasses and the bald head full of wrinkle folds gave him a mighty particular look.

“If you stick around long enough maybe you’ll have the smarts to run the whole shebang yourself, Silas Tucker. I can’t, for the life of me, continue doing this forever you see.” Stanley Ray added sluggishly in his usual intoxicated manner.

I acknowledged his suggestion quickly, “That would be nice but I’m having too much freedom to get tied to any strong responsibility. Maybe down the road I might be thinkin different.”

He leaned way back in his chair then spoke again, “To be honest with you boy, I hired and fired a bunch before you came along. Most didn’t have the brains of a chicken.  They filled in alright running the press and all, but I had to set every blessed bit of type. And they didn’t know an interview from a hole in the ground. So, you put in some serious thought about my offer.”

My move to Wilkes township in Claymore County had resulted in increasing my interest in books, literature and writings because of their availability. I wandered over the county library, if you want to call it that, every once in a while. Not many books, but that was where all the history of the town and countryside was kept. But, you know, a person had to dig around to find anything. I thought I might discover some interesting things to write about.

And, although hard to believe, all the local law events were kept in wooden boxes out on a back-room shelf, clear as day for someone to snooping through.  I’ve snuck a time or two or three just to see what I might conjure up.

The other major thing for me concerns changing the way I speak. I am trying to abide by the correct usage of verbs, nouns, adjectives, and everything else that we use in the press. Ain’t easy!

Being on my own was pretty okay with me. I’m settling in nicely.

I haven’t heard hardly anything lately from the family, so unless I want to take a six mile or so walk back to Quail’s Creek Hollow there isn’t much of an exchange of news. Sometimes I get there and they always have something going on, so the conversation in pretty meager. I find we don’t have much in common other than the past, and that isn’t conversed about much. I’ll keep trying though, being they are my kin and I still feel a little responsibility for their well-being considered my past transgression involving my pa. I picked up by the grapevine that some guy was pretty serious about hitching up with my oldest sister Eva Jo. Hope he treats her fair and loving. There was a time long ago when Pa was messing with Eva Jo. Luckily, we sent her off to stay with some cousins so that type of bad stuff would come to an end. I received word that ma was getting remarried so I visited her and the new husband on their wedding day. Both were quite appreciative. Nice get-together. I even wrote up an article for the paper about the social happening. Samuel Simmons was the best thing to ever happen to Ma. That bastard she was married to, Bodhi Tucker, my pa, made her and all us kids’ life down right miserable. The beating and yelling was truly frightful.  I am not one bit sorry for the demise of that man. Sam treats her respectfully and offers her a good life.

Ruby Jane, my second oldest sister, ran off with some yahoo said to be bad news. She is only thirteen. Crazy idea got into her head that this boy would make her happy. Five months and she come moping back to Mama, sure enough, in a family way. Dumb kid.

The little ones are still with Ma, but haven’t heard much about them. Imagine they still screeching and crying most of the time.

I finagled the purchase of a little shack on the outskirts of town. Just right sized, a pumping well beside the place, a two holer around back, bedroom and cooking area in one big room. I rescued an old desk my neighbor was gonna toss out, and I sit on a chunk of Blacktail oak, with a thick pillow covering over the top just to make it comfy. Yep, pretty darn nice.

I bought myself a used typewriter, an old Underwood. Clacks so loud it chases the rats outta the house. I had to wait three weeks to get a darned ribbon for the machine as the mercantile only carried newer models that fit the machines used over to courthouse. I need to remind myself to buy two next time. I admit, I have taken a great liking to that machine, the way it puts my thoughts down on paper and all.

Best I think, I have a couple young ladies that like to spend some time in my company. One of em’ even does climb into a bed with me every once in a while. Ain’t got lots of real love feelings for Celine Crawford, but we both decided that the special time together thrashing around on that old spring and mattress bed is about what each of us is looking for.

Celine has a husband somewhere, but she says she hasn’t heard hide nor hair of him in a couple of years. I don’t register any guilt about that situation.  That woman is quite a few years older than me, with an ample top and bottom. Didn’t bother me too much as she was also highly educated in bedtime delights.

“Do you think your man Toby will every come back?” I asked Celine after a romp.

“Well, I hope not, now that I know what real fornicating is. He wasn’t worth a hoot and a holler. Why you got more desire than a landed fish lookin to get back into a pond. More than he could ever put together, not to mention the size of that trouser snake of yours. Don’t care if he ever shows up at my doorsteps again.” She said and gave a knowing look at my crotch then danced her eyebrows.

Celine was never afraid to say exactly what was on her mind. Gets my juices flowing just like that.

My other girl that visits is named Delilah Grote. She is mighty nice and all that, when she wants to be, overly plump and soft, and we mainly talk and wrangle up some arguing and do a little spooning but nothing hot and heavy. She’s a good decent girl that I don’t never want to take any advantage of, really have no desire neither, sides all my carnal urges are taken care of.

 I got invited over to her kin’s place for a pig roast and enjoyed it all, except when her cousin Harkle got likkered up and started firing off his pea shooter at a turkey down the way from the house. And then having to sit around while that dang family was constantly yelling at one or another about some disrespect. Folks in that bunch are all big, big eaters, wow.  Did a write up about that invite for the paper but left that shootin part out. Her family decided that was a pretty nice thing to do.

 She came over to my place just to thank me.

“Silas Tucker, you is a mighty fine writer. My ma and pa sent me over to tell you just that. They’d like you to come on back ifn it suited your compunction. And I’d like to see a little more of you myself. You knowed I am a full seventeen years of age and prime to get hitched. Just sayin, ya hear.” She finished speaking and I watched her cheeks turn a rosy red.

“Ima guessin I should not have said such a forward thing, but it just spurted out of my heart. Just letting you know where I stand if maybe you ever come real interested.” She said and bounced out of my little house.

I made a mental note to myself not to intermingle with two females at my place during the same time. That would produce a heap of trouble. Mostly for me.

Never did hear anything more about Pa and his untimely demise. He was found beat to a pulp at the bottom of a holler. Nobody ever come forward with the name of a culprit who did the deed. As a proper newspaper man, I am always listening for gossip and such, but not a single whisper was about. Fine with me.  Everyone kinda knows who did it. Those two mean bastards, Rebel Brown and his brother Sonny are still terrorizing anybody they think they can get the best of. Halfway expecting somebody from the hollers is going to end their miserable living, too. Wouldn’t be surprised one little bit.

I’m, for sure, completely aware of what was undertaken. Now I knowed for a actual fact that it was them that ended Pa’s life. They were particularly angered up when their old man drank some of the sour mash made up by Bodhi Tucker and it set him a quick trip to the devil. The Brown boys went on to blame Pa for the terrible result of drinking that stuff.

The truth is, and I keep thinking about my part in the whole miserable thing, was that I added some rat poison that I kind of borrowed from the widow Ham’s shed, to a bottle made especially for old Jacob Brown. What happened, my desired results, was exactly what I was hoping for. The old scourge of the hollers kicked the bucket shortly after downing some of the drink. Deader than a doornail the next morning.

I figured Rebel and Sonny would come looking for Pa, and give him the comeuppance. They surely did; that plus some.

Strange enough, I felt no guilt about what happened. Two scoundrels, pa and old man Brown, left this earth in a quick way. I haven’t heard anybody complaining about either fella, each I considered a spot of horse dung, gone to his maker.

Now then, getting back my thinking on track, the Daily Trumpeter, or rather Stanley Ray, believes a large part of the paper should carry social happenings, events, and particularly deaths and obituaries. He explained his reasoning.

“Folks around here want to know that someone else is more miserable than them. They’s curious about who died and when and what kin they might be. Sells lot more papers if a good one passed. We spiffy it up as much as we can. You know, was there a funeral, what’d happening to the remains, things like that.” He pontificated.

Pontificated. I had just learned that word last week from a book.

“You spend some time over yonder at the library and get you familiarizated with past issues of the Trumpeter. Good for you to check out the fine writing I did with folks passing, in years gone by. Mighty fine writeups and got a lot of thanks, even a few rounds of shine come my way by appreciated folks. Yep, mighty fine.” Stanley Ray finished his talk and sauntered out of the building, tugging at the ever-present tight collar.

I turned to the back of the shop and looked for a pencil and pad when the owner suddenly reappeared at the door.

“Oh, and see if you can scare up any more advertisers. Costs money to run this paper. Maybe head on over to Jackson City. Hear there’s a home goods store selling jams and such. You tell them we’d do a fine job letting folks know they is up and running.” He suggested emphatically.

“You go on now and do that, I’ll handle it here the rest of the day.” He declared.

I knew there was nothing needed doing until tomorrow.

“Okay, Stanley Ray, like a chicken on a June bug. I’ll get to it.” I said more to myself than the big man walking away.

Jackson City was about four miles away as the crow flies, but a lot of windings and climbing and fighting gully washes, the walk took some time. Passed a couple little ones on a slump backed donkey, one loud Model-T ford with a driver who was lost and asking for directions, but not another darned person along the way.  I stopped to soak my feet in Asher’s creek, hardly more than a trickle of water, but it was cold and refreshing.

The town is just about as desolate as can be and since Wilkes was the county seat, most government-like folks tended to live around near their work. I walked past a run-down whiskey joint, and a general store that also served as the post office. Down toward the end of the street stood an old jail. I hadn’t seen any bad guys for lots of years, I decided. Not much else on that main street cept barking dogs and bratty little ones making a lot of noise.

I found the shop that Stanley Ray had described. Only place that had any newness to its looks. Steps swept off, and all. I walked in and a little bell dinged somewhere above my head. Place looked nice; stuff filled nice on the shelves. Big mangy dog lay out to one side taking a nap in the stream of sunshine.

“Hello, anyone about? I shouted.

“Land sakes, child, I’m right here.” Came a voice from down under a counter top.

“Sorry, you were hidden from my otherwise good visual sighting.” I said apologetically.

The lady stood up. About my ma’s age, pretty, with a ribbon wrapped around mostly blonde hair. A bit chunky but that didn’t detract from anything. She wore a nicer dress than most woman in the hollers, so I figured she had a little money in her direction. Might be able to get some for the newspaper. I was ready to give my sales pitch.

“Names Silas Tucker, ma’am. I’m a writer for the Claymore County Trumpeter. Boss told me of your new business and I thought I might write up an article about it and all. Fine store here. You been open long?” I inquired.

“Two weeks now.” She beamed.

“Business is slow but that is expected in this area. I’ll just stick it out and see how it goes. Was in the same business down Dellwo way, but that big fire burned down most of the town. I tried my best to keep things going. Gave it two years then gave up. Thought I’d give a restart up this way. Just not many folks buyin now days, due to no jobs and such.” She lamented.

“Well, I know that Wilkes people might come your way if they see what fine goods you have. I see preserves, candles, napkins, table furnishings, and all kinds of things. I could include all of that in my newspaper writing.” I said as I was thinking as fast as I could.

Now to get down to business.

“Advertising is the way to go. The paper could put a regular spot of information about what special of the week is offered, or a listing of goods and services and anything else you’d like. You could change the arrangement of the space with anything you wanted to tell folks. Helps us get out the paper and give your business a little boost.  All that for four dollars a week. Pretty reasonable I’d say. Interested?” I finished with a flourish.

“Why Silas Tucker that was a mighty fine presentation. And as a businesswoman I appreciate the opportunity to consider your offer. But. I need to take stock of my financial situation before I commit to a regular outflow of my hard-earned money. That alright?” She asked obviously in charge of the conversation.

“Yes, ma’am, I surely understand.” I said somewhat defeated.

“My name is Nancy Southern, most call me Nan. S’alright if you do to. If, and only if I take you up on your fine offer, I’ll send Sadie over to Coulter City with a planned advertisement and some money up front. How’s that sound.” She asked.

Before I could acknowledge her idea, she shouted to the back room of the store.

“Sadie, get out here, someone I want to introduce to you.” Came the order.

Just then the most beautiful thing I have ever seen came through the door curtain. She had blue eyes that were like pools of water I would drown in, blonde hair, blonder than her mother, tall, almost as tall as me, and the fine dress showed off a pretty nice figure. I just nodded to her. I was stupefied.

Nan explained the presence of myself and ordered Sadie to help me write the article of introduction of the new business. Sadie glanced often at me while her mother talked, smiling a dazzling set of good white teeth. I was momentarily smitten.

The next hour flew by as Sadie, in a soft melodious voice explained where store items came from, locally made candles and preserves, dishes and cooking bowls, utensils, wall pictures, and a whole load of other things. I was taking notes the whole time but my heart was beating so fast as I stood next to the girl, taking in her scent, the scribbling was almost unreadable.

“You have many friends down Dellwo way?” I asked

Sadie hesitated then answered.” A few but not close friends, I’d say.

“Me neither, I mean not many friends in Wilkes. I’m also a newcomer to these parts.” I smiled toward her.

“Ya got a Pa?” I asked then immediately thought I should ought a not asked such person questions.

“Did, but he’s gone now.” Was all she said and walked toward the back of the store.

“Well, Nan, and Sadie, glad to meet y’all and hope to see you in Wilkes. Show you around the parts and introduce you to folks. Thanks for your time.” I finished my spiel and turned to leave.

Right across the entire door lay that fat lazy mutt, not looking like he was in any concern, nor ever gonna move for me to depart.

“Winder, the girl spouted loudly, get out the way.”

The dang dog lifted his head a few inches offn the floor then flopped it back down.

“Guess you just might step over him, I spose.” She said apologetically.

The walk home was like cloud walking while I thought about Sadie and those eyes, and that darned pretty smile, and her hair, and her body, and everything else about her. I pulled out my note pad and wrote a quick note.

Wow, Sadie Southern is cuter than a speckled pup. I need to see her again!  For sure!

Stanley Ray was seated at his desk way too early in the next morning considering his usual routine, when I arrived. He started in right away.

“Well, you get us some advertising money, boy.” He asked quickly.

I explained all about my visit, the agreement with Ms. Southern, and my hopes of future business.

“Well, did she talk some about how she happened to move into Jackson City, quick like, to start up her business.” He continued.

“Lady said there were some fires and not much left of Dellwo for sales. Nice enough though.” I added.

“Well son, I am giving you a perfect opportunity to be a deeetective newspaper man.  You hustle right on over to our records and see if the name Southern comes up in any fashion or style. Get that information straight out and come one back here, then you and I will have a little comingling of the minds.” He finished then looked down at whatever began to find his interest.

I was a bit confused by all of that jabbering but did as directed. He was the boss.

I spent the rest of the day, dusting off piles of old newspaper copy, sorting through boxes of news clips, and a few of the sheriff’s reports, sparse as they might be.

I saw reports like, so and so took someone’s horse and buggy for a joy ride, or this old boy was put in the hoosegow for being drunk and disorderly, or there was a big to do between some shiners and revenuers.  Not much about anything.

I finally came upon the story in a regional press newspaper concerning the big fire in Dellwo. It turns out that Henry Southern was running a still right outside the town. Plain as day, the paper said. The story went on to say that the still blew up and Henry, drunk as a skunk, like usual, tried to put the danged thing out but made things worse. Wind came up an lit the town on fire. Locals went looking for old Henry who was holed up somewheres. Townsfolk got mighty riled but even worse when Henry started firing his old squirrel gun in their direction. Young Zeke Burns took it upon his self to fire back. A bullseye right into the drunk man’s chest. Dead as a doornail was a quick verdict. Apparently, the Southern family, the wife Nancy, and daughter, Sadie moved lock, stock, and barrel out of town, shortly after the dust settled, as folks’ kind of turned their back on old Henry’s family.

The report says that most folks just moved on to start building up somewhere else. I was pretty much shocked by the nature of the situation. A sad thing for sure.

I slowly walked back to the newspaper building. Stanley Ray was leaning a rocker back against the building front.

“Well, did you learn what did happen to that nice lady Nancy Southern who you are going to write a pretty piece for.” He asked in a weird snide way.

“Yessir, I sure nuff did. But I can’t see what happened in the past, and not being her fault, and all, should have any bearing on what I might write.” I said in kind of a retort growing a little angry at his attitude.

“Well, you just have to know all the facts about situations before you ever write anything. Make you a better newspaperman. I agree with you that she is a victim, but now you know the real facts, if some know-it-all comes up in your face and tries to attack your writings. Understand, Mr. Tucker.” Stanley Ray said in a much softer and even voice.

“Cause its gonna happen time and time again. You get all the facts about anything then decide what needs to be said in this newspaper. I don’t want no lies, guesses, or flim-flam. Just be true to what you need to say then do it. Now I hear a cold beer hollering for me acrost the way. Start on that piece now, ya hear.” and began to heft himself out of the groaning chair.

Stanley Ray walked out the door without so much as a wave. He took on a sweet slow moseying to the Mercantile. Funny way to be teaching me, I thought.

I continued to spend time with the present and past. The old stories and crimes, and escapades of the folks of the Ozarks, the mines, and the hollers began grabbing all of my attention. Interesting things appeared from the piles of dust and confusion of the country record keeping. I jotted some notes about future ideas including how a former sheriff ended up stiff as a board outside a local business establishment noted for a couple of la-ti-da woman residing in the upper rooms. Stiff, as in dead. Nobody found a reason for his demise. Wonder if he died with a smile on his facial looks.

Even found the story about Mrs. Ham’s husband dying. Not much to tell there. Apparently, it was quick and the old Doc weren’t sure what caused his expiring, but jotted down some concerns of unusual symptoms. Might follow up on that, just for my own curiousness.

I finally wrote my piece about the brand-new store with brand new gifts and all belonging to Nancy Southern. I fluffed it up with fine explanations of goods and how everything is set out all pretty. I figured that might bring some curious folks to check it all out.

Must have worked cause none other than Sadie Southern was at the newspaper door a week later, carrying a big smile and a passel of money in her dress pocket.

“Come on in, Miss Sadie.” I said and beckoned her through the front of the place.

“Oh, thank you Silas. My ma sent me over to tell you she thought you did us right proud with your story and it done give our business a big boost. This money is to do some advertising in your paper. And this is the specifics from ma.” She added and pulled out a listing of sale items for the week along with almost a months’ worth of prepaid advertising money.

Stanley Ray would be happy.

We talked for a while when I got an idea.

“Hey, can I walk you over to the Mercantile and I’d be willin to buy us a soda to drink in the shade of that old oak tree yonder.” I asked and pointed across the way.

“Well, Silas Tucker, I most certainly could go for a cold drink. That is nice of you to suggest it.” She said and turned to me with those eyes, and that smile.

I was smitten and I wondered maybe she might conjure up some like feelings for me.

We sauntered slowly, as slow as I could make it, across the street and headed for our get-together.

Just then Delilah Grote and a fella walked past. I noticed she pretended not to pay me no mind.

“Why Delilah, how you doing.” I said breaking the silent look.

The couple stopped.

“Hello, Silas, I plumb didn’t see you coming this way.” She feigned surprise.

We were the only people in the whole street.

“Delilah, this here is Sadie Southern from up Jackson City way, we is doing business over at the newspaper right at the moment.” I explained.

“Nice to meet you.” Delilah said and scanned my walking partner up and down, curling her lip as she did so.

“And this is my beau, Harper Cornwell, we all are planning on getting hitched in a few weeks when the Justice of the Peace travels to town.” Delilah beamed.

“Glad to meet you Harper, and congratulation on your upcoming matrimonial adventure.” I said in acknowledgment.

The kid wasn’t much older than Delilah and a good burst of wind could blow him into the next county. The straw-colored hair, ears that stuck straight out from his round head, and an obvious lack of a full set of teeth kinda set him off peculiar like. He was barefoot with a twice rope holding up his baggy pants. I was glad for Delilah, or maybe my thinkin was I was glad she got he sights on someone other than yours truly.

The boy started to speak but was cut off by her loud voice.

“Yep, Harper stepped up as a man to ask for my hand. Lots of other boys had a chance but he is my wonderous knight in shining armor.” Delilah said with emphasis on boys and a directed stare to me.

I wondered how long it would be before that knight disappeared into the night. I certainly didn’t think it would be long. Delilah was kinda overbearing like.

“Well, then, see y’all sometime.” I said as we closed our conversation.

“Seems like a nice couple, Sadie said, but I think she is going to be in charge of that union.”

We both snickered on the thought and headed for an ice-cold drink.

I saw plenty of Sadie Southern for the next long time. I just about wore out my store-bought boots walking that old roadway to Jackson City, but the feed Nancy Southern put on for her Sunday dinner invite would find me walking barefoot just to taste them mighty fine vittles.

“Glad you could come today, Silas, we really enjoy your company and stories of the past you been digging up.” Mrs. Southern said one Sunday.

“But I got to be cleaning up. Sadie, would you show Silas out, please.” She asked.

Sadie and I stood at the front door of the shop for the longest time. I sensed Sadie had something she wanted to talk at me about.

“What is it.” I asked my new best girl.

“I know you are looking into old stories, but I want to tell you about our family fore you find out things that may turn our courtin inside out. Remember you asked about my pa and I kinda just let it slide? Well, I got to come clean since I’m trying to be totally honest with you and all.” She teared up as she talked.

“You mean all the shining, and fires, and drinkin, and the shootin in Dellwo.” I said quickly and put my finger to her mouth to stop her from talking.

“I know all bout that unfortunate scene, and I don’t change one whit what I think of you or your mother. I ain’t like that.” I finished.

“Oh Silas, thank you, thank you.” Sadie squealed then wrapped her arms around me to give me the sweetest kiss I ever did get.

Sadie stood back and looked at me square into my shocked eyes.

“And I plan or giving a lot more of those the same way or better.” She whispered in a throaty, sultry voice.

I floated home, planning my next visit and a whole lot after them. I was in love with a most beautiful, stupefying, best kissing girl I ever did know.

A group of good old boys came into town riding a big heavy looking automobile called a Buick. First one we had ever seen in these parts. It was mighty sleek. Anyway, they were passing out pamphlets and information about their organization called the Ku Klux Klan, out of Morganville. Apparently they were on a recruiting tour. Folks were pleasant to them, and they were on their way.

I did some research on what they are all about. I was glad they left town. Spreading hate and negativity isn’t one more thing to weigh these poor folks down.

I got a letter with notification that my little sister, Ruby Jo delivered her child, but with complications and all the baby didn’t make it. Ma mentioned she hated to say it, but it was for the best. The baby was malformed and tiny. Everyone else was doing fine and they added a new addition to the side of the house so as to allow privacy for her and the new husband.  Youngins getting bigger and eating them out of house and home. She hadn’t heard anything about Eva Jo and hoped my job is doing alright. Nice letter, I wondered who wrote it for her. Maybe Sam, the new man in her life.

One day I asked Sadie if she would like to meet my family.

“Why, of course I would.” She exclaimed.

We set out on the course and were both excited to jump on the running board of a car owned by the proprietor of the Mercantile, Hawk Hawkins. It was fun and thrilling as neither of us had ever traveled that fast before.

We both wished the drivable road went a little further but it ate up a chunk of our journey distance.

Ma was surprised by us walking up the incline to her home. She was greatly pleased to meet Sadie. All the little ones gathered around from behind ma’s dress and stared at us both.

“Sam will be around shortly; can you sit and have a meal with us?” she asked.

We had already discussed to pass on food as it was not plentiful in that household.

“Thank you Mrs. Simmons, Sadie said, but we have plans later on with my kin.”

We sat on the porch and talked for a while, suddenly Ruby Jo walked out of the house. Things were a bit quiet for a moment then I stood up and spread my arms. My little sister rushed up and laid her head on my chest. She cried like a baby for the longest time. No words were spoken because there was nothing to say. What was, was, and what is, is.

We marveled at the new additional room built onto the house. A first-class job. I started thinking that the old section would be rubble some day and the new part looking as good as ever.

Sam came around the corner and we made the introduction to Sadie. He’s a swell fellow.

We all had a few sips of some moonshine before we headed off. I had seen what that liquid can do to a man, namely Bodhi Tucker, so imbibing of that throating searing stuff was not something I did.

Heading home, Sadie and I talked about my family and their lives until we exhausted the topic. The last part of the trip was a quiet one as we walked hand in hand back to Wilkes township.

I continued to dig up more historical stories of the life in this country. Folks like to see articles and remember the past. The stories included who visited who from out of town, or what was the coal miners up to way back when, and what businesses were closing down or opening up. The paper got lots of complements from locals who thanked us for mentioning their old kinfolk that passed on. They thought that was really special.

I came across the report of death concerning the husband of Widow Ham again and began it as a reread. I was taken to amazement to find the man named in this paper was Jubal Watkins. Different from Hiram Ham. I studied the details. Appeared the man died that same was as old Hiram. Questionable circumstances but no foul play according to the death report and the law people. I made a note to go talk to the widow to find out a little more. My mind was getting suspicious and all.

The big news got everyone all in a tizzy. Plenty of automobiles had been seen propelling up and down the road and paths in our region. Folks, though, never seen one that carried goods in a box-like back end. According to the people standing close to the contraption, a man, funny goggles on the eyes and a leather hat flat on his head, hit a sizeable pothole and sashayed sideways almost clipping Moses Perkins mule. Folks say that could have been a disaster cause old Moses, every fond of his animals, would have plugged the offending machine without much of a thinking moment. The driver called the machine a pickup truck. He loaded some lumber in the back and headed on out. Maybe these parts is catching up to the rest of the countryside as far as inventions and conveniences go.

I made a note to research what I could about automobiles and pickup trucks, and get a writeup for the readers. They would most surely like that.

One gloomy afternoon I sat back in my cubby hole doodling and thinking about Sadie when a loud voice shouted from the front.

“Anyone here.” a deep gravelly voice yelled.

“I here in the back, you just hold on for a shake of a lamb’s tail, now.” I puffed up to sound busy and important.

I approached the front to see one of the largest men I had in my life every seen. He had a big bushy black beard, dark inset eyes, and a knit cap on his head. He stared down at me as I approached slowly.

I noticed his hands were like Thanksgiving hams and just as big. They were tightly balled up. His arm muscles were bigger than my legs.

“I’m looking for a kid called Silas Tucker. Folks say he work here. That you?” he asked while folding up a piece of paper then pocketing it.

“I’m him.” I stuttered.

“Well, boy, my name is Toby Crawford, my wife Celine, I think you know. Ain’t that right.” He growled.

If my bowels hadn’t been emptied just some time ago, I would have messed them for sure.

“I do indeed, and I don’t recollect ever seeing you, her husband, in this here parts.” I stammered.

“Well, that woman, Celine, offered, with some coercing from me, to give me the name of some fellas she been shining up to this last bit of time I been gone. You know, that woman would sashay around town naked tossing big butt back and forth for all to see if she thought it might entice some woman- starved man. She shake it you too, boy.” The big man’s eyes narrowed.

I stood for a moment and stared up, deciding to be righteous with what I should say.

“Well Mr. Crawford, I will not deny that I had gotten to know your wife in the biblical sense more than once, but she led me to believe you were gone from her life. I am truly sorry, sir.” I spoke contritely.

The big man looked at me for a moment then started to laugh, a big full loud belly laugh.

“Son, you are the only one on this here list I got, who was man enough to face up to me. But I don’t care a ding dong hankering what she is doing or with who now. I brought me some deevorce papers to legally and truly get her out of my life, since I got me a nice woman down at the mines where I is making a pretty good living nowadays. The other thing you need to know is when a woman messes like she do, a strong possibly of getting one of those variable diseases you know, clap or the crabs or some such.  Ima thinkin she might just be passing that around to all her beaus as we speak.” He added.

“Just be a lookin out for all that my boy, and you might warn these fellas about what I said.” He turned to walk away but not before tossing a crumbling paper with the names of five other men and boys written out on it.

Wow, I thought, look at these names! Some were married up nice, one was kind of the town idiot, and maybe I was an idiot too. I headed quickly over to the doctor to get check out. I wasn’t gonna pass anything on to anyone, even if I might get a chance.

Strange but not more than less than a week later, Celine was knocking at my door, wanting to have a spell of fun. I denied.

“What in this poor worn out country world is the matter with everyone. You’d think I got some strange exotic disease that if I touch their pecker, it might fall off or something.” She said not knowing she wasn’t mighty far from the truth.

Her coarse language kept on echoing down the street as she stomped away. I wondered if old Toby just spread a few lies to cool off her hot need for a bit of sexual relations at every turn. Luckily Dr. Watkins cleared me with a clean slate and we had a nice understanding talk about preventing such an ugly thing that might happen at any time.

I decided to take the day off, much to Stanley Ray’s displeasure and follow up a story that had been kind of percolating in my mind for some time now. I took off in the direction of the family home. Again, a five- or six-mile hike but walking the hills like I did make the trip easier. Nice breeze today felt good on my face.

I hollered as I got close to the Widow Ham’s place as to not startle the woman. I saw her look out from sheer curtains covering a window, and was soon outside the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Well, Silas Tucker, you sure are a sight for sore eyes. How you been?”  she asked.

“Fine, I’ve just been fine. And you?” I returned the nicety.

“Been pickling some beets the Clocker family gave me. I do the work and give most back to them and keep some. Works out kinda nice, don’t you think?” she said.

“Sure enough do.” I agreed

“Well, what brings you to this neck of the woods, your face is scarcer than money growing on a tree around here. Gonna see your Ma, hear she’s pretty happy these days. And that poor Eva Jo and her misfortune. Land sakes so much going on.” came a barrage of statements.

“No, I wanted to talk some with you.  You know I’m with the Daily Trumpeter newspaper and doing a lot of lookin back on things, and I run into an odd incidence about your name and jawin with you might straighten things out.” I said as I started to strategize my questions.

I reached into my back pocket and extracted my little flamingo notebook I always toted around with me It came in handy for ideas, and plans, and things I heard.

“I noticed that poor old Hiram, your husband who passed away not in the too distant past, weren’t the first husband you was hitched to, but another named Jubal Watkins before that. Did I get them there facts about right, Ms. Ham?” I paused then looked up from my writing pad, pencil poised to jot words.

The widow, now sitting on her front porch, and leaning all the way back in an old cane rocker, adjusted her apron, then answered.

“That’s absolutely right, Silas, I was married before poor old Hiram became my second husband.” she said quietly.

“Well, then, both of your husbands kinda died in mysterious and confusin ways according to all the reports I read. But you said than Hiram’s heart gave out and he just plopped down deader than a doornail. So, I am much confused.” I added looking toward the woman.

“What is it you are askin me, a poor old woman livin alone against this God forsaken country side.” She said in a raised voice.

“Well, I don’t rightly know. What kind of fellas were you two husbands.” I began to divert my angles.

The woman looked out over the sparse tree cover on the downward hillside, then at the hard pan dirt surrounding her home.

“Both of them were pretty nice fellows when I fell for them. Jubal was a fast talker and swept me off of my feet when I was just a young girl. We had lots of fun and laughs for a few years, then he started to drinkin and chasin around, and, most hurtful like, he started to ignore me. He’d be gone for days on end and didn’t have no idea if he was alive or dead. Then he’s come back all contrite as if nothing ever happened.” She stopped for a moment in wistful thought.

“Hiram came from Madison County as big as you please not more than six months after Jubal passed. I was a widow with a few dollars in my pocket I got from Jubal, and he jumped right into that hoop. I put up with his gambling and laziness until we didn’t have a bean to put in the pot.” She finished.

“So, both your husbands just died, like that?” I asked and snapped my fingers.

“Silas Tucker, you didn’t come all the way out here to ask questions you already know the answers to. You are not a ninny. What you are askin is if I might have, in some way, help send both of these bastards on their way to purgatory. That’s what it is, isn’t it?” she asked sharply.

“Well, I don’t mean to cast aspersions to anyone but…” I was interrupted.

“Silas, you and me just ought to have a coming to Jesus talk right here and now, ya hear. And I’ll do the talking. Ifn you want to add anything when I’m done then be my guest. Okay?”

I shook my head up and down, greatly intrigued.

“Not too long ago, I saw a sight that I still can’t quite forget. I watched a young boy, looked a lot like you Silas, wander around my back shed there to fix something or the other, but noticed him carrying a bag of something out with him when he left the place. You with me so far?” she asked.

I nodded, and felt my gulping Adam’s apple go into confusing bounces.

“So, I went to check, out of curiosity and all, what might you have hauled away. Well, lo and behold, my precious rat poison box was nowhere to be seen.  Two days later I got the understanding that that old mean Jacob Brown done succumbed from that very exact same arsenic what was in my rat poison. And, of course, those no good rotten sons of his blamed your poor Daddy for the act. Still following me.” She said with a wicked smile on her face.

My mouth was drier than the heart of a haystack.

She continued, “Not just sometime later that old box reappeared right where had been previous like. Kind of confusing don’t you think, Silas Tucker.”

“Now I would never even consider that you may or may not have had something to do with the demise of those two miserable creatures who disappeared off the face of this earth, your daddy, and the pa of those newly orphaned boys he left behind. Those poor boys who most likely beat you pa to death cause they thought he poisoned old Jacob. And, I would certainly not cast any, what did you say, aspersions, toward anyone about my thinking and seeing.” She stopped to take a long slow breath.

“So, whether I did or didn’t do what you might think I did, and same going for you, I think it best to leave well enough alone, don’t you, Silas?” She kinda asked and stared hard at me.

I nodded my headed up and down, feeling some of the long suppressed down guilt of my crime, and the feeling of being found out.

“Well, nice talking to you Mrs. Ham, I’ll let you get back to those beets now, ya hear.” I said quickly and began to leave the porch.

“Come on back anytime, Silas Tucker, anytime.” She chuckled and turned toward her front door.

I forgot to keep on the trail to visit ma.

So, a lot has happened in the past year and I just have to put down on paper. Maybe look back at all this someday and write a danged story of my life, who knows.

 Stanley Ray got a call from his sister asking him to come down to Parkersburg and live in the big house since her husband’s passing and he just handed me the keys to the Daily Trumpeter building and walked away. Not so much as a by your leave. And I’ll be gull danged if there wasn’t an green colored automobile waiting outside to pick him up. It had parked right in front of the shop. And there, handling all the instruments and stuff, was a woman. Must have been his kin, but he never did make an introduction.

The article in last week’s paper announced the engagement of Miss Sadie Southern to Mr. Silas Tucker. The story, written my both me and my sweet bride, reported that the fine-looking couple plan on getting married on the Fourth of July, kinda symbolic of independence but united. I myself thought that was a nice touch. Thought about putting the readings on the front page but decided it belonged on the new society section I started some time back.

Celine Crawford left town for greener pastures, where unsuspecting males with a certain persuasion, don’t know her yet.

 I haven’t had any particular reason to go on out to visit old widow Ham. Can’t think of a single one as I write this note, don’t you know.