The Haunting Hour

3. Aganasti Creeks, TN-3

‘Oh, I like that. Sure, I’ll be there.’

‘See ya then! And for the first time I surmise, unless you want to reveal what that sheet is hidin.’

Now she did grab that sheet and pull it back a few inches, and I saw some strawberry curls and a mischievous eye. I guess she was a bit bashful, with what I put together later, but I wasn’t gonna push my luck. She must’ve liked what she saw too, as she delivered the corner of a little smirk with a side of a wink that hit me right between the ribs.

‘Mr. Stanton! Where you run off to? Like I have not enough on my agenda this heinous morning!’ Mrs. Dripp effectively sealed the end of our rendezvous for the time being. I stole a grin back at my new acquaintance and ran to the front porch. Not till I arrived back at Mrs. Dripp’s crossed ham hock arms did I realize I was still holdin’ the delivery.

‘Is your compass broken, Mr. Stanton? Should I provide you a map to the back door?’

‘Ha—no, ma’am. The hound dogs back there were less than friendly as I approached. Seems they do not like sharin’ their breakfast with strangers.’

‘I don’t know if I think much of a man who’s afraid of a lowly canine. I figure the salesman war of ’43 has reached its logical conclusion, so just set your goods on the porch. We’ll take it from there.’ In my excitement, even watchin’ Mrs. Dripp reach down and pull out her currency had me flustered. I feared she may have misconstrued my intentions.

‘Mr. Stanton. Been since the roarin’ twenties since I roared if you get my drift. Now if you don’t mind, I have some lamp repairs to attend to.’

As I pulled the truck around, I noticed a subtle wave from behind the sheets. I may have driven all the way back down that steep, bushy mountain, but my spirits were headin’ in the opposite direction with a bullet.

I was so excited—the water poolin’ in the basement corners comin’ from the rain outside didn’t even bother me. I’d had the windows open long enough for the Virginia creeper to poke its head in and start fallin’ down the cinderblock walls. Doubt you coulda seen your hand in front of your face out there that day in that milky ole fog, and I sure hoped it held up. I had a lot figurin’ to do. Like how I was gonna get that window open enough to shimmy out into the night, and how I was gonna make sure that wasn’t nobody gonna miss me for a while, till I could talk that feller into fallin’ in love with me or at least droppin’ me off back home in Aganasti so I could see what’s what.

Had been near a cotton pickin’ year if my marks on the wall were true, and I’d really liked to see Ma and Pa again as I’d had an uneasy feelin’ ever since I’d been in that hole. From what I gathered that mornin’ from my little hidey-hole, standin’ on tippy toes on a couple of stacked apple crates so I could stretch my noggin and rest my ear right on the windowsill, he seemed pretty taken with Lucy over by the clothesline. I could see why, but he had to notice her well on her way to bein’ heavy with child. I’d learnt that Mrs. Dripp had quite a business for herself around there, gettin’ them girls who got in trouble and sellin’ off the babies to rich barren couples all over the state. I knew all about that—one of the good things about my bad situation was that I could hear the dinner conversation goin’ on upstairs through the talkie-hole on the wall next to the dumbwaiter. Couldn’t always make it out, but if there was a full house and if maybe a wild hat salesman had broken out some whiskey, things would get all boisterous and I could learn an awful lot about what went on in the world. There would be the girls half servin’, half eatin’, and the flirtin’ men were more than happy to share a roof with young single girls that had a history of misbehavin’.

‘Y’all make it where a fella don’t even need a dollop of honey butter on his cornbread—so sweet ‘round here.’

‘Anybody hear the legend about the Hawaiian Chief Wouldoomamalakalikeahickey?’

‘Was in a truck stop bathroom outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. You know they have a hole in one of the stall doors you put your pecker in?’

‘I got some checkers in my room if you want to go up and get jumped.’

‘Which belly I gotta rub for good luck? Should rub ‘em all just in case.’

It wasn’t all one-sided, neither. As long as Mrs. Dripp wasn’t at the table breathin’ down necks, them girls could make the devil blush. I heard lots of words for the first time sittin’ by that hole. Had to figure they were filthy, the way they fell down to my ear. Lately, Lucy had been the belle of the ball with a string of travelin’ men. Supposed they liked her curled up smile and that syrupy accent of hers where she made a sentence last a minute and they’d hang on, danglin’ on every word.

‘You fellas ever ate a boudin sausage? Ain’t nothin’ finer on this green earth than some boudin and cracklins on a wet bayou mornin’, no sir.’

‘You like sausage, Lucy?’ Laughin’ followed, but I didn’t.

‘Sure, I do. Hard to find good sausage ‘round here though.’

‘Depends where you look. Might be able to find you some of the best sausage Iowa has to offer.’

Another voice joined in, loud and slurred. ‘What, them little shriveled yankee breakfast links? Nah, Georgia got the biggest and the best. Happy to prove it too, Lucy.’

‘Georgia? Hell, ain’t nothin’ worth a damn come outta Georgia but peanuts. That what you packin’?’ Heard chairs fall over and more laughin with a bit of nervous flavor.

‘Well, c’mon then, bub. Let’s see who passes the eye test.’

‘Gentlemen, please, don’t y’all be so obscene.’

‘Oh—you’re gonna see obscene, Lucy. You are indeed.’ The Iowa man was about to prove his point usin’ a visual aid when a hush fell over everything. I wanted to see the scene so bad, but I guessed correctly that Mrs. Dripp had arrived right before the contest had truly gotten underway.

‘Don’t know what’s transpiring here at my dinner table and I don’t want to know. Just be rest assured that the kitchen, and that means the entire dining area, is closed for the evenin’. Lucy, you got a sink full of dishes taller than a circus dwarf with your name on it. Run along.’ Mrs. Dripp was an expert at spoilin’ fun, but that’s what runnin’ a successful business was all about, she’d told me more than once. Her job was number one: runnin’ her house with an iron fist, and number two: gettin’ healthy babies out and to the folks that were willin’ to pay top dollar for ‘em. I could think of worse ways to take care of things, I suppose, but I sure hadn’t been taught up much by then when it came to birthin’. Them girls got a cut of the price after room and board and then away they went. Figured there might be a few who saw it as a pretty good way to make an honest livin’ and were lookin’ to make a return trip. Sure sounded like Mrs. Dripp wasn’t hurtin’ for customers—she always had these people visitin’ to check out the merchandise and make sure it was on the up and up. Sometimes I saw ‘em headin’ out with a bundle of joy and ear to ear smiles. I saw and heard a lot more down there than most would catch up on the main floors, I would suspect. Like that conversation my man and Lucy had earlier. That was the last problem I sure needed to see to—make sure Lucy wasn’t the one climbin’ into a truck tonight. I didn’t wanna hurt her since she’d been nothin’ but sweet to me. Was hopin’ I wouldn’t have to.

The weather wasn’t ideal, to say the least. My spirits were on a steady decline all afternoon watchin’ the rain come in. Even if I could get that hunk of metal up through the gauntlet of washed out mud holes, I doubted that sweet girl was gonna be standin’ out in the rain in the middle of the night waitin’ on a dairy farmer with a limp. Even told Pop I was goin’ on a coon hunt that night and he’d been givin’ me the suspicious eye ever since. He knew I was up to somethin’ and chasin’ coons wasn’t it. Got me a lantern and my shotgun by the front door just to put on a show.

‘Ain’t no coon runnin’ around in this rain, boy. You ever seen a dog run in the rain? Can’t pick up no scent. Any country boy knows that. Them yankee boats knocked the country outta you, I swear.’ Pop looked off into space, spittin’ juice next to his radio, I was kinda surprised he had said anything other than cussin’ out the baseball game. The man hated listenin’ to his Cardinals more than anything, but he wouldn’t miss a game. That is, unless it was the few times a season he’d thrown the radio against the wall after a tough loss and hadn’t gotten ‘round to replacin’ it yet.

‘Yeah, I reckon not, but I’d like to scout out a couple places I seen doin’ deliveries. Mrs. Dripp always tellin’ me they up pokin’ around her trash, teasin’ her dogs—got em howlin’ and wakin’ up the whole house. Even if my friend leaves his dogs at home, we can spot where they keepin’ themselves durin’ the nighttime.’

‘You can do that just as well durin’ the day when it ain’t dumpin’ outside. Damn fool.’ Figured he was gonna give me some more hell till he leaned a little closer to the Crosley and spit with disgust on the floor.

‘Son of a b***h. Another got by that damn shortstop. Tell ya what: next time you tree a coon, take him alive and bring him home. I’ll teach him to play shortstop better than this piece of s**t they got.’ I seen Pop get his spitter and jug mixed up after the seventh-inning stretch. It ain’t a pretty sight and I figured I’d head out a bit early to avoid it.

‘All right, Pop, I’ll sure do that. I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up.’ Had my hands full and was walkin’ to the door when Pop stood up quick and swayed a bit, remindin’ me of being back on the boat. My already flutterin’ stomach started on a somersault.

‘And make sure that coon is left-handed. We need more of ‘em in the lineup. Them stinkin’ Cubbies loaded with strong arm righties.’ He smiled a tobacco-stained grin, undid his overalls, and sunk back down into his chair.

‘Will do, Pop. Left-handed coon that can hit the high heat. Will do.’

‘Lucy. Down here. Help me up.’ Just my luck she would be bravin’ that nasty night to see a boy. Guess that kinda thinkin’ was what put her in the place she was in. I was lookin’ with envy at her galoshes as she squatted down to find me half out the window, stuck like a fox in a knothole.