by W E Monroe
Chapter Four: Aunt Flo
Nate got to Harrellson Corners OK. Four blocks on Main Street and he turned to the right. You go 12 blocks into Harrellson Corners and you're out-of-town again. Left at the first street, Maple Ave., and Flo's house is third on the left.
Flo grieved real hard after Rolly McCray shot her husband, Frank. But, Flo’s a strong woman. The grieving is mostly over and she’s getting on with her life. Nate’s Saturday visits helped a lot.
Riding the horse up from the street into the side yard, he swung out of the saddle onto the ground. Holding the reins, Nate stretched his tired muscles from the long ride. Tying the reins to a small tree by the house, Nate took a little gift he'd brought, from the saddlebag. Flo was always thrilled with whatever he brought.
“Hey Flo, I'm here." He called. "Myyyyy goodness!, What you got cookin'? Oh Lord, it smells good." He could hear a stirring in the house now as Flo hurried from the kitchen to the front door.
The front door burst open just as Nate stepped off the top step onto the porch. "Nate! Just look at you! I'll bet you've grown some more since last week," she said with a wry smile. This was her little joke to make Nate just a little uncomfortable. Flo knew from the way his eyes rolled up each time, that he was tired of the joke, but tolerated it.
She had never stopped moving forward when she came out of the door, and now, arms outstretched, embraced him. Nate thirstily breathed in the fragrance of her lilac toilet water. Flo's arms felt him relax and hunch-over just a bit as he returned her hug.
For a few seconds they stood there as Nate thought ‘Oh I love this.’ Her softness stirred feelings that he knew he shouldn't have for an aunt. Each time it seemed just a little more difficult to step away from the feast of her arms, her fragrance and the softness she flattened against his belly.
Aunt Flo, by no means frumpy looking, a real pretty woman. If you saw her dressed normal without all the bulky clothes she wears, you'd say she could be a dance-hall singer. At forty-eight, she doesn't want folks to know how pretty she is. They'll start askin' questions.
She was a dance-hall singer...but not very long. Didn't like it. Couldn't make enough money. She was ambitious, and determined. It was the Saloon-keepers that were makin' the money. She was in Colorado Springs when she heard about Cripple Creek, just on the other side of Pikes Peak. Cripple Creek was boomin', so she quit singin', opened a saloon in Cripple Creek, brought in fifteen ladies and she was in business. This was the first saloon in town with pretty ladies for the lonely men of Cripple Creek.
She did right well. Stayed with it quite a number of years. Retired a very wealthy woman. Came back east to the "short-mountains" as she called them. Her nest egg in cash and gold now sits in the three largest safe deposit boxes in the First National Bank of Carlisle, the county seat. It would buy every business in Harrellson Corners and Murphyville and have enough left for a few more in Carlisle. Not even her late husband knew about her "past" or her wealth. Nobody knows.
"Well,..c'mon in. My neck's gettin' sore lookin' up at you like this." Releasing him from her embrace, she turned, took his hand, and led him into the house.
Nate, still feeling the warmth of her softness against his belly from that embrace and maybe a little giddy from her lilac-water, followed as she went through the door. Whaaacckk!!! “Oh, God Flo, I done it again. I forgot to duck."
"Well, I swear! Nate you know you got to get that head down comin' through that door. This is the third time you've hit that same doorframe. Let's see. Yep, you're gonna have another scar."
"I don't know what it is, Flo, I never run into doorframes, anywhere else." commented a puzzled Nate.
Flo knew why! Nate, now reclining on the sofa, felt coolness and water running down the sides of his face. Flo had brought a wet cloth to put over the little cut on his right cheek. A secret, satisfied smile plays over her face while she holds the cloth. ‘Well that does tell me. I can still affect men.’
Turning pensive, she thought of her plan for the future.."Not much longer." she silently tells herself.
For a woman who'd only learned to cook after she was past forty, she did very well. There was crispy fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, cherry and apple pie. The aromas from Flo's kitchen were maddeningly delicious, and by the time the food was on Nate's plate, his appetite was ravenous.
Widow Brewster at the roomin' house where Nate lived, was a pretty good cook, but was too stingy on the portions. The widow cooked because it was necessary. Flo cooked to please Nate.
Later, Nate and Flo washed and put-up the dishes, and then the "thank-you's" and "good-byes" began. In the Cooley family, it is poor etiquette if this part of the visit lasts less than fifteen minutes. These two were very polite so it took more than that. The final part of their parting ritual was Nate's firm pat directly upon Flo's fanny. Without fail, Flo always responded with mock surprise and indignation, then would say "Woo! Nate, don't you do that." Then she'd appear to blush.
In Nate's mind, he figured the fanny-pat was what kept Flo baking her delicious cherry pies for him. But Flo knew cherry pies alone would not bring Nate back every Saturday. The fanny-pats she allowed but pretended to protest, were part of the attraction for Nate.
Two of those cherry pies had been cut up and wrapped so they could fit into the saddle bags, as well as most of the rest of the left-overs from Aunt Flo’s dinner. When Nate Cooley was ready to leave, there was enough in those saddle bags to feed him until Tuesday, if the weather stayed cool.