The Sisters of Glass Ferry

by Kim Michele Richardson

  “That’s ’cause Honey Bee was right,” Flannery said. “And it doesn’t matter if he’s gone, or how long; he’ll always be right.”

  Patsy studied her sister a moment. “Honey Bee wasn’t always right. If he’d listened to Mama, maybe he’d still be here—” she said quietly.

  “Patsy Jean Butler, you hush your mouth about our daddy,” Flannery scolded.

  Patsy hung her head a little, thinking about the day he’d been found dead on his ferryboat. Pushing the horrid thought aside, she said, “Well, it would’ve been fun tonight with you there.” If Flannery went with Hollis, it would serve Patsy in a two-fold way: keep the older brother away from her and Danny, and let them spend time alone. “He’s the sheriff’s son, so Mama wouldn’t mind . . . Danny said it was Hollis who brought it up first, before he asked you—”

  “Too late, and I don’t care,” Flannery snipped. “Sheriff Jack Henry’s son or not, Miss Little wouldn’t have allowed it. Anyways, I heard he didn’t get approval, even when Violet Perry submitted his name.”

  All girls’ dates for school dances had to go through their home economics teacher, Miss Little, for preapproval.

  “What? Violet put his name in?” Patsy asked, wondering why she hadn’t heard that the pretty Violet Perry had to go back and submit another name to Miss Little, wondering what Hollis was up to now.

  “Heard he begged her to do it to test Miss Little, though I bet he secretly wanted to go with her,” Flannery said. “And you know if the pastor’s daughter can’t get Miss Little’s permission for Hollis, ain’t nobody going to get it.”

  That was true. Patsy’d thought it would’ve been okay to put Hollis and Flannery together for just one night, knew Hollis didn’t have a sneaky eye trained on Flannery, and then her sister wouldn’t gripe about working her shift. But after hearing even the preacher’s daughter couldn’t earn Hollis Miss Little’s good favor, Patsy knew Hollis would never go to any dance, not even his own senior prom. Not as long as Miss Little was alive and kicking, that is. Patsy’d barely squeaked her date’s name by the old teacher.

  * * *

  The seventy-four-year-old spinster took not only the name of your date, but also checked his grades and looked at any infractions the boy might’ve had in the last year. Folks knew she sniffed around better than any hound dog or gumshoe even, going so far as to call on the boy’s neighbors, pastor, or an employer if he had one.

  If something was amiss, Miss Little would tell you to find another date; the boy wasn’t good enough, and the troublemaker wouldn’t be allowed to attend. A girl could try to plead the boy’s case, but it was rare Miss Little would change her mind and give permission. Parents too. Especially the parents. Though Miss Little was indeed small and frail in appearance, in these matters she had a might of influence over all the grown-ups, especially since Alfred Harris.

  Long ago, Alfred transferred from another county after his school chased him off for doing bad things to animals. The family sent him to live with an aunt in Glass Ferry, but Miss Little found out his sickness had come with him. After that Alfred incident, no one grumbled about Miss Little’s guardian role or her results.

  Still, Miss Little tried to be fair, and there was always a chance if the boy’s offense was trivial. The teacher sometimes offered to have him atone for his misdeed by attending her Wednesday and Saturday two-hour Bible study at her house. If the boy made a month’s worth of meetings and seemed truly repentant, Miss Little would finally nod her consent.

  A boy willing to do that punishment knew his date was worth it, knew that come Monday morning after the dance he might be boasting about making it to second, possibly third base even, and, by lunch, he’d fish-tale it bigger and describe an almost homerun on prom night.

  The girls’ mamas and daddies thought Miss Little’s rules were nifty—as close to the Good Lord’s blessing as they could get. It saved them big headaches, and they didn’t have to worry their sweet magnolias would end up with a hooligan or the likes, and their families disgraced.

  The boys’ families said Miss Little helped keep their Southern sons honorable and on the straight and narrow, said their boys worked harder in school and at their jobs because of her date-dance scrutiny.

  Patsy had been thrilled to pass her first name to Miss Little for the Cupid’s Dance. Then again for junior prom.

  On that morning, long before the bigger troubles took root, Patsy’d dressed in a modest skirt and a buttoned-to-the-top blouse, and stood in line with the other girls, including the seniors.

  Quietly, Patsy had waited her turn to contribute to the pile of papers and place the traditional apple into Miss Little’s wooden bowl.

  Patsy watched the others in front of her pass their apples to Miss Little and give the chosen name inside their folded papers. Everyone in line stretched their necks, slipped a snooping eye, watching too as the teacher opened paper after paper and peeked, before folding and adding to the pile.

  At last Patsy handed Miss Little her polished apple along with the folded slip of paper, the name of the boy she was sweet on taking her to the big prom written in her best handwriting. It meant she was a woman now. And folks would look at her like one. Especially Danny.

  Miss Little examined the apple closely before putting it with the others.

  Patsy squirmed. She had gone through three pails from old man Samp’s orchard until she found one without a blemish.

  Miss Little studied Patsy’s paper. You could always tell which boys would get a pass right off and those who wouldn’t or needed more checking, because the old schoolmarm always hinted with a tiny smile, or a wrinkled worry in her brow, before folding up the paper and placing it to the side. Anxious, Patsy searched the teacher’s face.

  Danny had been careful not to get into trouble. But lately he’d been hanging with his brother and a few of the other older boys, and getting closer to it. And the more he hung, the more his good grades dipped, and as his lip got a little looser, and his breath smelled a lot boozier—the more Patsy found herself harping. She couldn’t dare risk losing the dance. Her chance.

  At last Miss Little nodded with the slightest smile, dismissing her. For a lingering second Patsy stared at her, agonizing she’d imagined it all.

  “Miss Butler, you may take your seat.”

  Patsy startled and gave a small curtsy, fleeing to her table. But not before seeing the blessing in her teacher’s crisp blue eyes.

  When Patsy told Mama she’d gotten permission, Mama’d squealed and grabbed her pocketbook. “Let’s celebrate.” Mama held up her hooked arms in invitation to the girls, then took them to Chubby’s for treats, letting Patsy drive the automobile there and Flannery tote them back.

  Flannery cheered some at that.

  Seated at the slick chrome-polished table inside Chubby’s, they’d chatted happily, and in a bit, Mama confided to her daughters that Miss Little had not approved Honey Bee for her own high school dance.

  “I can’t rightly remember what Honey Bee did to get turned down,” Mama began, while she fiddled with her dress collar, plucked it, and looked across the booth at the twins. “Something small, I’m sure.”

  The girls begged her to remember everything.

  “Well now.” Mama’s cheeks rosied, and she took a sip of Coke, attempting to hide her deepening blush behind the frosty glass. “Miss Little shot him down flat.”

  “Poor Honey Bee,” Flannery said. “What did he do?”

  “Lessee, that’s been a while.”

  “Mama!” the girls cried for more.

  “Oh, don’t you know Honey Bee Butler took me to the dance.” She sly-eyed them with a wink.

  “Honey Bee agreed to do her Bible study?” the twins asked, and looked at each other, incredulous.

  “I sure hated telling Honey Bee she’d turned him down.” Mama frowned.

  “But what did he say, what did he do?” Patsy needled.

  “He never said a word. Not a one. Not a peep.”

  �
�What happened, Mama?” Flannery pushed.

  Mama chuckled. “Well, he wore himself out walking. I do remember that much.”

  “Walking?” Patsy and Flannery puzzled.

  “Walking.” Mama grinned. “Walked himself the three miles to and three miles back—six miles total—all spiffed up in his Sunday suit, twice a week for a month, just to attend Miss Little’s Bible studies. Walked himself silly, and wore out those shiny new shoes of his, and nearly knocked the nails off his toes.”

  The girls laughed.

  “He went to all of them,” Flannery said, admiringly.

  “Attended every single one,” Mama said. “The next thing I knew, Honey Bee’d hiked the five miles over to my house. He pounded boldly on our door and handed my daddy the permission slip.”

  “Did Gramps run him off?” A wide-eyed Patsy waited.

  “Don’t you know Daddy took one look at Honey Bee’s busted shoes and right away gave his blessing. I knew right then I’d marry that boy. I’d walk barefoot across Kentucky to have a man as fine as your daddy.” Mama dabbed at her watery eyes. “Still got that old paper tucked inside my cedar chest with the quilt Miss Little made us for a wedding present.”

  Patsy and Flannery smiled, proud of their parents. The one living, and the one not.

  “How was the dance, Mama?” Patsy asked.

  “I promised Honey Bee the dance would be divine.” Mama smiled a little dreamily as if it was happening all over again. Right then and there.

  “And?” the girls chorused.

  “And we danced, is all.” Mama took another drink of her cola, flicked at a tiny crumb on the table. “Danced the jitterbug and the Black Bottom like nobody’s business,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was all divine. A real gasser as they say.”

  “Gasser,” Patsy and Flannery sang out and giggled.

  “Well, it was. The dance was,” Mama said.

  “Did you let him kiss you?” Flannery propped her chin on her fists and leaned in closer to the conversation.

  “Oh, hush. Your daddy was a gentleman.” Mama shook a finger at Patsy. “A fine gentleman, and I expect nothing less from your Mister Danny Henry. Now drink your colas, girls.” She fanned away the discussion with smiling eyes.

  * * *

  Now that the prom was finally here, Patsy wondered whether Danny would have agreed to Bible studies if the old teacher had turned him down. Worried how far he would’ve walked for her. More, would he still be willing to walk for her after tonight? Patsy was sure she was about to find out if he was a fine one like their Honey Bee.

  Flannery leaned over, bumping Patsy’s shoulder to grab a ribbon off their vanity.

  “I’m sorry Wendell didn’t ask you, tadpole,” Patsy said. “Miss Little would’ve said yes. Mama too.” Patsy knew Flannery had waited months, hoping for Wendell Black to ask her out.

  “Yeah,” Flannery said to her twin. “But he has to work too.”

  “That boy’s crazy about you, even if he can’t scrape the words off his tongue,” Patsy said. “At least you’ll get to be with him tonight.”

  “Humph. A fat lotta good that does me.” Flannery grunted softly, taking a chew to the consolation.... “You really think he likes me?”

  “I do.” Patsy pulled out the cubbyhole drawer on her side of their vanity and lifted out a Chicken Dinner candy bar. “Here, tadpole, you can have it,” she told Flannery, feeling a little more sorry her sister was stuck working. Lately, Patsy didn’t have the taste for the candy anyway.

  When Danny went to Lexington with his folks, he’d always save his nickels to buy Patsy the expensive candy. Not made out of chicken, but a scrumptious chocolate-covered nut roll, and Patsy’s favorite. She held out the Chicken Dinner bar with the roasted chicken on its blue and gold wrapper.

  “Patsy”—the girls’ mama poked her head into the bedroom—“don’t forget these.” She dangled an old string of pearls.

  “Gramma’s pearls.” Flannery jumped off the bed, rushed over to her mama, and reached for them.

  Jean Butler pulled back her hand. “You know these belong to your sister, baby girl. Firstborn gets the pearls, and the second child gets the wedding quilt,” she gently admonished.

  “No fair.” Flannery flipped back her braid. “She was born only eight minutes before me, Mama. Only eight little min—”

  Mama draped an arm across Flannery’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Come on. Behave.”

  “A quilt, a stupid coverlet. Can’t wear a stupid quilt.” Flannery sulked.

  “You’ll have Daddy’s business one day,” Patsy pointed out. “Same as his watch.”

  “Small chance of that happening now that you and Mama sold his stills,” Flannery snipped.

  “But you got his recipe books,” Patsy said, relieved Mama had rid the family of the old whiskey distillery, got rid of almost every trace of Honey Bee’s business. That was the first thing Mama did when he died. “And look what that old female did with just a pile of recipes, tadpole. It made her famous—”

  “I’m not Catherine Carpenter. And, he meant for us both to have his secrets,” Flannery reminded, dismissing the famous Kentucky pioneer. “But he knew only one of us would be doing the work. And ’sides, you told Honey Bee you didn’t want anything from the whiskey—still, you got his gun that belonged to that old outlaw.” Flannery rubbed the leather band on the timepiece her daddy had passed to her.

  Patsy wrinkled her nose.

  “Please, girls. No bickering,” Mama scolded. “Let’s not bring up sadness on such a beautiful day. Whiskey is not a proper business for ladies. You’ll be sixteen—young ladies in a few weeks. And I’ve decided today’s the day. Flannery, you can go get your quilt out of the hope chest, and Patsy”—smiling, she handed her eldest-daughter-by-eight-minutes the pearls—“you’ll want to wear these to your big dance.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Patsy said, embracing the pearls, pinning them to her chest. Although old, the pearls were gems. Something precious to add to her beauty. The teen had been waiting for those family jewels ever since she had toddled around in them while wearing her Mama’s prized periwinkle-blue church heels that Honey Bee’d brought her back from New Orleans. Now finally the pearls were hers.

  “Who needs fancy gems for soda-jerking anyway.” Flannery sighed. “I have to get ready for your shift if I’m going to make it on time. It’s late.”

  “That’s because you wasted your time arguing,” Patsy said.

  Earlier, Patsy had hung her robe beside the tub and bumped her sister aside, calling first dibs on the bath. And their mama had let her over Flannery’s loud protests about running late for work. Mama had gasped, “He’ll hear! Heavens, what’s gotten into you, Flannery Bee Butler? It’s nearly six . . . and it would be a sin to make your sister late—no respectable lady has her date sit in the parlor while she’s bathing just a hush away. That’s just plain wickedness!”

  “Scandalous.” Patsy’s breaths hovered above her mama’s. “I can’t be naked in this house and have Danny Henry hearing it behind the wall like that, Mama. It’s my prom!”

  “Indecent.” Mama pressed her hands to her ears.

  “Lord,” Flannery sassed. “You’d think I’m committing a crime of moral turpitude the way you two are carrying on like that. Mama, I doubt if God has given that Henry boy, or any boy, special X-ray ears to hear a female taking her bubble bath through the acres of damask-rose skins that thicken our paper-soaked walls. Let me go first—”

  “It’s my big dance,” Patsy cried.

  “She’s always trying to boss and has to be first in everything, Mama. Everything! If Honey Bee was here, he’d make her be fair,” Flannery groused. “He wouldn’t let her—”

  “Flannery!” Mama and Patsy scolded, running her out of the room.

  Minutes later, Flannery poked her head back into the bedroom. “I’m going to be late, Mama. Can you iron my uniform for me?”

  “Mama,” Patsy said, pulling out one of the bobby pins fa
stened to her pin curls, “you need to do my hair.”

  “Heavens,” Mama said, “just look at the time.” Mama starched Flannery’s uniform, making it look out-of-the-box new as only she could, then fussed with Patsy’s hair and helped her into the prom dress she had made for her eldest daughter.

  “Where did I put my new stockings?” Flannery wiggled into her girdle, held up a garter buckle. “Mama, have you seen—?”

  “Look on your dresser under your apron.” Mama fluffed Patsy’s underskirts, lifting tulle and satin, and then prissed and fussed some more over the dress’s sunshine-yellow chiffon and lace puffy veneers, inspecting the pencil-thin velvet shoulder straps and sweetheart neckline. Smiling, she clasped the pearls around Patsy’s neck.

  “Mama, you go on now,” Patsy insisted. “I don’t want you to be late.” She couldn’t have Mama making a fuss in front of her date.

  “I’m gonna be late,” Flannery complained again, foot propped on the bed, carefully walking the hosiery up her leg.

  “You could be twenty minutes early and still think you’re late,” Patsy said.

  “I don’t like making folks wait like you, Queen Patsy.”

  “Girls, shh.” Mama rested her hands on Patsy’s waist, looked over her daughter’s shoulder into the mirror.

  “Flannery can see me off,” Patsy told Mama, shooing her away. “Right, tadpole?”

  Reluctantly, Flannery nodded and pecked her mama’s cheek. “Thanks for ironing my uniform, Mama. Go on and get your stuff. I’ll take care of Queenie—so long as they pick her up on time.”

  “The dress is beautiful, Mama. I’ll see you tonight,” Patsy said.

  “It’s one of your best,” Flannery agreed.

  “We’ll make you one just as pretty when it’s your time.” Mama lightly patted Flannery’s cheek. “Okay, girls. I’ll just get my dessert and be off. What time is Sam and Carol Jean supposed to pick you up?”

  Patsy and Danny were double dating with Sam and his girl. Sam had offered to drive Danny and Patsy to the prom since both were weeks shy of getting their own licenses.

  “Soon.” Patsy kissed Mama good-bye and turned to the floor mirror on the other side of the room.