Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “You sure ain’t much help,” she said, looking at him pensively.

  “Y’all can discuss things later,” Trent said.

  “I suppose ya want lunch?”

  “That I do, Haylee-Girl,” he said with a smile and a wink.

  “Don’t give me that Haylee-Girl business,” she said, grabbing for her ticket pad, “what would ya like?”

  “Just a beer and burger, gotta go vote for Mister Trump. Besides, I gotta watch mah waistline ’cause I’m gittin’ measured for mah tux this afternoon,” Trent replied.

  “Goin’ to a weddin’?” She asked doubtfully.

  “Ya see, there’s this female I call Haylee-Girl, who’s gonna marry up with me in two-weeks.”

  “Does she know what she’s gettin’ into?”

  “Yep, I think she does, but I don’t. Never know from one day ta the next what a new sunrise might bring,” he said, smiling wistfully.

  Later that day, after he’d voted and been measured for his tuxedo, Trent went over to have dinner with Haylee and Kit and to watch the presidential election returns. When he walked in, Kit was glued to the TV. She appeared to be a political sponge, soaking up everything she could about the race—especially Mr. Trump.

  “Have a seat, son, Haylee’s busy with supper,” she said, briefly glancing away from the screen, “I’m just watchin’ the lyin’ media tell more lies ’bout Mr. Trump.”

  “I’ll let ya catch me up on it later. Think I’ll go help Haylee,” he said, walking toward the kitchen.

  “Ya hungry, Trent?” Haylee asked, quickly looking up to greet him.

  “Do well-diggers have cold rear ends?” He asked with a smile.

  “I suppose, but I’ve never met one,” she replied.

  “A well-digger or a cold fanny? He asked.

  “Neither,” she said with a playful laugh.

  “Can I give ya a hungry hand?” he asked.

  “Not really, we’re ’bout ready; although, ya could’ve told me that momma’s gonna go to Sante Fe with us.”

  “If I’d done that, I would’ve broke mah word,” he said.

  “I was just kiddin’ with ya,” she said, snapping a kitchen cloth at him, “but it did take a load off my mind.”

  “Trent! Trent! Come here! Look at these election results!” Kit yelled from the living room.

  “What’s hapnin’?!” Trent exclaimed as he rushed back into the living room.

  “What they’ve been sayin’s a lie. Look, look, he’s takin’ Iowa, Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Florida! He might even get Pennsylvania, but they still don’t know ’bout us in Arizona. Dear Lord, if they don’t vote for that man, I wanna leave as soon as I can. It ain’t over, he still might win this thing, and we can finally be shut of them Clintons forever!”

  “Kit, don’t wanna throw water on ya campfire, but them Democrats ain’t through stealin’ yet. Just look what they done in Nevada. I listened ta the news before I came over and Harry the Hack’s doing all sorts of crooked stuff. That state’ll probly go ta Clinton.”

  “Sure hope Arizona people ain’t that stupid!” Kit said.

  “Think it’s gonna be close,” Trent commented.

  After dinner, they all watched the TV coverage, skipping from channel to channel in search of unbiased reporting, but most of the media obviously supported the candidacy of “Crooked” Hillary Clinton as Trump referred to her with frequency. Finally, they settled on Fox News, but even that network had a lot of left-leaning hosts, but they kept viewing—10 o’clock, 11 o’clock, and then midnight, but still no clear winner.

  “How long y’all gonna stay up?” Trent asked.

  “I ain’t goin’ ta bed before Mr. Trump wins! What’s wrong with ya, Trent, how can ya expect me ta sleep when this’s still goin’ on?” Kit asked, giving him a curious look.

  “I’s just askin’—no problem,” he said, raising both palms.

  “Ya don’t see Mr. Trump goin’ ta bed do ya? He’s strong.”

  “Momma, he is strong, but you do need to get rest,” Haylee reminded her.

  “Ain’t no daughter a mine, or son-in-law ta be, gonna tell me I gotta go ta bed! You two find yourselves somthin’ else ta do rather than aggravate me,” Kit said forcefully.

  After that, Haylee and Trent went into the kitchen to talk and make plans. They thought she needed private time, but checked on her regularly and the progress of the election. The third time they peeked in, at nearly three in the morning, Mr. Trump had just received 274 of the 270 electoral votes needed. Pennsylvania had just put him over the top, and Kit started crying.

  “Momma, you okay?” Haylee asked.

  “Of course I am, get me my hanky,” she said.

  “Well, Kit, Mister Trump came through for ya,” Trent said with a big smile.

  “Not just me; he came through for America.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was still ten days before the wedding, and since neither of them was a member of a church, they were worried about what they were going to do regarding a minister and a place to hold the ceremony. Their best option was the non-denominational Little White Church of Oatman, a Home Missions Church which could accommodate them, but they had to make an immediate decision. There was no time left, because they wanted to use Judy’s Saloon for the reception.

  “Trent, we don’t even have time enough to send out invitations.” Haylee said.

  “That really don’t make no never mind, we’ll just call the folks we want ta come as soon as we git ever-thing nailed down. They marry couples all the time at the Little White Church; besides, there ain’t that many people ta tell. It slipped mah mind, but Luke Welton’s gonna be mah best man, and Serile Lutz said ta let him know, ’cause he wants ta come,” Trent said.

  “We could just go to a Justice of the Peace… I guess,” Haylee said despondently.

  “No, we don’t need ta do that. Ya got ya momma’s weddin’ dress, and I know she wanted ya ta wear it. I can tell Kit really want’s ya ta come down a church aisle with it on, and that’s what we gonna do. I ain’t worried ’bout the preacher, ’cause God’s the one’s gonna marry us, but there are some things that a woman spects ’bout weddin’s,” Trent said.

  “Momma’s in the livin’ room watchin’ stories about President-Elect-Trump on TV, and I hate to bother her, but I’d like to hear her thoughts on how we should handle things,” Haylee said.

  “Even Mister Trump can’t git in the way of her daughter gittin’ married. Let’s go in and see what she has ta say.”

  “Momma, Trent and I want to talk to ya ’bout the wedding,” Haylee interrupted.

  “Hold on a minute, did ya hear what that host was just sayin’ ’bout Mr. Trump. Now, they’re criticizin’ him for everything. He ain’t even in office yet! Why can’t they wait ’til they gotta reason to question this good man’s judgment. He ain’t even picked his cabinet! He was able to pick Reince Priebus as his Chief of Staff. I don’t understand these people. Let the man restore America. He’s now got 306 electoral votes! He’s for America first!”

  “Haylee-Girl, I guess I’s wrong ’bout what I said ’bout Mr. Trump,” Trent said with a smile.

  “Trent, what’d ya say ’bout ’em?” Kit asked inquisitively.

  “Nothin’ important,” Trent replied.

  “Let me turn this TV down a little, did ya say he wasn’t important? Kit asked sternly, looking him squarely in the eyes.

  “No ma’am, I did not. I didn’t say that. I’s talkin’ ’bout somethin’ else.”

  “Well, For God’s sake, I hope ya didn’t utter them words, ’cause he’s gonna be the best president of my lifetime!”

  “I know…Kit, it’s just that Haylee and me wanted ta git yor thinkin’ on our weddin’. We ’bout run outta time ta git stuff done.”

  “I’d say so, ya only got ten-days
. Can’t do invitations, but we can call and email folks. Hay, you can put the word out in the restaurant. Most of the people in town will wanna come, dependin’ on where ya gonna have the ceremony.”

  “Momma, we were thinkin’ ’bout the Little White Church, ya think that’d be okay?” Haylee asked.

  “Why not, they marry folks in it quite often,” Kit replied.

  “That’s what me and Trent thought, too.” Haylee said.

  “Ya tried my old weddin’ dress, on yet?” Kit asked.

  “Yes, of course, and it fits just fine,” she said with a smile.

  “Sure it ain’t too much outta style?”

  “No, it’s not outta style, I’m just so proud to wear it. I only wish daddy could’ve seen me in it,” she said, tearing up in a reflective moment.

  “I wish that, too, but your daddy’s lookin’ down on his little girl right now, and he’s gonna be doin’ that again in ten-days, so don’t ya fret,” Kit said, handing Haylee her hanky.

  “Trent, how them feet? They cold, yet?” Kit said, smiling.

  “Nope, mah feet’re fine.”

  “Good, glad ya ain’t got frostbite,” she said jokingly.

  “I wonder if Mr. Trump’s had some second thoughts, ’cause everybody’s tryin’ ta tell ’em how ta be president. I thought he’d purdy-much figured that out by now,” Trent said, “and they’s a lotta crazy people ’round the country protestin’ ’bout him winnin’ the race.”

  “Most a them are paid ta go out and raise hell by that evil George Soros, Democrooks, and people like that. They ain’t protestors or demonstrators, they’re criminals!” Kit said, raising her voice.

  “Whoever they are, they gittin a lotta TV coverage, but ya probly right—nothin’ but troublemakers who should be put behind bars,” Trent said.

  “Mr. Trump said he was goin’ ta restore law and order, and when he’s sworn in, these criminals will be goin’ ta jail!” Kit railed.

  “When he does take over as president, I hope people know that thing’s ain’t gonna change overnight. He’s gotta work with them career politicians who don’t give a damn ’bout America. They just wanna keep gittin’ reelected and sloppin’ at the trough. Ta tell ya the truth, I ain’t got nothin’ good ta say ’bout ’em.”

  “Momma, ya think what we plan to do ’bout the wedding’s alright?” Haylee asked.

  “Don’t ya worry, Hay, you and Trent are gonna make a strikin’ couple! Though, ya may not know it, I’m really gittin’ excited ’bout it. All this political stuff has caused me ta get off track, but everything’s now in the hands of President-Elect-Trump and the good Lord.

  Wedding Day

  The big day had finally arrived, and Trent was a nervous wreck. After he had finally donned his rented tuxedo, he stood looking into the full-length door-mirror and could hardly recognize himself. The two things which made it acceptable was his fancy boots and mustache, though he acquiesced regarding his cowboy hat, he refused to wear the shoes which normally came with the tux.

  As noon approached, the classic western “High Noon” came to mind starring Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. Though he wasn’t going to be facing down some bad guys alone, he felt he’d be alone until the preacher said, “You may kiss the bride.” He had been a loner most of his life, but soon he would have a life partner second to none.

  He watched Haylee walk down the aisle with a big smile on her face, and he knew he had on a grin from ear-to-ear. The minister performed the ceremony as expected, and he did tell Trent to kiss the bride. He was no longer alone. As they began leaving, both of them were surprised at the number of people who had packed into The Little White Church. There were people in attendance that neither of them knew. They assumed they were tourists or curiosity seekers. When they stepped out into the sunlight, they were beaming and seemed ecstatic, but eager to ask each other questions about those in attendance.

  “Trent, I noticed three young men staring at ya, do ya know ’em? They don’t look like folks from around here.”

  “No, but I did pay attention. They didn’t look too friendly ta me, but I did see a man down the street when I went in who looked real familiar. He reminded me of a fella I used ta work with—a man name Creet. Let’s go git ya momma, and see what she has ta say,” Trent suggested, as they returned to the sanctuary where it seemed half the town was congratulating Kit.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d be thinkin’ you the one got hitched!” Trent chortled.

  “Trent, you’re a real good-lookin’ man in your tuxedo, and Hay you’re beautiful in that gown,” Kit said as her eyes welled with tears.

  “Thank ya, Kit, them’s good compliments. Y’all scuse me, I gotta thank Luke and Serile for showin’ up,” Trent said.

  “Momma, I remember that picture of you and daddy when you wore this gown, and you were a lot more beautiful than me,” Haylee said.

  “Oh, no, Haylee, you’re everything Asa and I ever hoped you’d be—stunning!”

  “It really seems strange to be Mrs. Haylee Willobee,” she said with a smile as Trent returned.

  “Definitely seems different ta know I got a wife, but it shor does make me feel awful good,” Trent said, as they stepped back outside.

  “Trent, those guys are still here,” Haylee said, looking down Main Street.

  “I figured as much,” he said, pulling her close, and in his deep resonant voice, whispered in her ear—welcome to the world of Willobee.