"Her and Francine are outside, getting the tablecloth and the napkins off the clothesline." She expertly guided her knife through the onion, cutting it first into thick rings and then into small, even squares. "Should be back in her any minute."
The back door swung open, and Mary Alice entered, with Francine close behind. Both women carried armfuls of white fabric.
Mary Alice looked at her sister. "Myrtle, we're going to iron these and get them set up. Then Franny and me will be back to help you with the pies."
"Sounds good, sis." Myrtle looked up briefly from her chopping.
"Aunt Myrtle, you alright?"
Using a clean tea towel to dab her eyes, Myrtle waved her off. "Oh, honey, I'm fine. It's just these dang onions! Got my eyes watering like a leaky barrel."
After her aunt and cousin disappeared into the dining room, Betty asked, "Where's Daddy? And where are Uncle Phillip and Clarence for that matter?"
Myrtle sighed. "You know how these men are. They do the same thing every Thanksgiving. While we slave away making all the food, they run out back to play horseshoes. So that's what became of your Daddy, your uncle, and your cousin. Can't you hear them carrying on out there? They so loud I'm surprised the walls aren't rattling."
Betty listened, and sure enough, she could hear metal striking metal, the menfolk verbalizing their excitement. "What is it with men and sports?"
She shrugged. "Search me. I tell you what. The woman that figures it out is gonna be mighty rich."
Betty laughed as they finished up their chopping. She turned to grab a ceramic bowl, and her mother used the blade of her knife to sweep the chopped veggies into the bowl. "Looks good. Now let's get put the dressing together and get it in the oven with the bird."
For the next few minutes, Betty and her mother worked together quietly. Once they'd assembled the ingredients for Myrtle's famous dressing, they combined them in her favorite glass ovenware. Myrtle only took this casserole dish out twice a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas, and she never used it for anything else besides her signature dish. She claimed it was the only dish that perfectly browned the edges of her creation, and that the brown edges were the real secret to its utter deliciousness.
Once all the ingredients were carefully mixed together, Betty slid the casserole into the hot oven with the already roasting twenty-pound bird.
"Be careful with my dressing, baby." Myrtle stood nearby, supervising. "And remember to turn it the long way so the macaroni and cheese will fit in there."
After doing as her mother asked, she closed the oven door. Using the end of her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead, she asked, "What's next?"
They put together the macaroni and cheese, rolled out and cut the biscuit dough Myrtle had made before, and chopped cabbage and collard greens to round out the meal.
Francine and Mary Alice returned then.
Myrtle threw up her hands. "Whew. I'm glad you all came. I'm tired as all get out, and I'm going to sit my tail down for a little bit. Betty, you know what needs doing."
"I'll take care of it, Mama." Betty watched her mother stroll from the kitchen.
"What do you need us to help with?" Francine asked.
"You can help me get the greens and collards started, and we'll have to rotate things in and out of the oven." She looked at her aunt. "Aunt Mary Alice, you can go ahead and start working on the pies."
"Alright. Where's the sweet potato?" Mary Alice looked her way.
Betty pointed. "In the fridge. Mama pureed them last night. I peeled and chopped the apples, too."
Mary Alice smiled as she walked to the refrigerator. "Good. That's gonna make my job a whole lot easier."
As she and Francine worked on the vegetables, Betty took the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. "So, Franny, what's married life like?"
A blush of color immediately filled her cousin's fair skinned cheek. "Heavens, Betty. It's marvelous. Clarence is such a sweet, caring husband."
"Really? And is he amenable to you pursuing hobbies? You know, other than household chores, knitting, and things like that?"
Francine frowned. "You know I can't knit. It's like I have two left needles or something. I still paint in watercolors, though, if that's what you mean."
Betty's brow hitched. "You mean, your husband doesn't fuss about your hobby, or insist your time would be better spent ironing his shirts?"
Francine giggled. "Oh, please. Clarence irons his own shirts! Besides, he says he wants me happy, and he knows I can't be if I'm not fulfilled in my own way."
Hearing that made Betty smile, but also gave her pause. Could it really be that way between a man and his wife?
"What's gotten into you, Betty? I know you're a contrarian but my goodness." Mary Alice glanced her way as she filled a pie crust with the sweet potato puree. "What makes you think I'd let my only child marry an ogre?"
She sighed. "It's not that, Aunt Mary Alice. It's just...I don't know. I have so many ideas about what marriage is like for women, and not many of them are good."
Mary Alice used the back of a spoon to smooth out the puree. "Honey, let me tell you something. I've been married to your uncle Phillip for almost thirty years now. And he's never tried to stop me from doing the things I enjoy."
"And what are those?"
"Hiking and fishing, mainly. You know your grandfather was an outdoorsman, and Myrtle and I grew up trawling through the woods, ever since we could walk. Now, Phillip is a city boy. Hates going into the wilderness. But after we married, he didn't make a fuss about my camping trips or try to stop me from going. And for the past fifteen years, he's been going with me." She moved on to the second pie. "Still hates the mosquitos, though."
She pursed her lips, silently considering her aunt's words.
"What gives, anyway? Betty, why are you so curious about marriage all of a sudden?" Francine watched her with narrowed eyes.
Turning away from her cousin's gaze, Betty filled a stock pot with water for the greens. "No reason?"
Francine wasn't fooled. "Come on now. Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?"
"Well, I sure didn't." Mary Alice smiled as she slid three sweet potato pies onto the counter by the oven. "You're asking because of Warner, aren't you? You sweet enough on that soldier to be thinking about marriage?"
Betty felt the blush heating her cheeks but was powerless to stop it.
Peals of laughter erupted from the three women. When the humor died down, Betty said, "Don't mention this to Mama."
"We won't," Mary Alice promised. "She's so anxious to get you a husband, she'll likely have an apoplectic fit if we tell her."
After the macaroni and the assortment of pies were in the oven, and the dressing and the turkey left out to cool, Betty stood alone in the kitchen, watching her relatives talk and laugh in the dining room. She watched as Clarence, who’d apparently snuck away from the horseshoe game, crept in to steal a kiss with Francine, and she smiled at the scene.
Turning her eyes to the apple shaped clock on the wall, she noted the time.
I've got to get out of these messy clothes and change.
When their dinner guests arrived, she wanted to look her best.
Mama wouldn't have it any other way.
-Orange Mums and the Ruined Pie-
COMING UP THE WALK to Betty's house, Warner clutched the chrysanthemums in his hand for dear life.
Behind him, his father quipped, "What are you, roller skating? Slow down, Warner. I'm an old man."
Warner stopped, offered his arm. "Sorry about that, Dad. I guess you could say my nerves are getting the better of me."
Wilbur Hughes, ever the pragmatist, patted his son's arm. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure her family's gonna love you."
They stepped up on the porch, and Warner knocked at the door.
Mr. Daniels opened it. "Welcome to our home. Warner, Wilbur, it's good to see you both."
"It's good to see you, Mr. Daniels."
He gave him a wry half
-smile. "I suppose it's time you started calling me Randall. After all, you've been courting my Elizabeth a solid six weeks now."
Warner nodded. "Then, Randall it is." He shook hands with the older man.
Randall stepped back and allowed them inside the house. While the two old pals chatted and caught up, Warner advanced into the house with his flowers, his eyes scanning the room for his sweetheart. He made sure to mind his manners, speaking to all of Betty's relatives and engaging them in conversation. Still, he was disappointed that he didn't' see her right away.
He was discussing the day's events with Betty's cousin Clarence when he felt the change in the atmosphere. Turning to look over his shoulders toward the steps that led to her room on the lower level, he watched her ascend them. Clarence kept talking, but his words immediately went underwater as Warner stared at his darling Betty. To his eyes, she looked like a goddess, rising from a glowing patch of earth. She wore a shimmering cream colored dress that grazed her calves and fit her figure like a glove. Her hair, pressed and swept up into a neat bun atop her head, made her look as regal as a princess.
When she looked his way, a smile graced her pink-tinted lips. As she walked toward him, his heart began to pound in his ears. She's so beautiful. What did I do to deserve her?
Clarence ribbed him then. "Boy. You really are sweet on our Elizabeth, aren't you?"
"Sweeter than you could ever imagine." Eyes still locked on Betty, he moved through the living room and met her in the dining room.
She moved closer to him, greeting him with a quick peck on the lips. "Warner, you made it."
"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it for anything." He handed her the flowers. "These are for you."
She sighed with delight. "Oh, I love orange mums. Let me go put these in water." She eased past him and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she said, "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful."
"So are you. You look wonderful tonight."
She looked away shyly. "Oh, Warner. You smooth talker."
"Ok, folks!" Myrtle tapped on a glass with a fork to get everyone's attention. "We're ready to start, so let's say grace and then we can take our seats."
Holding hands, Warner and Betty joined her family in the dining room.
After the blessing given by Betty's uncle, they all sat down around the large oak table. Warner sat next to Betty, with his father to his left. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels occupied the ends of the table. The spread of food centering the table filled the room with heavenly aromas, and Warner's stomach rumbled in anticipation.
"Did you make any of this?" He looked Betty's way.
"Not really. But I helped with just about everything."
The dishes were passed and the plates filled, and the group settled in for a very pleasant meal. Once again, Warner found his nerves getting the best of him. While he wanted to say something interesting or funny, in order to win the favor of Betty's relatives, he just couldn't seem to get his words together.
Lucky for him, his father Wilbur was a talker. "My wife sends her regards to you both, Randall and Myrtle. She stayed behind in North Carolina to see after my parents. They're getting up in years and they need a lot of care."
"I understand completely," Myrtle remarked.
"Listen, have I told you about the time I was working on that old Model T, and the dang car fell on me?" Wilbur was already laughing before he began the tale.
"No, you haven't." Randall looked intrigued.
"Heck, even if you had, I want to hear this!" Uncle Phillip swallowed a mouthful of macaroni and watched Wilbur's face, awaiting the riveting story.
Warner shook his head at his father's antics. Still, he was glad he was able to keep the conversation going. If it depended on him, Warner knew they'd all be sitting there in awkward silence.
Betty squeezed his thigh. "Are you okay? Enjoying yourself?"
He nodded. "Yes. Your family's a hoot."
"Then why are you so quiet?"
He told her all the truth he could deliver. "Two reasons. One, the food is so delicious I don't want to waste time talking."
She giggled.
"And two, I'm thinking about something."
"Is it serious? Is it about something we discussed in our sessions with Dr. Freeman?"
He shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. And I promise to tell you all about it. Soon."
She nodded and turned her attention back to her plate.
The rest of the meal went by in a blur of laughter, good conversation, and delicious flavors. He pushed away his second plate, determined to leave room for dessert. He'd heard Myrtle's pies were the stuff of legend, and he wanted to experience it for himself.
Myrtle rose from the table then, summoning the women. "Ladies, help me clear the dishes. And you menfolk stay put. I hope you've got your mouth set for some pie."
A cheer went up from the older men at the table. Warner and Clarence seated across from each other, exchanged looks.
"I'll be right back," Betty said, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she stood and followed her mother into the kitchen.
Once the women were out of sight, Wilbur nudged his son. "Now's your shot, son."
Warner looked to Randall, who gave him a silent nod of approval.
Resolute, Warner extracted the box from his pocket and left his chair. Assuming a kneeling positing about a foot from the kitchen door, he gripped the box in his fist, and waited.
Moments later, the line of four women filed out of the kitchen, each carrying a pie. Betty was right at the head of the line. She was laughing and talking to her relatives at first, so she didn't immediately notice Warner.
After about five steps though, she turned his way and stopped short.
The sudden stop caused something of a pileup, with the other women crashing into her pack.
The perfectly baked apple pie in Betty's hands fell to the floor as she shrieked in surprise. "Warner! What in the world are you doing down there?"
He glanced at the crushed remnants of the pie lying next to him on the floor, then looked back at her. "I think you know, darling." He opened his hand, showing her the box.
She covered her mouth to stifle the next shriek, but everyone still heard it.
Silence reigned in the room as the family looked on at the scene.
"Elizabeth Anne Daniels, you have become the sunlight to my world. My life was darkness but you have lit the corners of my heart with a joy I never knew I could feel." He opened the box, revealing the round amethyst stone on a gold band. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
She sobbed, the tears running down her cheeks like water from the tap.
He took her hand in his, placed the ring near her finger. "Is that a yes?"
She nodded. "Yes, Warner. Yes." She whispered the words between sobs, falling to her knees in front of him.
He slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her lips, then pulled her into his embrace.
He heard the sound of someone crying, someone other than Betty. He looked up and saw Myrtle, dabbing her eyes with a linen napkin.
Her sister asked teasingly, "Are you crying over the engagement, or the ruined pie?"
An emotional Myrtle replied, "Both!"
There on the floor, with his wife-to-be safely in the circle of his arms, Warner laughed with a lightness he hadn't felt in years.
THE END
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Author's Note
I hope you enjoyed Warner and Betty’s story. I chose the theme of this story because I wanted to shine a light on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and the affects it has on the people who live with it every day. What we now know as PTSD has been called many different things in the past, from shell shock, to battle fatigue, to combat stress reaction. Whatever name it goes by, this disorder can have serious, sometimes debilitating consequences. My aim in writing LOVE’S SWEET MELODY is to give insight into what PTSD can be like, both from the perspective of the sufferer, and that of someone who loves them.<
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While PTSD is often attributed to service members returning from war, keep in mind that any type of traumatic event can trigger it. Rape and abuse victims, survivors of tragedies such as mass shootings or natural disasters, and victims of crime may also fall prey to this disorder. It’s my hope that this story will inspire those who live with PTSD to be hopeful and inspire others to treat them with dignity and compassion.
Please know that any time you purchase one of my books, you are helping to support my family. And whether you have been with me since 2009 or are just discovering me, I offer my sincerest thanks for your support. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review at your preferred retailer.
If you haven’t already, I encourage you to sign up for my mailing list at http://authorkiannaalexander.com/sign-up/. It’s the best way to keep up with my events, new releases and sales. You can also follow me on social media via the links below.
All the Best,
Kianna
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Resources
For more information about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I encourage you to utilize the following sources:
The Anxiety and Depression Association of America: http://www.adaa.org
Real Warriors (Servicemembers/Veterans and their families): www.realwarriors.net
National Center for PTSD: www.ptsd.va.gov or call the Veterans Crisis Line: 1-800-273-8255 (Press 1)
PTSD Alliance: http://www.ptsdalliance.org/ , or call 888-436-6306
Bibliography
Pols, H., & Oak, S. (2007). WAR & Military Mental Health. American Journal Of Public Health, 97(12), 2132-2142. doi:10.2105/ajph.2006.090910
E, D. (2018). Psychiatry and race during World War II. - PubMed - NCBI. Ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. Retrieved 26 April 2018, from https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16397201/
HISTORY OF PTSD IN Veterans: Civil War to DSM-5 - PTSD: National Center for PTSD. (2018). Ptsd.va.gov. Retrieved 26 April 2018, from https://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/PTSD-overview/basics/history-of-ptsd-vets.asp
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