Staring at Fear

Posted on December 2, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

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Madam Fannie Porter stares at fear. (From The Last Bordello)

I reminded my fingers to turn the knob slowly, quietly. I crept through the kitchen’s side door and held my breath.

A voice in the parlor. Not one of my girls. I tiptoed into my bedroom and made my way to the far wall. Wiped my sweaty, shaky hands on my dress. Removed the painting.

Only Reba and I knew about the coin-sized peephole Constructed long ago for keeping an eye on questionable customers. Exactly my eye level, as intended.

The voices would be clearer now. I inched the cork from the hole. Fighting for breath, I peered through the hole and into the parlor.

Stuck in a “Shining Closet”

Posted on November 30, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

From The Last Bordello: In Madam Fannie’s voice, she and her “girls,”and Meta – who was misled to the bordello – must wait out a storm in the crawl space under the stairs.

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I shifted my knees, trying to get comfortable. “Girls, if this is the worst that’s ever happened to you, I’d say you’ve lived a fine and easy life.” I knew better, of course.

“Etta’s leaving is much worse,” Sadie said, her hands shaking.

“Horsefeathers.” Lillie tucked her head between her knees and mumbled, “Worse is saying good-bye to your betrothed.”

“Carver will be back,” Sadie retorted. “Etta won’t.”

True. I couldn’t see Etta returning, which made it worse for Sadie. She and Etta had been as close as silk on a corncob.

I made note to speak privately to Sadie and the others. Under no circumstances were any of my fallen angels allowed to mention the names of the Wild Bunch or Etta’s connection with the gang.

Meta had Faded into the wall, her owl stare flickering in the lantern’s light. No doubt, she didn’t expect to spend her first night in San Antonio stuck in a bordello’s crawl space.

Entering the Insane Asylum

Posted on November 27, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

The Pungent smell of an insane asylum.

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From The Last Bordello (voice of Sadie):

My limbs shook. My knees buckled. The men in white held fast to my elbows and pulled me toward a thick wooden door. When opened, the fragrant air vanished and was replaced with the malodorous smells of urine, vomit, rubbing alcohol, and something else I couldn’t quite place.

I saw only a few women, one being dragged in another direction. “Not surgery, not surgery!” the woman wailed.

The driver unlocked another door and pushed me into a small room that contained a stained mattress on the floor and a bucket for excrement. He told me to sleep well. I heard him laughing down the hall long after they had locked the door.

I thought it was a cruel joke, that my mother had followed behind and would now take me home with an “I told you so.” Before the tears had a chance to come, someone unlocked the door again.

“Patience!” I yell.

Posted on November 22, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

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Patience is a virtue, the empress to us all

I yell to her, I seek her aid

But she ignores my call.

She jumps across a sage-lined fence

And into waters swell

My hope is that I catch her soon

And, then, my breath as well.

-CDW

Daily Prompt: Elicit

Better now, without teeth

Posted on November 21, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

Cono visits his grandpa. (No Hill for a Stepper, except- based on a true story)

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Pa and I are sharing a piece of Ma’s famous peach cobbler when I ask, “Pa, what happened to yer teeth?”

“Cono, now I’ll tell ye. My teeth started to achin’ and smellin’ so bad that I figured I needed to take ‘em out, harvest ‘em like an overripe crop.”

“All of ‘em? Ye pulled all of ‘em?”

“Shor’did. I got myself a pair’a pliers, sat there on the front porch and pulled out the ones that were botherin’ me the most. The good ones left felt funny bein’ in there without company, so I jes’t took them out too.”

“Damn!” I say. “They don’t stink no more?”

Pa laughs. “Ain’t nothing left te sniff.”

“He’s an old coot’s what he is,” yells Ma from the kitchen, overhearing the story.

“I’m surprised ye noticed, Ma,” he yells back. “Ye cain’t see two feet without yer glasses.” He turns back to me. “Don’t ye fret none about it,” he gums out. “Ever since them holes healed up? I kin eat a steak jes’t like ever’ body else. I chew a little longer s’all. But my whistlin’s gone to hell in a hand basket.”

Daily prompt: Aromatic

Don’t mess with the Madam

Posted on November 20, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

Madam Fannie Porter vs. Mayor Hicks: Excerpt from The Last Bordello

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“Pull the reins back, Mayor. Sadie’s not evil. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He was using Sadie as an excuse, a reminder I hadn’t moved into the mandated zone a stone’s throw down the road.

“If she could pull a knife on a man who harmed a friend, what measures would she take if she thought she had been wronged? It’s no secret she hates the temperance women.”

True. “What are you getting at? Do you still think that just because she found a yellow scarf, she’s guilty of a crime? Had something to do with the missing girl?”

“It’s likely.”

“It’s preposterous. Now, is there anything else?”

“She was there at the meeting. You know it as well as I do.”

“That’s no secret.”

“Too bad for her it’s not.” He stood, approached the front door, and yanked his jacket off the hook. “Not looking good for her. Nor for you and this place.” He waved an index finger around the parlor like a gun. “I’ll be watching.”

I didn’t escort him to the door, but watched him exit at the same time thunder rattled the porch. Good. For all I cared, he could glide back to the office on his own slime.

Two sets of eyes peeked over the swinging doors and into the parlor. “Okay, nosy children,” I said and joined Meta and Reba in the kitchen. “What happened to those good old days when Bryan Callaghan was our mayor?”

“We’s been scorched by a stinkbug, that’s what.” Reba palmed her newly straightened and gelled hair.

Meta’s expression remained grave. I had the feeling she felt a kinship with the missing girl.

Scorched

Scooter’s Bridge

Posted on November 18, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

From The Moonshine Thicket:

Scoot will always be with me no matter how old I get. People often say, “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” I remind myself to never cross a broken bridge, especially if a gangster-wolf is lurking on the other side.

Scooter’s my bridge. He leads me across to a wonderful, magical way of looking at the world, one that’s never too dangerous to cross.

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Daily Prompt: Mythical

Emma June’s Brain Percolates

Posted on November 17, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

From The Moonshine Thicket (1928)

“Frank never did anything to make Mama and Daddy fight. And, he had nothing to do with Mama leaving. Being mad at him would be like Choppers being mad at me for only having two legs.

“I’m sure.”

“And I never told Miss Helen you helped me with that delivery. Just so you know. So, we’re still friends?”

“Still friends,” I tell him.

I spit on my palm and stick it out for him to shake. He smiles and spits. I look him in the eye and shake his wet hand. Friendship, settled.

My brain percolates like Miss Helen’s never-dry coffee pot. I don’t worry about my questions. I worry about what Miss Helen will say when she answers.”

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Words from my Emma June

Posted on November 16, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

Eleven year-old Emma June from The Moonshine Thicket says:

“And then I remember. Betty had told Mama her husband died. Frank said his Daddy left. Betty Bedford lied to Mama. She’s a low down, no-account, good-for-nothing, loose-knee-ed, tarty, liar-mama.

I picture walking up to Betty’s shabby-shack and knocking out her teeth when she answers the door.”

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Daily Prompt: Tart

Booger Fishin’

Posted on November 14, 2016 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

Daily Prompt: Fish

“I stand there waiting for Dad to say something about my tied shoes, how I’d done it all by myself without breaking a string. I probably could stand here all day waiting, but he doesn’t say nary a word. He’s got a newspaper to read. I don’t care. They’re my shoes, on my feet, tied my way.

We eat some beans and cornbread and Aunt Nolie stops chewing long enough to say, “Cono, yer Mom and Dad have business to attend to this afternoon and you need to stay here. Punk Squares is comin’ over and he’s bringin’ his son, Freezer. Yer gonna have somebody to play with.”

“What about Delma?”

“I cain’t watch her, so she’s gotta go with yer folks.”

I don’t ask Aunt Nolie why she can’t take care of Delma. I don’t complain about that good-for-nothing kid coming over. He’s younger than me and acts like a baby, always booger fishing and eating his catch. No, it’s best to stay on Aunt Nolie’s good side.”

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper.