When Dancing Doesn’t Help

Posted on March 13, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

I don’t believe what Daddy told me an hour ago. He’s not checking on things at the dairy. He’s out trying to find Mama. I’m sure of it. Daddy knows I refuse to turn twelve without her.

My legs move so fast, I almost forget Mama ran away. But my feet remember what Mama and Betty Beauty Bedford, her used-to-be bestie, told them months back. “Right, left, right left, up back,” they’d chanted.

Beauty had inhaled a ciggy from its ruler-long holder. “Pivot your knees, Emma June. Knock them together then point them out. You too, Carla,” she told my used-to-be. “And for Pete’s sake, move your arms. Let everything flow! Dancing takes away all your worries.”

Now, the Charleston ends. Victor Victrola’s needle ch-ch, ch-ch, ch-ch’s searching for something that’s already been used up. Like my memory at the end of carnival night. And Beauty was wrong. Worries still thump my insides.

Big Chief Tablet glares at me from the kitchen table. I tell it to shut up, that homework can wait till I’m good and ready.

Extra careful when I plant the needle a different Recording, I turn the crank again. The green and yellow squares of our sitting room rug melt together as I spin, and my braid pings one shoulder then the next like two different suitors asking to be my dance partner. My skirt puffs up like a wild mushroom, and it’s swoosh seems to say, “Everything will be right again, Emma June.”

“How do you know that when I can’t even remember?” I yell. Then I jump up and down trying to stomp out my stupid.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket by CD-W

NOTE: For those of you who have been reading excepts from this novel, thank you! This excerpt if the beginning of the novel. I hope you liked it!

Murmuration Agitation (with a little Bible recitation)

Posted on March 12, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

3ef024404abdee652d9a1635c923c75a On my damn lawn, at least twenty people stood behind Mrs. Stoddard. Some chanted, some murmured. I took in a breath and let it out, trying to appear unruffled and bored. “And I won’t rest until Marcy’s true killer is found. Sadie didn’t do it, Mrs. Stoddard. But I assure you, Sheriff Tobin is doing everything he can to find the killer.”

“Tobin, huh!” Stoddard spat the words. “From what I’ve heard, the big sheriff is only protecting you for personal reasons. How’s he going to help if he’s playing nice with you under the covers?” She looked down as if shamed by her words.

Even so, I clenched the fabric of my dress to keep from smacking her clear across the street.

“We want justice,” the crowd chanted, louder each time.

“Now listen here,” I shouted, my patience waning. “We want justice too. We are all upset. Let’s work together and find the real killer. Now, as I said. Get. Off. My. Property.”

“Tells them to kiss your hiney and go to grass,” Reba whispered beside me, still hidden from view.

Reba’s version of “go to hell” gave me the idea. “Good Christian folk…” I forgot the passage, turned to Reba, and whispered out the side of my mouth. “What’s something good to quote from the Bible? Something about judgment.”

Reba put a hand on her chin and peered down at her feet. “You wants Saint John or Deuteronomy?”

“Whichever’s better.”

“Well, Saint John says—”

“Reba! Give me something.”

“Tell ’em, ‘Stop judging by mere appearances and make a right judgment.’”

Reba tugged at my elbow. “You gotta say it’s from John 7:24.”

“Stop judging by mere appearances and make a right judgment,” I repeated loudly. “John 7:24. Isn’t that what Jesus taught?” I knew I was pushing it. Over the years, only once or twice had I glanced at the Good Book. The Bible never spoke to me like it did for Reba. “You are judging an innocent woman because of her chosen profession. Shame on you. Shame on you all. Now leave before I have you arrested for trespassing.” I lifted Ratchet slower than necessary and heard the gasps of fear. I perched the shotgun over my shoulder like a marching soldier and closed the front door.

Reba and I waited and listened, our backs against the front door. The thrum of mumblings and chanting didn’t stop. “Now what?” I asked my best friend.

“Whiskey slam?”

Excerpt from The Last Bordello, a historical novel

Murmuration

A far cry from home

Posted on March 11, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

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Clenching didn’t keep my teeth from chattering. Why hadn’t I hadn’t waited until the warmth of spring? I knew the reason. One more day with Uncle Dirk would have driven me to the lunatic asylum. What right did he have to judge me?

Electric streetcar rails made circular Patterns on the paved intersections of busy streets while the trolley bells deafened my rural ears. Businesses of every kind lined up one after another. Many even shared common walls. Strolling women wore feathers and stuffed birds attached to their hats and paraded them down the street like migrating nests. Barouche carriages transported men and women in their finery. At least the clamor and jangle of wagons pulled by tired horses reminded me of home.

Excerpt from The Last Bordello, historical fiction

Don’t let the coppers stop us!

Posted on March 8, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

The goods are hidden under a canvas in the backseat. I pinch my nose. The smell’s giving me a headache.

“Lux,” Frank says as we putter down the road.

I remember the advertisement. Lux soap, rich in fragrance.

“Every box has a layer of soap on top. Not Ivory. Miss Helen says it’s not strong enough.”

“But you can’t smell sealed moonshine anyway,” I say.

“No. But she says if I’m stopped, I’m supposed to say I’m delivering soap to Common’s Variety in Houston.”

“And if we are stopped, say I’m your little sister. It would look daffy otherwise.”

“Deal.”

We settle in for the drive, Miss Helen’s directions between us.

“You know what she told me before I left?” Frank says.

Before I’ve counted to three, Frank says, “Get there as fast as Holly Gap gossip.”

I backhand his shoulder and laugh. “Then we should already be there,” I say, and settle into Nervous Town where a daddy finds out his daughter lied.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket by CD-W

Nervous Sweat

Posted on February 26, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

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Frank’s nervous, too. The way he strangles the steering wheel reminds me of the time Daddy taught Mama to drive. Mama had Jiggled nervous sweat. Daddy stayed calm and quiet like he was reading the death notices in the Galveston Post. I sat in the back giggling my socks off.

Mama kept turning to see if I was still alive. “You okay, baby? You okay?”

“Bernice, sugar. You have to keep your eyes on the road.”

Daddy and me didn’t have much to worry about. She never went more than five miles an hour.

Daddy had tilted toward me and winked, “Hope you’re not too hungry, Little Tulip. This might take a while.”

When we got home, Mama had to change out of her sweaty clothes. Daddy gave her a big hug and said, “Bernice, you make me proud.”

But that was then.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

From Arid to a full belly

Posted on February 25, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

1940: Fresh Air and Dusted Britches — Last weekend Mr. Green asked Delma and me if we wanted to spend a night with him and his wife. I think maybe he’d heard a few things about what was going on at my house, about how Dad was treating me. Either way, it sure was good to get away for a night.

Mrs. Green made us corn on the cob with fried chicken and I ate every bit of mine. Then we played checkers, and even taught Delma how to play. It was like a vacation from the desert with no water into a place with fresh air and cold iced tea. It was a full belly.

The next morning before we were about to leave, Mrs. Green hugged Delma, turned to me and said, “Now Cono, you keep sittin’ on the shiny side’a that star.”

It sounded like a real nice thing to say, but I’m still trying to figure out what in tarnation she was talking about.

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper

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Arid

The three-legged way of looking at life

Posted on February 24, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

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The Great Gatsby stands and walks toward me. I back up and wonder where his slingshot is. “We won’t bother with a real handshake,” he says. “Just give me the damn hooch, and we’ll call it a deal.”

I hand over the Mason jar. He unscrews the lid and takes a big gulp.

“Damn, this is the Real McCoy.” He takes another swig. “Why’s your dog got three legs?”

I tell him. Three years ago, Daddy took Choppers into town. Choppers wasn’t full grown yet, so he didn’t think twice about biting the tire of a delivery truck filled with sacks of grain. When he got run over, Doc Dennis took off one of his back legs. A month later, when he acted normal again, I’d asked Daddy why Choppers had the guts to forget losing something so important as a leg. “Because, Jellybean, he got used to the change.” Daddy had pointed to his temple. “He adapted. Choppers knew that, even with three legs, he still had plenty of life to live and enjoy.”

“I don’t think he remembers it’s missing,” I tell Frank.

“Wish humans could do the same,” he says. “Speaking of, why’d your Mama leave?”

I look away and stare into the thicket. I’d rather talk about Choppers.

“Aunt Sissy left me too. By dying. ’Yes sir, that’s my baby, No sir, don’t mean maybe yes, sir, that’s my Baby now,’” he sings.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket (1928)

photo credit

Searchin’ for the “Funny”

Posted on February 23, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

Dad never owned a car long enough for him to learn how to drive, or for that matter, long enough for me to learn to drive. Until we moved to Temple, that is. Dad was the odd man out, never having an interest in cowboying or even getting on top of a horse like the rest of the Dennis’.

Dad tried to ride a bull once. Maybe it was a low point for him. For for me it was anything but. We were living at the Dennis ranch when Dad came home drunk and decided it was time to act like a real rodeo star. I was standing outside the corral, where we kept one of our two-year-old bulls. Dad saunters over to me and slurs, “Cono, grab that bull o’r yonder. Hold’em still ‘til I get on. I’m gonna ride that son’a bitch”

“Sure I will, Dad.”

It was better than watching a picture show. While I was putting the rope around the bull’s neck, Dad went over and fixed Ike’s spurs to his shoes! Not to his boots because he didn’t even own a pair of boots, but to his shoes! Then he slapped on Ike’s chaps. I helped him get on top of the bull and stood there holding his rope.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

“I’z ready,” he Slurred.

I let go.

Dad put one hand up in the air and said, “High, ho, silv……”

That bull didn’t even buck. He just turned around real slow like he was trying to see what kind of idiot would sit on his back. Well, that slow turn was all it took. My Dad fell right off that lazy bull and straight into the dirt, Ike’s spurs dangling from Dad’s shoes.

I turned around and looked in the other direction. I didn’t want Dad to see my shoulders quivering from laughter.

Dad got up and staggered back to the house mumbling something about killing steak for dinner.

Some things sure were funny back then, but other times? You couldn’t find “funny” anywhere you looked.

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper

The Smart Crust

Posted on February 17, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

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March, when Scooter turned fourteen, the handmade crown Miss Primrose gave Scooter never stayed on his head. I’m not so sure it was the crown’s fault.

“I agree, Scoot, ol’ Buddy,” Frank says. “We should wait until we’re real kings to wear crowns.”

“King Scooter Hutchings.” Scooter chuckles. “King Scooter Hutchings doesn’t walk on crutches.”

“Frank,” I say. “Are you teaching Scoot to rhyme?”

Frank shrugs and smiles.

“All the time,” Scooter squeals.

We laugh our way to the final steps of the schoolhouse. “Scooter, remember about tonight. We can’t tell Bernie about our plans. It’s a secret,” I tell him. “I want our plans to come to fruition.”

Scooter crinkles his nose.

“You know—”

“Work as planned,” Scooter says, pulling out his pocketknife.

Scooter is the smart crust around the Juicy apple pie that holds everything together.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

The Good Seats Aren’t Reserved for Me

Posted on February 15, 2017 by Carolyn Dennis-Willingham, Author

Cono Dennis

My ears focus on the Sound of the train’s idling, but eager-to-go engines. Where the hell would I be today if I didn’t have those railroad memories chugging along with me, some good and some anything but?

Just as I’m feeling comfortable that I won’t be crowded, I feel something settling into that worn seat next to me, making itself comfortable but making me anything but. It nudges me. I ignore it and then tell it to go away. It doesn’t listen. The memories want me to pay them a little attention. I know this train is about to pull out. I know this train is taking me to Temple. But my mind and my uninvited seat companion start to take me somewhere else, somewhere I’ve already been before, somewhere I don’t care to go back to. It starts speeding me down the track a lot faster than this train is accustomed and a whole lot faster than I can put a stop to.

The first memory is safe. It makes me wish, “If only it could have all been this easy.” But past wishes were reserved for the other folks with good seats.

Not for me.