Authors: Goldie Browning
The band struck up a fast hillbilly tune. A man dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt stepped up to the microphone and began calling the steps. Couples lined up, promenaded in front of the bandstand and the square dance began in earnest.
“Yee haw!” yelled Clyde. “It’s a hoedown!”
“Oh, baby. Let’s go.” Tyme rose, and she and Clyde joined the dancers.
Winifred glared coldly at Tyme and Clyde as they sashayed and do-si-doed like experts. She sniffed and folded her arms. “Caleb would be furious if he could see his sister right now. It’s only been a few months since she lost her husband, and just look at her. Her behavior is disgraceful!”
“Oh, Mama. Leave her alone,” said Ivy. “She’s young. She deserves to have a little fun.”
Winifred turned and stared at her daughter. “Your aunt
had
her fun years ago. It’s time for her to grow up and begin acting like a lady.” She gazed out at the dancers, then turned back to Ivy, annoyance written on her face. “I’m not at all sure it’s such a good idea for you to be staying with Tyme right now. I’m going to wire your father tomorrow and tell him he needs to take you home.”
“Mama!” Ivy’s eyes filled with tears, but she held them back.
“Don’t argue with me, young lady.” Winifred’s tone was crisp and unyielding.
Harry’s face grew red and his temperature rose as he listened to the argument between Ivy and her mother. He felt sorry for Ivy. Obviously she was totally embarrassed, but he didn’t know how he could help her. His tie began choking him and he reached up to fidget with his collar, trying to remain invisible.
Ivy turned to Harry, ignoring her mother. “Harry, did you catch a lot of fish yesterday?”
Self-conscious beneath Winifred Turner’s disapproving glare, Harry stammered. “Y-yes. C-Clyde and me both caught a big mess of bass and some perch. Doc fried it up for supper last night.”
“Do you know how to square dance?”
Harry caught on to the fact that Ivy wanted an excuse to get away from her mother. “Um, not really. But I’m willing to give it a try.”
He started to rise, but Ivy’s mother suddenly turned toward him, her face a mask of anger. He sank back down. “I’d like to tell you something, Mr…“
“Fuller.” Harry filled in the blank. His heart hammered beneath her scrutiny.
“Mr. Fuller…yes.” Harry’s name rolled off her tongue slowly, as if she was tasting a glass of buttermilk for the first time and not quite sure she liked it. “Were you aware that my daughter—Ivy—is engaged to be married?”
Harry’s eyebrows rose and sweat beaded on his brow. “No, ma’am. I didn’t know that.”
“Harry, it’s not true!” cried Ivy. “Mama…”
Winifred interrupted Ivy. “I’m afraid my daughter has developed a childish habit of indulging in flirtations with men and then playing hard to get.” She gazed pointedly at Harry. “I thought it only fair to warn you. She will be marrying Mr. Jared Covington in the fall. I’m sure you’ve heard of him? He is the owner of Covington Lead and Steel of St. Louis, Missouri.”
“Mama, I am appalled!” Ivy jumped to her feet and glared at her mother, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving. “I have told you and Papa over and over that Jared and I are through. How can I convince you of that?”
“Ivy, you are a mean, ungrateful child.” Winifred’s eyes flashed with anger. “Here I am, practically at death’s door, and you treat me this way.” She buried her face in a linen handkerchief.
“Oh, stop it, Mama!”
Winifred glanced up from her handkerchief, her eyes dry, and stared at Ivy. Ivy sat down again, folded her arms, turned her head, and gazed defiantly at the dancers. The tension between the two women was almost unbearable to Harry.
Winifred studied her daughter for several seconds before she turned her attention back to Harry. Harry felt like crawling off somewhere to hide. She stared at him, long and hard.
“And what is it you do, Mr. Fuller?” Her gaze impaled him.
He wiped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief before he answered. “I’m a work leader on a CCC dam crew, Mrs. Turner.”
Winifred thought for a moment. “I was under the impression the CCC only hired men with dependents. Do you have a family somewhere you’re taking care of?”
Harry hung his head at the memory. “I used to send my pay to my Ma and Pa and my little sister. But they’ve all passed on now. Little Denver died of diphtheria, and consumption got both my folks last spring. It’s just me now.”
Winifred didn’t respond to Harry’s revelations. She turned back toward Ivy and studied her face. When her daughter showed no sign of contrition, her face suddenly crumpled and she clutched her stomach. “Ohh! Dr. Baker told me to avoid too much stress. I never should have come here.”
Ivy continued sitting with her arms folded. She stared angrily at Winifred. “Stop it, Mama. You always do this when you don’t get your way. Everybody knows there’s nothing really wrong with you.”
“Ohhh,” Winifred moaned again and fanned herself with the festival program. “This is just too much. I think I’m going to faint.”
Harry looked frantically around, relieved when he saw Doc Pruett walking toward them. He motioned him over. “Doc, I think this lady needs your help.”
Doc Pruett leaned down and spoke softly to Winifred. “May I be of some assistance, Ma’am? I’m a doctor.”
“I feel weak and dizzy—too much stress.” Winifred held her stomach, gazed pitifully at Dr. Pruett and then glanced at Ivy. “I’m a cancer patient of Dr. Baker’s, but I hate to disturb him right now.”
“There, there.” Dr. Pruett patted her on the hand. “You probably just need to get away from the crowds and noise. My car’s right over there. Why don’t you let me take you back up the hill so you can get some rest?”
“Would you? That would be so nice.” She turned to Ivy. “Will you come with me?”
“No, Mama.” Ivy’s voice was firm. “They’re about to auction off the box suppers and I intend to stay.”
Winifred sighed with resignation and moved lethargically. Her fighting spirit had deflated quickly. Doc Pruett helped her rise and winked conspiratorially at Ivy. “Come on Mrs. Turner. You’ll feel much better in a little while—do you like to play bridge?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Winifred, perking up. “I love bridge.”
Ivy rolled her eyes when she saw Doc Pruett lead her mother away. She let out a sigh of relief. “What a life saver Dr. Pruett is. Harry, I’m so sorry you had to hear all that.”
Before Harry could reply, the music stopped and the dancers found their way back to their tables. Several ladies began carrying the various box suppers for display to a table on the stage. A murmur of excitement raced through the crowd. The square dance caller stepped up to the microphone.
“Which one’s yours?” Clyde asked Tyme.
“None of them, you big goof. This is just for the single gals.”
“You’re single.” Clyde cocked his head to one side.
“I’m a widow,” replied Tyme. “Big difference.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called for attention. “It’s time for us to auction off these wonderful box suppers the single ladies have so graciously provided. Please be generous, the proceeds go to a good cause.”
Ivy leaned toward Harry and pointed to the stage. “That red one with the yellow ribbon is mine.” She giggled and placed her finger in front of her lips. “I wasn’t supposed to tell.”
“Okay, we’ll start with this one.” The auctioneer picked up a gaily-decorated box with sea shells glued to the sides and held it aloft. “What am I bid for box number one?”
“Two bits,” someone yelled.
“Two bits. Do I hear four?”
“Four bits.” A man in the back raised his hand.
“Six.” The first bidder protested.
“I’ve got six bits,” said the auctioneer. “Do I have a dollar?”
“One dollar.” The man in the back boomed.
The first bidder frowned and closed his mouth.
“Going once. Going twice. Sold to the man in the back for one dollar.”
The winner of the box came forward to accept his prize. He handed over his dollar and was joined by a pretty young girl who smiled shyly and accompanied the winner back to his table.
The bidding and buying continued. Some boxes went for as low as twenty-five cents and one sold for as much as five dollars, with most averaging between one and two dollars. Part of the prize included sharing time with the young lady, as well as getting to eat the food she had packed. Theoretically, nobody was supposed to know which young lady had prepared what box, or what kind of food it contained. But cheating ran rampant, so most of the men knew ahead of time who—and what—they were spending their money on.
Harry reached in his pocket and counted his money. He was determined to win Ivy’s box, one way or another. It sat toward the back of the table, so it was one of the last to be auctioned. He felt a thrill of anticipation when the caller picked up the red box and held it aloft.
“All right, the next box is this lovely red velvet—with a little yellow ribbon.” He held it up and displayed it slowly to the crowd. “Do I hear a dollar for this lovely gem?”
“One dollar!” A middle-aged man in a brown suit bid.
“Two dollars,” countered Harry.
“Three,” came a voice near the back of the park.
“Four twenty-five,” yelled somebody else.
Harry gulped nervously and cried. “Five dollars.”
“I’ve got five dollars,” cried the caller. “Do I hear six?”
“Twenty dollars.”
A gasp rose up from the crowd. Harry was in shock. He craned his neck to see the bidder. It was Dr. Baker!
“Twenty dollars! Do I hear more? Going once, going twice…”
“Oh, Harry. You can’t let him get it.” Ivy looked like she might cry.
Harry’s heart fluttered. He was a child of the Great Depression. He’d grown up scrimping and saving and making do. There’d never been enough money to spend on anything frivolous. Every fiber in his being screamed at him not to do it. But he couldn’t help himself.
“Thirty dollars.”
The crowd gasped again. All eyes were on Harry.
“I’ve got thirty dollars,” yelled the caller. “Do I hear thirty-five?”
Baker stared across the park at Harry and Ivy seated next to him. He shifted his cigar over to the other side of his mouth and made his bid.
“Forty dollars.” He looked smug and puffed two smoke rings.
“I’ve got forty dollars. Going once…”
“Forty-five.” Harry swallowed a lump. That was his entire months’ pay and it was all he had.
“Forty-five. Do I hear fifty?” The atmosphere was charged with excitement.
Baker pulled out a wad of bills and thumbed through them. He shook his head and then shrugged and held out his hands. He whispered something to the mayor, who sent his assistant up to the dais. The crowd became restless. A private conversation with him and the auctioneer ensued.
“Sorry, no credit allowed.” The auctioneer shook his head.
The mayor reached in his pocket and handed some money to Dr. Baker, who smirked at Harry and opened his mouth to bid again. The crowd went wild in protest.
“No fair!” Somebody yelled from the back. “ Rules say you can’t loan out money either. S’gotta be what ya have in your pocket.”
The crowd was in an uproar. The mayor appeared worried, put his money back in his pocket, and shrugged. Dr. Baker scowled and sat down. His eyes raked across Harry and Ivy, but he didn’t say anything more.
The caller nodded and continued.
“Forty-five dollars going once...going twice…sold!”