Authors: Alle Wells
Jack washed down his hardtack and boloney with a gulp of chicory. “Yes sir, you and me are lucky to have a job even if we do have to put up with Sarge.”
“
Yeah, well, at least we ain’t colored. He gives those guys hell. Anyhow, Thursday’s coming.”
I laid back, searched for the Big Bear in the sky and thought about sweet Marianne.
Thursday afternoon, Jack and I jumped off the back of the railroad truck at the Huntsville station. Jack set out walking down the road to his Aunt Ethel’s house. I felt sorry for Jack having to spend his weekend installing indoor plumbing while I lived it up down in Riverside. My cousins, Noah and Seth, rode up in the old Model T. Fourteen-year-old Seth jumped off the sideboard and ran to meet me.
“
Hey, Cuzz, did you hear that the Yankees won the World Series?”
I tousled Seth’s straw-colored hair. “Little buddy, I’ve been camped out at the end of the world. I ain’t heard nothing but the five-o-clock Whip-Poor-Will.”
I listened to Seth describe the ballgame play by play, but I didn’t care about the World Series. I only wanted to see Marianne. We bumped down the dusty road in the old Model T. I can still feel the excitement I felt so long ago when we reached the tree-lined path heading up to the rambling old farmhouse. Uncle Johnny Mack’s five boys’ ages ranged from six years to twenty. Sweet Marianne was a ripe sixteen. Uncle Johnny Mack’s prized horses pastured to the right and cattle to the left. The bird dogs howled, and the younger boys ran to meet us as the battered Model T clambered to a stop.
Aunt Mary greeted me like one of her own, always welcoming me to her table. Midday dinners served on the long polished pine table remain more vivid in my mind today than what I had for dinner last night. Aunt Mary and my lovely Marianne laid out a spread that filled the void in my stomach after a week of hardtack and baloney. Smokehouse cured hams, fried potatoes, fresh corn, butter beans and Marianne’s famous biscuits. My belly was full twice over when I put my feet under Aunt Mary’s table.
I caught Marianne’s eye and said, “By Golly, these biscuits are so good; they’ll send a man to his knees begging for more.”
My heart melted when she cut her green eyes at me, bit her bottom lip, and smiled shyly.
Noah, Seth and I filled carefree afternoons practicing for the statewide rodeo championship that we never got around to entering. We chased, roped, and dragged Uncle Mack’s calves around the pasture like the real cowboys did at the state fair. When the calves began to steer clear of us, our horses raced the old Model T down the dirt roads until it spit, sputtered and died. Adrenaline ran high in those days. My cousins and I couldn’t get enough adventure.
High-spirited and competitive, we stood ten-foot high on the trestle, landing hard into the deep Tennessee River. Marianne covered her eyes and screamed when we jumped off the bridge. Then she counted one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two until the first head surfaced the water.
The churning force of the cold water felt like it would crush my body as I sprang from the sandy bottom and shot twenty feet up to the river’s surface. My head pounded as I gulped air into my empty lungs. I would have jumped off the Empire State Building just to see my reward in Marianne’s face.
“
Whoohoo! Mickey’s the winner—seven seconds!”
***
I looked forward to Saturday afternoons when Marianne and I could be alone. The slow three-mile ride down the sandy dirt path relaxed me after playing rough with the boys. Marianne led the way to Tern Lake on her chestnut mare. I watched her sleek body sway to the horse’s rhythm as I followed a few steps behind on Uncle Mack’s old gelding. Blue jeans like women wore in the western movies hugged her slim hips and lengthened her long legs. The red and white gingham checked shirt set her curly red hair afire.
We heard the crying birds a quarter mile away from the twenty-acre lake. The noise grew louder, almost deafening, as we reached the marshland that surrounded the lake. Marianne pulled her long red hair up into a safari hat wound in mosquito netting before dismounting. She fed Meg knotty green apples from a burlap sack.
“
Take care and wear a hat, Mickey. The mosquitoes will eat you alive out here.”
“
Aah, I’ll be fine. I’m not sweet like you.”
Marianne turned and wrapped her long arms over my shoulders. Her touch made me feel safe and whole. She pecked me on the cheek through the netting. “That’s cute but put the hat on anyway.”
“
Let’s share,” I said, tucking my head under the netting. I wound my arms around her narrow waist, nuzzled my nose into her neck. I never wanted to move. Then, Marianne’s full lips held mine captive and could have kept me forever. Locked together, passion, tension and chemistry flowed freely between us. Meg nudged Marianne’s hair, breaking the spell.
“
Ach, off Meg, off,” she cried, waving the horse away.
I pointed a finger at Meg. “I’ll get you back for that one, you old nag.”
“
Oh, come on, you silly. Put on this Jafari or you’ll be scratching all night.”
I did as she instructed, objecting, “You should know, Miss, that I can build an entire railroad with my bare hands. Do you seriously think a tiny insect can beat a railroad man like me?”
Marianne tied Meg’s rein to a tree limb and shook her head thoughtfully. “Silly. I love you.”
Thousands of screeching waterfowl circled the lake as we entered their sanctuary. Marianne knew a perfect spot, a mound of sand hidden in the tall reeds where we sat hidden. Our low canvas sling back chairs provided a perfect angle for bird-watching. Marianne propped a large sketchpad on her thighs and colored pencils at her side. A Blue Heron strolled between the green lily pads, jabbing at tadpoles circling in a pool.
“
I hope those tadpoles keep that Heron busy long enough for me to get a rough sketch. He looks fierce, but he’s almost tame. He might just come over and shake your hand.”
“
I don’t know that I could grab hold of one of those slippery flip-flaps, and those beady yellow eyes sure do look evil.”
Marianne kept her eyes on her work. “Oh, Mickey. You say the funniest things!”
My heart could have melted right through my soul sitting so close to sweet Marianne. Her presence captivated me. Words from my heart wedged in my throat. So I just watched her hand guide the pencil over the paper and form the bird’s neck in the shape of the letter S. She mixed the colors blue, white, yellow and grey. Sometimes she used two pencils at the same time to make the bird feathers lift off the page. Marianne’s keen eye for color was one of her many talents I admired. I loved her long, slender arms peeking through the reeds, her determined freckled face squinting at the bird as he turned his yellow eye toward her. In fact, there was nothing about Marianne that I didn’t adore. She was the perfect girl. I sat in the reeds with her and silently planned our perfect life together.
While Marianne updated her migration journal, I peered through the spyglass. Supported on stick-like legs, the Great Blue Heron moved away, lifting its yellow feet high above the water in measured steps stalking its prey. Within the blink of an eye, its long neck curled and the golden beak snapped the meat from the shell of a box turtle. The brief moment of beauty and cruelty fascinated me. I lowered the spyglass to see a hundred or more sleek Terns hover above the blue-green water like a white carpet. A large Osprey circled overhead taking inventory of her next meal.
Marianne plucked the spyglass from my loose grasp. She pointed to a bare trunk that rose high above the water. “That Osprey has two new chicks over there in the top of that dead tree. This is her second hatching this year.”
My eyes followed her finger just in time to see the bird return to its nest with the head of a sizeable drum fish caught in its powerful talons.
Marianne breathed deeply, catching the scent of the lake. “This place is so full of life; I learn something new every time I come here.”
Those hours, amused by nature’s power and humbled by Marianne’s beauty, were the most precious times of my young years. Close to sunset, we mounted Meg and Old Joe and usually clopped at a slow pace in silence. With Marianne, silence was natural and comforting. Her presence was enough for me.
***
At Sunday Meeting, I sat behind Marianne so that I could catch the lemon scent from her hair. The sermon dragged on, but my face was veiled in the waves of Marianne’s strawberry hair. Aunt Mary prepared a huge feast shared outside after Sunday Meeting. Marianne and I made homemade ice cream on hot summer afternoons. Sweet Marianne bounced her cute rump up and down on the shaft while I turned the crank. I cranked slowly, steaming my desire and freezing Marianne’s bottom as she giggled.
Later, Marianne and I squeezed shoulder to shoulder in the crook of the old pecan tree. The scent of her alabaster skin filled my nose. Her wavy hair was silky when I stole a touch. My face reddened as her musical voice filled my heart. Feeling the rise of desire in my pants, I longed for more.
“
You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Mickey. Remember playing house when we were little?”
I cracked two pecans together in my fist and gave her half. “That’s the way it’ll always be, you and me. Mother sent a letter this week. She said her cousin can get me a permanent job with the railroad. We’ll have it made, you and me.”
Marianne bit her bottom lip the way she did when tears bubbled up in her eyes. Our love grew stronger through the seasons of two years. We scattered seeds in the garden during spring planting. I found her in the cellar stocking shelves during harvest season. When the leaves fell, I met her in the chicken house while she gathered eggs. On winter nights, I sat outside her bedroom window under the sliver of a moon and watched her shadow move beyond the lace curtain.
***
Our crew completed the stretch of rail from Chattanooga to Atlanta in 1932. Jack and the others went home to build a life in the lifeless Depression. Mother’s cousin, yard master at the Chattanooga shop, had enough pull to get me an engineer’s apprenticeship. Jobs like mine didn’t happen by accident. Most of us were recommended by someone in the railroad system.
Every employee at the railroad served an apprenticeship in their craft. I worked my apprenticeship on the Huntsville-Chattanooga line. As an apprentice, I earned respect by giving respect and paid my dues to the men above me. I started as a fireman, shoveling coal into the locomotive. It took nearly two years to work my way into the coveted engineer’s seat.
The newly formed railroad union secured my future and made me a prime catch for Marianne’s heart. I was a few days shy of twenty-one when I asked Uncle Johnny Mack for eighteen-year-old Marianne’s hand in marriage. I chose a Sunday afternoon when he would be relaxed. Uncle Johnny Mack sat tilted back against the house in a straight-backed chair. I stretched out on the front porch steps.
“
Hey, Uncle Johnny Mack, did you hear that my apprenticeship is over?”
Uncle Johnny Mack picked at his nails with a pocket knife. “Yep, I heard about that. I’m real proud of you, Son.”
“
Yes sir. I’ll be going back to Atlanta this afternoon.”
“
My sister will be real glad of that.”
Uncle Johnny Mack hadn’t looked up and didn’t seem very interested in the most important conversation I would ever have with him. I got up and pulled a chair identical to his directly across from him and leaned forward to get his attention.
“
Uncle Johnny Mack, me and Marianne want to get married. You know I’ll be able to provide a good life for her with my new job and all. Well, I’d appreciate your blessing to let her come live with me in Atlanta—after we’re married, that is.”
Uncle Johnny Mack’s face turned hard as stone. His sharp blue eyes squinted at me. “Mickey, you’re like one of my own sons. I’ve watched over you since your daddy fell off that ladder back in ’21. I’m real proud of how you turned out, getting on with the railroad and all. But you and Marianne are close kin. It just wouldn’t be right to marry the two of you. Why, you might sire a mongoloid child.”
Uncle Johnny Mack’s eyes moved back to the knife in his hand. “No, my son, we can’t have that. You go on back to Atlanta and find yourself another pretty girl. Marianne will understand.”
Uncle Johnny Mack’s unwillingness to see that Marianne and I were made for each other set my heart hard against him. In my heart, she was mine. I never thought of life without her. Marianne and I had a love that came as natural as breathing. My heart dropped into the empty hands shaped prayerfully before me. Hands meant to hold Marianne. I wanted to meet with her privately, ask her to marry me face to face. But I knew that Marianne would never go against her father’s wishes, not even for me.