Dear Hank Williams (9 page)

Aunt Patty Cake sighed long and hard. I guess she was relieved that someone finally broke the Texas curse on our family.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he yelled from the screened porch.

And then I heard a whimper. It sounded like it came from a dog. I sprung from my chair and beat Frog to the door.

When I opened it, Uncle Jolly stood there holding a Louisiana Catahoula cur. Most folks around here call it a cur dog. She was full grown but as sweet as a puppy. Her hair was spotted like a leopard with a big dose of white that spread from her belly all the way up to her neck, and on the tip of her tail, which pointed toward the sky. Her icy-blue eyes reminded me of Frog's marbles.

“Is she ours?” I asked, locking my hands together. I was falling in love fast and I couldn't bear to touch her if she was going to the pound or to someone else's family.

Uncle Jolly offered her to me. “She's all yours, Sweet Tater.”

My hands parted and made their way clear to that dog. I held her next to me as close as I could, and if I was the type of person who cried (which I'm not), I would have cried a mountain of happy tears. She lowered her head, but I could tell she liked me. She didn't wiggle to get out of my arms.

“Thank you, Uncle Jolly! This is the best Christmas present ever.” I glanced over to Aunt Patty Cake, remembering her no-dogs rule. She was smiling too.

Uncle Jolly rubbed the top of the dog's head. “You'll let me have some squirrel-hunting rights with her, won't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Uncle Jolly took off his coat. “Cur dogs are some of the best hunting dogs.”

The dog licked my fingers like she was cleaning me real good. Aunt Patty Cake and Mrs. Applebud came over for a closer look.

“She's pretty for a cur dog,” Aunt Patty Cake said. “Of course she'll have to be an outdoor dog.”

I guess she saw my disappointment, because she quickly added, “She can stay inside until bedtime tonight. Only because it's Christmas.”

A slow grin traveled across Uncle Jolly's face. “Sissy, you are a softie.”

“Wouldn't want that to get around,” Aunt Patty Cake said, making her way back to clearing the table.

Uncle Jolly dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of torn newspaper. “There's one more gift, but we'll have to wait until after Christmas to get it. Remember this?”

He held out the scrap of newspaper, and I recognized the Victrola we saw in Hoyt's window in Lecompte. “I'll bet we'll be able to hear your momma on that beauty.”

Aunt Patty Cake's face turned red. She glimpsed at Mrs. Applebud, but she was petting my dog.

“What are you going to name her?” Mrs. Applebud asked.

“Lovie,” I said. I couldn't begin to tell you how I thought of it, but as soon as the name left my lips, I knew it was the perfect fit.

The grown-ups started talking about Texas, and I got bored. I reckon you could say I enjoyed being the center of attention. Frog had been real quiet, and I searched around the room for him. He was hiding behind Aunt Patty Cake's chair, his arms wrapped around his body as tight as thread on a spool. Like I told you before, Frog is afraid of the things he shouldn't be and too brave about the things he should fear. But this time Frog didn't look afraid. He looked sad.

I held Lovie out to him and whispered, “She can be yours, too, Frog.” Well, it was like his body unfolded right in front of me. His shoulders let down and his arms relaxed. He stretched his fingers toward Lovie's head. While he petted her, I scratched her back. Lovie took right to it. This dog is going to be spoiled rotten if Frog and me have anything to do with it.

Merry Christmas again!

Your fan and new dog owner,

Tate P.

 

December 26, 1948

Dear Mr. Williams,

A
UNT
P
ATTY
C
AKE
said Lovie has to sleep outside in the shed. The shed is not a place where anyone should have to sleep. It's dark, filled with old junk coated with thick cobwebs. But I didn't argue, because I knew the only way Aunt Patty Cake would ever allow me to keep Lovie was if I kept her out of the house. So last night after Mrs. Applebud left, I carried Lovie out to the shed. Uncle Jolly went with me to help find a good place. He started searching around for some old saddle blankets we'd had from the days when Uncle Jolly owned a horse. While Uncle Jolly hunted for them on the high shelves, I combed the lower ones. That's when I came across my daddy's boots. I was glad they weren't on Frog's feet, but the sight of them made me freeze.

Uncle Jolly must have noticed, because he came over and grabbed them. “Meant to throw those out,” he said. “Good time as any.”

Frog wouldn't like it. “They're magic,” he'd tell me. He'd stand tall, looking down, admiring those boots. I think Frog believed if he wore them enough, our daddy would appear in front of us in his socks. I was glad Uncle Jolly was throwing them out. Frog didn't need to be wearing them anyway. They were way too big for Frog's little feet. He could trip or fall or worse.

When Uncle Jolly returned, he patted me on the shoulder and went back to scouting for the blankets. A moment later he said, “Here's one.” He handed me the blanket. I held it by two corners and flapped it into the air a few times. Dust flew, causing us to cough. Then I folded it and placed it on the dirt floor. I patted Lovie's new bed and looked up at her. “Come on, girl.”

Lovie studied me and the blanket. Then she slowly made her way to the spot. I raised my hand to pet her head, but she ducked away as if I was going to hit her.

Uncle Jolly shook his head. “Poor thing. I think she was running away from some downright mean scoundrel. They must have mistreated her something awful. Haven't heard her bark once.”

“Where did you find her?” I asked. I wanted to know Lovie's whole story.

Then Uncle Jolly told me how he discovered Lovie. He was heading back from Dallas. He said he was so happy with his pocket filled with Christmas-tree money because he knew now he'd be able to buy the Victrola and we'd get to hear Momma on the radio. “I was thinking to myself, this must be what Santa Claus feels like, knowing he's going to please all those boys and girls by getting them something they really want. Anyway, I was driving on Highway 80 and it began to rain, hitting the windshield so hard, I could hardly see. Hate to admit it, but I got scared all of a sudden.”

“But it rains here all the time, Uncle Jolly.”

“Yes, ma'am, but I was in Texas. And your aunt Patty Cake's words kept playing in my head. I was afraid I was going to meet my maker right outside Mineola. I decided not to push my luck. I pulled over to the side of the road, practically driving into the woods because of what happened to your grandparents. As soon as I parked, I knew I'd done the right thing. At least that's what I thought until lightning struck a huge limb that landed about two feet in front of my truck. Talk about a close call.

“Then I heard a yelp. I could tell it was from a dog, and normally I would have stayed put, but something got me curious, maybe because I only heard the sound once. I buttoned up my coat and fixed my hat on my head and stepped out into the rain. Then I checked all around the truck, but I didn't see anything. I figured whatever it was had taken off. When I headed back, though, I saw a dog's tail with a tip of white on the end sticking out from underneath the truck. I fetched my leftover ham sandwich and coaxed her to come to me. She was shaking, but I sweet-talked her. Finally, she inched her way out from underneath and let me lift her inside the truck. I figured we'd wait the weather out together, but by the time the rain stopped falling I'd come to the conclusion that this dog was meant for someone special.”

“Thank you, Uncle Jolly.”

“Yeah, I was thinking this dog should go to my next girlfriend,” Uncle Jolly said. He looked dead serious. Then he winked.

Mr. Williams, did I ever tell you that Uncle Jolly thinks he's funny?

Until next time,

Tate

 

December 29, 1948

Dear Mr. Williams,

T
HERE ARE TWO WINDOWS
in my bedroom. One faces out front where I can see the cemetery across the road. The other gives a view of the shed in the side yard. I hardly ever looked out the side window, but now that Lovie has to stay in the shed at night, I have good reason to be staring out that window. Christmas night it was so hard to go to sleep, knowing poor Lovie, who'd probably never had much love before, was sleeping out there by her lonesome. She didn't make a sound, but Uncle Jolly said he'd never heard her bark at all.

The next night, my mind fretted on it so much, I couldn't sleep. Mr. Williams, you know me by now. I'm the sort of person who makes the best of situations. Aunt Patty Cake said Lovie had to be an outside dog. But Aunt Patty Cake would want me to get a good night's sleep.

So I was in a dilemma. On one hand, I could leave Lovie out in the shed and toss and turn all night. Or on the other, I could respect Aunt Patty Cake's strict rule about getting a good night's sleep. I weighed each option very carefully and realized Aunt Patty Cake would know if I didn't get enough shut-eye, but she'd never know if Lovie became a part-time inside dog. (And if you want to get picky about it, a shed is inside too.)

That decided, I threw back the covers and eased my window open. I tiptoed to the shed to get my dog. Good thing I'm a part-time spy.

Now, Lovie is not a small dog. She's not a big dog either, but that night she seemed heavier than when Uncle Jolly handed her to me for the first time. Lovie was a willing partner. She stayed quiet and didn't yelp when I accidentally dropped her onto my bedroom floor. I quickly climbed in after her and shut the window.

Most dogs would have headed straight to that bed, but not Lovie. She stood watching me, waiting to see what I was going to do next. I crawled into bed and patted the foot of the mattress. Lovie cowered like I was going to swat her. Swear to sweet Sally, I know someone hurt this dog bad. I waited and tapped the bed again. She glanced away. Then she checked back. I kept patting the bed, whispering, “Come on up, girl.” Finally, as if she realized that I was absolutely serious about my offer, she hopped onto the foot of my bed and curled into a tight ball.

I wish I could have told Frog, but he would have let the cat out of the bag. That boy gets too excited about some things.

I know my secret is safe with you, though.

All my best,

Tate and Lovie, too

PS—I'd better start setting my alarm a few minutes earlier so I can sneak Lovie back to the shed before Aunt Patty Cake heads to the kitchen.

 

January 1, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

H
APPY
N
EW
Y
EAR
! I believe 1949 is going to be a great year for you and me. It's already off to a terrific start because I have Lovie. This year I'll be singing at the Rippling Creek May Festival Talent Contest, and I believe, with all my heart, this year you'll become a household name around the entire United States. You're already a big star in Rippling Creek. Aunt Patty Cake listens to you every morning at 7:15 sharp. She even bought Johnnie Fair Syrup the other day at the Piggly Wiggly just because you sang about it.

This is also the year we will hear Momma on a Texas radio station. The other day Uncle Jolly went to Hoyt's, and the Victrola was not the only thing he walked out with. He lined up a date with Garnett. I know what you're thinking. There is that wedding band on her left ring finger. IMPORTANT NEWS FLASH: Garnett is a war widow! Well, I've never been so happy about someone being dead in my whole life. Garnett wears the ring to steer off unwanted advances. I guess Uncle Jolly isn't on that list, because the next time I saw her, she wasn't wearing it.

Uncle Jolly took her to dinner at Herbie K's in Alexandria. He told Aunt Patty Cake and me all about it. “You should see her eat,” he said. “I've never been on a date where a woman cleans her plate. I don't know where Garnett puts it. She's as tiny as a thimble.”

I get to witness the next date. Uncle Jolly invited me to go to the movies with them. “Garnett said you could be our chaperone,” he told me.

I'll report back all about it in my next letter!

Your fan in 1949 and hereafter,

Tate P.

 

January 8, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

G
ARNETT IS NOTHING LIKE
D
OLORES
or any other of Uncle Jolly's past women. She is bubbly and thinks life is a big bowl of strawberry ice cream! At the picture show we saw a Roy Rogers movie. When the bad guy showed up, Garnett threw popcorn at the screen and yelled, “Boo!”

I knew Uncle Jolly was embarrassed, the way he glanced around. But then folks all around us joined in. Popcorn flew over the seats, and chants of “boo” came from row to row. Frog and me joined in. Then, lo and behold, Uncle Jolly tossed a big handful at the screen. Uncle Jolly should never plan on becoming a baseball pitcher. The popcorn landed in a lady's hair. She turned around and scowled at us, but I never had such a good time at a picture show.

Aunt Patty Cake likes Garnett too. She likes anyone who likes her food and tells her so. Especially people who don't act as if they wish they could spread a layer of Vicks VapoRub underneath their nostrils.

I hope Garnett doesn't ever break up with Uncle Jolly. He hasn't sipped anything stronger than Community Coffee since the Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet. I'm afraid if someone as special as Garnett broke up with him, he'd fall off the saddle for good. He's so relaxed around her. He never sucks in his gut. He just lets his belly hang over his belt. Garnett must think it's cute, because she sometimes rubs his tummy, closes her eyes, and says, “I'm making a wish.”