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| Yep, that's my dad. Photo Courtesy of my mom at last weekend's race. |
And now back to our regular program.
Atop a dark stained nightstand, Bella Tuna is attempting to pry open a drawer while simultaneously supporting her weight on the same piece of wood. Her white gloved paw is reaching into the unknown as if expecting to find a treasure trove of her salmon flavored treats inside. She is such a delightful distraction. It's probably a good thing that she did not find me until after college otherwise I would have failed for sure! (Bella Tuna Todd is a cat for those of you who are tuning in for the first time. To read all about her, I suggest taking a look at a few chapters at the beginning of our journey through the weekly reads).
For the rest of you, back on to our road through Providence! Tally-ho!
Chapter 10: The Festival
The morning of the festival
always brought to Providence a new hope for adventure. The event today was
founded to celebrate not only a successful year of harvests, but to extend arms
of community and of friendship to family and neighbors. It was a genesis of
sorts for Providence. People from all over the county would come to town on the
day of the Fall Festival to sell their end of the season goods, to visit with
old friends, and of course to generally have a good time. The center of
Providence transformed itself during the first few days of the week into a
brightly decorated hamlet where dozens of carts and forms of entertainment had
been erected. While the booths would be open, the party did not officially
start until noon on Wednesday lasting until late in the night, but already at
ten in the morning the little town was buzzing. Much like the bees in the
reverend’s garden people zipped to and fro as the last minute deeds were duly
performed. In every direction one looked someone somewhere was fussing over
this or that. In one corner of town, men were finishing with the temporary
erection of a beer garden where people would be able to sip the finest that
barrels could carry. Sheep were baaing as several were dragged through town in
preparation for the first competition that would test a shepherd and his dog’s
skill at corralling the fluffy ewes. Merchants were finalizing the inventory of
their goods, lest they be cheated one way or another. Only the chickens that
usually clucked about town were locked away for the next few days so that they
would not be trampled.
Many of the women in the
town were simply frazzled by all of the items their husbands forgot. Ms.
Elderbe was among these women who had to rescue their other half, so she was
not able to help Ms. Grace with her duty of more-than-less babysitting a herd
of children. However, the school teacher was not alone with her duty; Ms. Julia
Joyce and Mrs. Laura Callaghan were there to help as well. The women watched
over a pack of children, twenty-five, last the women counted, whilst the
parents worked their stands. Most of these children were out of townies, so
none of the women actually knew the names of the most of the children that they
watched. The children of Providence knew better than to act up in front of
their school teacher, but the foreign children possessed no regrets of acting
out in front of her. Her shouts and scorns would be forgotten come Monday
morning.
The three women presided
over a small field behind, yet technically in front of the schoolhouse where
the children were free to run about as they pleased. The only real rule was
that the children stayed away from the large crates that were stationed at the edge
of Eastwick forest, and thus far so good. The only children of her schoolhouse
that Ms. Grace kept tight attention on were the Davis and the Thomas kids, but
that went without saying.
“What is the point of us doing
this?” Mrs. Callaghan asked, brushing her hair from her face as she tended to
do frequently. “If they are just going to run around like little monsters
anyway with or without the approval of their parents, who are we to stop them?”
Mrs. Callaghan’s question
was missed by Ms. Grace who was busy pulling chairs out from the schoolhouse
for the comfort of her comrades. The teacher had said very little over the last
twenty-four hours. Her mind was replaying what happened in her schoolhouse
yesterday over and over. The blissful secret that filled her was intoxicating.
Not sharing it with her friends was even more intoxicating. A small, but
pleased smile lined her lips. She could vividly feel the touch of his lips to
hers. She knew that she would never tire of the same sensation and that she would
be only too delighted if it happened over and over again.
Ms. Joyce instead answered Mrs.
Callaghan and she was frankly appalled, “Don’t,” she airily scornfully commanded.
“Weren’t you just saying how cute that infant was earlier and now you’re
calling the children monsters?” Ms. Joyce accepted a seat from Ms. Grace.
As she shifted herself more
comfortably on the stool typically reserved for the naughty children to sit on
in the back of class, Ms. Grace asked without even having to have heard the
first part of what was said, “Lord, Hewie, what’ll happen when you have your
own babies?”
“Oh, gosh, I love babies!
They are so cute!” Mrs. Callaghan excitedly proclaimed, but her expression
became very serious as she further elaborated, “But I don’t want babies of my
own. So I’ll just play with yours and J.J.’s.”
“Does Mr. Callaghan know about this non-baby ideal of yours, Hewie?” Ms.
Grace asked. She was only paying partial attention, for though her ears were
awaiting the response of Mrs. Callaghan, her eyes were locked on Mr. Davis and
his cousin from the neighboring town. Her blurry eyesight never failed to find
those boys when they were up to no good. The wonderful feeling that had
preserved her since yesterday was at jeopardy of being displaced because of
those scheming youngsters.
Mrs. Callaghan gave her
answer to the topic, which caused Ms. Joyce to laugh at the response, but
because of her distracted scanning eyes Ms. Grace’s excitement prevented her
from hearing the remark. Regardless of the lurking of those Davis boys, some
other unmistakable soul appeared on the horizon.
Providence like most of the
supposed ‘civilized’ world at this time addressed each other with high marks of
propriety. Hardly ever were first names used unless among boon friends or,
although rarely, also between husband and wife. Addressing someone by their
first name struck a level of ineptitude surmounting most other acts considered
rude. However, in Providence there was but one soul for whom all rules and
expectations were dropped along the wayside. This person was the only one whom
everyone in Providence addressed by first name, for she simply broke the mode
in every single way. And as it so happens, Ms. Grace, even with her blurred
eyes, spotted her coming their way.
“Allison!” the school
teacher shouted over the heads of the unaccountable amount of children.
The conversation between
her other friends stopped abruptly. “What? Where?” both women quickly asked. An
Allison sighting seemed too good to be true.
Yet indeed the sweet
smiling pointed face of Allison came strolling casually toward them. A lovely
mess of blond, spring curled hair that stood every which way and her eccentric
outfit confirmed that this person could be no other soul than Allison. The
bouncing blond curls were what clued the blurry eyed Ms. Grace that this was
their old friend, without having the luxury of seeing the details of her face.
The three women by the
schoolhouse ran forward and tackled their friend who had not been around this
sleepy old town for ages. The group hug enveloped the girl whose hands were
initially buried deep in the pockets of the puffy ruffled skirt. It was obvious
that Allison had messily sewn together mismatching patches into her skirt and
that she was more than proud of what she personally crafted. Once her friends
rushed her, Allison threw out her arms to embrace her girls. “Hello, my loves!”
she greeted.
The women held each other a
second before the levy of questions burst.
“How’ve you been?!”
“What new lands have you
seen?”
“Did you really just walk
out of the woods?”
J.J., Gracie then Hewie
asked respectively as they all were riddled with joy from their first meeting
in so long. The four had been inseparable when they were children. Prior to
husbands and the wishes to be married and the controversies that came along
with the mess of marriages, Allison, Gracie, J.J., Hewie and occasionally Mrs.
Elderbe, roamed the town and Homewood Forest like sisters. They were the very
best of friends and that was something even a force as great as time could not
unwind.
“Julia,” Allison said as
she wiped her eyes, “Why are you so white? Summer just ended, for goodness
sake. I mean really, girly, get out in the sun sometime.”
The women all laughed as
jokes from the olden days resurfaced.
“I know!” Julia replied.
“No matter what I do, I’m doomed to be pale. But look at you! You’re still
orange!”
“I am not!” Allison replied
defensively, but her clear tanned skin did have a subtle hint of orange.
Laughing, Ms. Grace asked
mock scornfully, “Are you still addicted to carrots? Lord, I’ll bet you’ve got
a batch there in your bag.”
“I am not and I do not!”
Allison responded, but she then pulled her bag up to her core and clutched it
as though it were precious. “But I do love carrots, so,” she responded, much
like a child, yet in a snap she stood erect and re-answered most seriously.
“No, no. I’ve not touched carrots…in a couple of hours.”
The women began to laugh
uncontrollably like they always did when they were together. Their jesting
antics were unnoticed by the children and their laughter became lost in the
joy-filled screams of the children. However, Mr. Higley who emerged from his
mother’s inn this morning watched from afar. Even after his missed chance with
Ms. Grace that night at the schoolhouse, he still believed that she was the
one. He did not care what his mother thought about her – he wanted to call her his
own.
~*~*~
Oh no! Not, the man named Brian Higley?! What's he doing back in the mix? Well, you'll have to tune in next time to determine the extent of that dastardly fiend's plan!
Until then,
Your humble author,
S. Faxon
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