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Monday, March 25, 2024

Bridle Path - Cupid Hits His Mark

Hello Everyone,

Here is Chapter 7 for my Packhorse Librarian story to go along with the Bridle Path quilt.


If you are new to my blog, I suggest you start at the beginning of the story.  I try to post a short chapter every month.  This is a fictional account of Lexie, a Packhorse Librarian in Kentucky in the 1930's.  She is writing a diary to her young daughter, Grace.

Chapter One    A New Beginning

Chapter Two   Aroma of Time

Chapter Three   Reflections

Chapter Four    The Christmas Surprise

Chapter Five    Les Misérables 

Chapter Six - From the Heart


Chapter #7 Month #7

March 1936

Dear Grace,

It has been several months now that I’ve totally embraced my new job as a packhorse librarian.  I was not expecting to have such a depth of fondness for the folks along my daily route.  Each day I feel as though I’m living between two landscapes, the rustic, and quaint town of Cobble Hill, and the backcountry and hollers nestled in the mountains surrounding the town.

I’ve known most of the people along my route my entire life.  But now, I’ve been invited into their homes and I’m really getting to know them at a deeper, more personal level, and I look forward to our weekly and, in some cases, monthly visits for those who live deeper in the woods.

After I drop you off at Grandma Millie’s house, I head over to the collection room at the back of the library we packhorse librarians use to gather and pack up the books and reading material we are going to distribute.  This morning, I decided to stop at the Spinning Wheel Café for a cup of coffee.  I was greeted by the tinkling of the bell as I walked through the front door and inhaled the blissful scent of freshly made cinnamon rolls right from the oven.  How could I resist the urge to splurge on a piping hot roll?  I had a few coins in my pocket and placed them on the counter.  I had just enough change for coffee and a roll which I decided to eat half now and wrap the rest in a cloth napkin and save to enjoy later in the day.

Sheriff McHenry sat at the end of the counter wearing his trademark trappers’ hat which was not standard issue for his uniform. Maybe it was worn in the northernmost reaches of Canada by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but not in Kentucky.  The flaps were ‘up’ which meant he was listening to every word spoken in the café. You knew if the flaps were ‘down’ the sheriff was thinking about a case he was working on and he was not to be disturbed. His cases usually revolved around an illegal still, stolen horse, runaway husband, wife, teenaged child, or a fist fight at the local bar.  We had only one sheriff for the entire county and occasionally he had to draw on the resources of a neighboring town for a particularly serious case. 

For the most part, he spent his day in the café nursing a cup of coffee with a Lucky Strike cigarette building up ash in an ashtray, which Winnie, a very plump waitress, dumped out several times a day. I think Winnie enjoyed a few too many cinnamon rolls. Also, sheriff McHenry sported a large belly, probably a result of those cinnamon rolls too.

Sheriff McHenry always saved the spent pack of Lucky Strikes.  He would never wad up an empty pack in his fist.  He would remove the #2 Ticonderoga pencil from between his ear flap and ear and gently press the pencil over the empty pack to make it nice and flat. He was known to use the finished packs for target practice as the package looked like it had a bullseye on it.  He didn’t have to draw his firearm very often, but he certainly wanted to be ready and deadly accurate if the need arose.  The woods around Cobble Hill were decorated with empty packs of Lucky Strikes tacked to trees with the bullseye totally obliterated.  I guess this was a word of warning to any would be criminal.

The county issued the sheriff a 1927 Model T for his official duties.  He literally drove the car a consistent 27 miles an hour around town whether he was headed to an emergency or just cruising around the community looking for suspicious activity.  I wonder how fast he will drive if he were to be given a newer model?  I would think if he had been issued a 1936 model, he would still drive only 27mph, as 36mph would be totally out of control.

At the far end corner of the counter was his unofficial office, and we all knew not to sit on his personal stool.  When he brought folks in for an interview, he took them to a corner booth for privacy which was not very private.  As I walked in this morning, the sheriff looked up at me through a ribbon of smoke, with eyes squinted.  He was always surveying every café patron with suspicion.

I hung around the Spinning Wheel Café and listened to Walter Winchell on radio station WABC from New York. He was talking about the 1936 Summer Olympics which were going to be held in Berlin, Germany in August. There was a lot of talk about a working-class team of rowers from the University of Washington who had qualified to go to Berlin. The commentator was also talking about Jessie Owens, the Buckeye Bullet from Ohio State. It was going to be fun following the US Olympic team on the radio. I’m still amazed that a voice from New York can reach all the way to rural Kentucky!   I can’t imagine how a voice can travel across the ocean to our little corner of the world.

This morning, I could hear folks talking about a wake being held at the Craig Memorial Congregational Church for a long-time resident of Cobble Hill, Mrs. Gordon. Years ago, before I was in school, Mrs. Gordon was the schoolmarm.  I remember hearing how rigid and strict she was during her time at the schoolhouse. This was going to be a real social gathering as more than half of the residents were schooled by her and still spoke about the crack of the ruler they received on the back of their hands.  Mrs. Gordon and Mrs. VanAsperen were fast friends and when Mrs. Gordon retired from teaching, she gave Mrs. VanAsperen her ruler.  Unfortunately, Mrs. Gordon had trained the ruler well and Mrs. VanAsperen still used it to discipline her students.  I don’t think that ruler ever measured a thing except for the pain and humiliation it inflicted.

Sheriff McHenry would be at the wake too.  He would remove his hat during the prayer only, and then he’d slap it right back on his head.  You see, he has a perfectly egg-shaped bald head which elicited snickers and giggles whenever his hat was off. If you ever wondered what Humpty Dumpty looked like, just take a peek at Sheriff McHenry with his hat off. Poor man, I see why it seemed to be glued to his head.  Whenever we had a strong windstorm, the strings on the flaps were securely tied under his double chin. Heaven forbid his hat blew off and looked like an escaped monkey from a zoo rolling down main street.

Jenny Kenline, also known as the ‘grief catcher’ will be at the wake in full wake regalia and a plate of cookies. I’m not sure that Mrs. Gordon would be on the receiving end of one of Jenny’s carrot cakes, which were reserved for only the happiest of occasions.   I always wondered why a wake is called ‘wake’ when the object of all the attention is obviously far from being ‘a-wake’.   I’m sure Mrs. Gordon would be very disapproving if there was a drop of alcohol consumed during her wake, so cookies it is and absolutely no rum balls allowed.

I headed over to the library with my cinnamon roll tightly rolled up in a cloth napkin which I promised to return to Winnie.  I’m not sure how the roll would fare in my saddlebag packed with books, so I decided to keep it in my coat pocket. I knew I would probably have a grease stain on my pocket, but I didn’t care.  I threw the saddlebags full of books over Starkey’s hind end, and we were off for the day, and it was just barely 8:00 am.

I love these early morning rides.  The sky was pewter-colored over the green grass and trees. I could hear the birds chirping and singing their praise for the day.  I joined in with a silent prayer of thanks and gratitude for my life, my important job, and for you Grace.  I stopped at several cabins along my route before I went to see Nellie Welsh.  Her cabin was always so depressing, yet she was up and dressed to a ‘tee’ just in case this was the day she was going to pass over.  She offered me a cup of coffee, but I declined as I still had multiple stops along my way.

I came to the river which was higher than usual for this time of year. Starkey, my dog Blue, and I stood at the shore watching the swift water pass by.  I looked at the water and thought about my life racing by. Two leaves were flowing swiftly together until they came to a large rock.  One leaf moved smoothly around the rock, while the other one was caught in an eddy in front of the rock and was sucked into the water.  I thought about me and the fact that my life is the leaf heading downstream.  Your father’s life was swallowed by the eddy, and we aren’t going to be meeting downstream anytime soon. There are times like these when sadness washes over me to the point that I ignore everything around me when I should be paying more attention to everything surrounding me. Enough of these silent conversations with myself.

Starkey put his right hoof into the water, then reared and spun around as though he had been shot by a bullet from Sheriff McHenry’s handgun.  Starkey was whirling around in a frenzy, while I held on to the reins and saddle horn for dear life spinning in every direction like the needle on a compass. While I was spinning just like the Tile-A-Whirl at the local carnival,  I caught a glimpse of Little Georgie Stoltz stealing away holding his bow.  My guess is Georgie’s suction-cup arrow found Starkey’s rump at close range and startled him into turning circles in search of the culprit who attacked him. Before I knew it, I landed on my buttocks in the river.  All I could think about was the ruined cinnamon roll in my pocket! 

As luck would have it, Daniel from Leonardo’s Mill was driving by with a load of mill ends in the bed of his truck.  He parked and ran over to help me out of the water and grabbed Starkey’s reins.  Blue just stood there and barked at Daniel, then pursued Little Georgie off into the woods. I was secretly wishing Blue would take a little nip out of Georgie’s rump to teach him a lesson!  I know that is so un-Christian like but I wasn’t feeling very charitable at the time.

When Daniel got me upright, I realized that somehow on the way down, I had twisted my ankle, possibly my boot had gotten hung up in the stirrup.  Daniel thought I should leave my boot on, and he loaded me into his truck and thought it would be a good idea if he took me to Old Doc Wood’s office.  He tied Starkey’s reins to the back of the truck and Blue jumped up and played king of the mountain on top of the load of mill ends and we were off at a slow rate of speed, much slower than Sheriff McHenry.

Daniel waited for me while Old Doc Wood gently removed my boot, palpitated my ankle and proclaimed that I should stay off it for the day, and I’d be fine by morning.  I was not so sure that was the case.  My buttocks ached, my ankle ached, and my precious cinnamon roll was ruined.  Daniel then took me to Grandma Millie’s house so she could keep an eye on me during the day.  When the truck pulled up in front of her house, I got out and hobbled over to the chair on the front porch and sat down emitting a loud sigh.  We soon discovered that Grandma Millie and Grace must still be at Mrs. Gordon’s wake.

We sat in contented silence for a bit when Daniel asked if he could take me to the Spring Frolic at the Church in two weeks.  My mind was racing……I had only been a widow for a little over a year.  Would this be proper?  I was lonesome for the company of a man, but I was not lonely, in fact I had become extremely self-sufficient. I always said I would never want another man’s boots under my bed, but was that really the case?  It’s amazing the number of thoughts that can go through your head in a split second.  I told him I would have to think about it as I didn’t think I would be very light on my feet by the way my ankle was swelling.  Daniel suggested we move down by the stream and sit there for a bit before he had to go on his way.  The chilly water made my ankle feel so much better.  Maybe the water just took the edge off the pain and was beginning to numb my entire foot.

I sat and stared at the water rushing down out of the mountains and saw it part as it went around a rock.  This time, a leaf didn’t get stuck in an eddy and the two sides of the stream split then met peacefully on the other side of the rock and traveled down the waterway together.

Daniel helped me into Grandma Millie’s cabin, and he went on his way to deliver the mill ends.  He would have to explain to the mill owner why he was late with his deliveries that day, and he knew Mr. Leonardo would be understanding.  Daniel tipped his hat to me and said he hoped to see me in the next few days to find out my answer to his invitation. He said he hoped my answer would be yes.

I curled up on the chesterfield (Sheriff McHenry does not smoke Chesterfields since there’s no ‘target’ on the pack) and slept until you and Grandma Millie came back from the wake. After I told her what happened and why I was home, she said she must make Daniel a cake as a thank you for rescuing me from the river and taking care of me while she was gone.  She knew just the cake she was going to make because Jenny Kenline out did herself with a new cake recipe for the wake.  She must have had a soft spot in her heart for Mrs. Gordon after all.  Grandma Millie gave the recipe a new name in honor of Mrs. Gordon.

Soon,

Mama

 

Old School Walnut Pound Cake

3 cups cake flour

2 cups sugar

1 cup packed brown sugar

3 sticks of butter (room temperature)

5 eggs (room temperature)

1 cup whole buttermilk (room temperature)

½ Teaspoon baking powder

¼ Teaspoon salt

1 Tablespoon vanilla extract

1 Tablespoon pound cake extract

2 cups walnuts minced – save some to sprinkle on the top of the cake

 

THICK GLAZE

2 cups powdered sugar

1 stick of butter

4 ounces cream cheese

4 teaspoons half and half

 

Cream butter and sugars together until smooth.

Slowly add eggs 1 at a time

Add flavorings

Sift salt and baking powder with the flour

Add flour mixture and buttermilk to the butter and sugar mixture beginning and ending with flour

Stir in walnuts

Pour into a greased tube pan

Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour.  Check after 45 minutes with a piece of straw from a broom.  The cake is ready when the straw comes out clean.

Let cool in pan for 20 minutes.  Place on a cake plate and frost when completely cooled







2 comments:

  1. Another chapter and another letter to Grace. I have so enjoyed reading each chapter. I honestly do not know where you find the time to do all you do!

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    1. Thank you so much for commenting. I get up early and start right in working. I stop at 4pm and spend the rest of the day preparing dinner and spending time with Mr. Joe and Mazey.

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