You Can Go Home Again

CHAPTER SIX

LOVE AND HALLOWEEN

There comes a time in every young boy's life when he begins to realize that girls are different; and that there is something especially nice about them that he can't put into words.

When this stage began to overtake me, Miss Emma D. was my teacher. Now, Miss Emma D. was young and pretty, and had been superbly endowed and I was madly in love with her. Panty hose had not been invented, and, while skirts were long, she sometimes wore them pretty tight. Quite often she would face us perched upon one of the desks at the front of the class; and, if she happened to be a little slow in getting up or down, I would forget completely that she was teaching a course of history.

I remember fondly an occurrence at our home during this strange new phase of my life. A sweet little girl came to our house for lunch. This was in celebration of either her birth day, which came in the spring, or mine, which came in the fall -- I can't remember which. I do remember it was a bright, sun-shiny, and wonderful day.

After lunch, she and I went out on the side porch, and I felt the urge to take her in my arms. We sat on two cane-bottom straight chairs, which certainly were not designed for necking. I scooted my chair up close to hers, and managed to get one arm around her shoulders. This was my first attempt at such, and my nerve failed me.

"Aw, let's quit this and play marbles," I blurted out.

She nodded in quick agreement, and we hopped down off the porch to the rollie-hole course, where we had played so many times before.

A while and another girl later, a crowd of youngsters went on a picnic below the falls. We walked, and were well chaperoned.

After lunch, the chaperone got lazy, and the rest of us started stirring around. One girl sidled up to me and suggested a walk through the woods. We selected instead a path which followed the creek downstream. In a while, we came to a deep pool which was so inviting we both had the same idea.

"I sure wish we could go swimming," I said.

"Me, too," she replied. "If only we had our bathing suits!"

"I drew a long breath, and managed, "Why don't we go in, in our underwear?"

She pondered that one for a minute, and said, "Do you think we should?"

"Probably not," I replied gravely, "but let's do it anyway."

"Will you promise and cross your heart not to bother me?"

"I promise! Let's go."

We slipped back into heavy bushes to undress. She insisted that I turn my head, and keep it turned, until she was in the water. I must confess I cut my eyes to the corner once or twice.

The water was blue clear and cold, and we swam vigorously for a while. Then we were close together, and I reached for her. I grabbed one arm, and tried to tread water to keep the two of us afloat.

"You let me go, James!" she gasped between blue lips. "You promised!" and she pulled away and headed for the bank.

She beat me out, but on land I overtook her rather easily.

I wanted desperately to put my arms around her and hold her shivering body close to mine, hoping but not really believing that she would reciprocate my feelings.

It was not to be. We heard people coming down the path, and that exquisite moment was shattered.

We grabbed our dry clothes and retreated further into the bushes. We dressed in haste sans conversation, and as soon as our hair was dry, we slipped back to the picnic area. The chaperone was just giving her first round-up call.

I have re-lived that bitter-sweet many times in fantasy, but never mentioned it to a soul until today.

I guess this is a good time to tell you some Halloween tales. The first one came to me from one of the older fellows a long time ago.

Many years ago, Doctor Avant's office was just north of the square. The usual out-house was close by. In the wee small hours of November first, a group of young citizens moved this facility to a prominent place on the square, just east of the courthouse door, to be precise.

Not satisfied with this relatively minor crime, they decided to blow it up. They moved it up against the east wall of the courthouse, dropped a dynamite charge in the number two hole, and scurried for cover.

The charge was about two sticks, and the powerful explosion blew the privy to smithereens.

The sheriff and other concerned citizens were soon on the scene in various stages of undress. There was no fire, and in the glow of lanterns, you really couldn't tell what had happened. A search behind the Webb House and other possible hiding places bore no fruit. So, they all went home.

They were back by dawn's early light, and to their dismay, discovered not only the splintered remains of the good Doctor's privy, but, much worse, a sizable crack in the courthouse wall.

This brought on more talk, as we used to say. The investigation moved slowly but relentlessly, and before long, some names began to surface. The noose was getting pretty tight and then one day a name popped up which not only loosened the noose but broke the rope. The name was the same as one of the high county officials.

Oh, Well! Boys will be boys.

An old colored woman whose name, I think, was Baker, lived on the north edge of town, just where the Hurricane Creek hill did a one hundred twenty degree turn in its effort to get down to the creek bottom. Her cabin was right on top of the hill, and her out-house, a dilapidated one-holer, teetered precariously just behind.

This was one of the favorite Halloween targets during my time. The next morning, though, some of the boys in penitent mood, would recover it from the bottom of the hill, and nail back the planks loosened during its tumble.

The adornment of downtown windows with soap writings was another widely used Halloween stunt. Decorative scroll work was everywhere; no window escaped. Some of these writings were ribald and personal, and the window-washers would be busy early next morning.

Over the years, I have heard stories about wagons and buggies being torn down and re-assembled in the courthouse belfry; which seems possible and somewhat logical. The tale about Mr. West's cow being found chewing on the bell rope next morning seems both illogical and impossible, and I will accept no responsibility for passing it on.

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