The Sisters of Glass Ferry. Kim Michele Richardson
give permission. Parents too. Especially the parents. Though Miss Little was indeed small and frail in appearance, in these matters she had a might of influence over all the grown-ups, especially since Alfred Harris.
Long ago, Alfred transferred from another county after his school chased him off for doing bad things to animals. The family sent him to live with an aunt in Glass Ferry, but Miss Little found out his sickness had come with him. After that Alfred incident, no one grumbled about Miss Little’s guardian role or her results.
Still, Miss Little tried to be fair, and there was always a chance if the boy’s offense was trivial. The teacher sometimes offered to have him atone for his misdeed by attending her Wednesday and Saturday two-hour Bible study at her house. If the boy made a month’s worth of meetings and seemed truly repentant, Miss Little would finally nod her consent.
A boy willing to do that punishment knew his date was worth it, knew that come Monday morning after the dance he might be boasting about making it to second, possibly third base even, and, by lunch, he’d fish-tale it bigger and describe an almost homerun on prom night.
The girls’ mamas and daddies thought Miss Little’s rules were nifty—as close to the Good Lord’s blessing as they could get. It saved them big headaches, and they didn’t have to worry their sweet magnolias would end up with a hooligan or the likes, and their families disgraced.
The boys’ families said Miss Little helped keep their Southern sons honorable and on the straight and narrow, said their boys worked harder in school and at their jobs because of her date-dance scrutiny.
Patsy had been thrilled to pass her first name to Miss Little for the Cupid’s Dance. Then again for junior prom.
On that morning, long before the bigger troubles took root, Patsy’d dressed in a modest skirt and a buttoned-to-the-top blouse, and stood in line with the other girls, including the seniors.
Quietly, Patsy had waited her turn to contribute to the pile of papers and place the traditional apple into Miss Little’s wooden bowl.
Patsy watched the others in front of her pass their apples to Miss Little and give the chosen name inside their folded papers. Everyone in line stretched their necks, slipped a snooping eye, watching too as the teacher opened paper after paper and peeked, before folding and adding to the pile.
At last Patsy handed Miss Little her polished apple along with the folded slip of paper, the name of the boy she was sweet on taking her to the big prom written in her best handwriting. It meant she was a woman now. And folks would look at her like one. Especially Danny.
Miss Little examined the apple closely before putting it with the others.
Patsy squirmed. She had gone through three pails from old man Samp’s orchard until she found one without a blemish.
Miss Little studied Patsy’s paper. You could always tell which boys would get a pass right off and those who wouldn’t or needed more checking, because the old schoolmarm always hinted with a tiny smile, or a wrinkled worry in her brow, before folding up the paper and placing it to the side. Anxious, Patsy searched the teacher’s face.
Danny had been careful not to get into trouble. But lately he’d been hanging with his brother and a few of the other older boys, and getting closer to it. And the more he hung, the more his good grades dipped, and as his lip got a little looser, and his breath smelled a lot boozier—the more Patsy found herself harping. She couldn’t dare risk losing the dance. Her chance.
At last Miss Little nodded with the slightest smile, dismissing her. For a lingering second Patsy stared at her, agonizing she’d imagined it all.
“Miss Butler, you may take your seat.”
Patsy startled and gave a small curtsy, fleeing to her table. But not before seeing the blessing in her teacher’s crisp blue eyes.
When Patsy told Mama she’d gotten permission, Mama’d squealed and grabbed her pocketbook. “Let’s celebrate.” Mama held up her hooked arms in invitation to the girls, then took them to Chubby’s for treats, letting Patsy drive the automobile there and Flannery tote them back.
Flannery cheered some at that.
Seated at the slick chrome-polished table inside Chubby’s, they’d chatted happily, and in a bit, Mama confided to her daughters that Miss Little had not approved Honey Bee for her own high school dance.
“I can’t rightly remember what Honey Bee did to get turned down,” Mama began, while she fiddled with her dress collar, plucked it, and looked across the booth at the twins. “Something small, I’m sure.”
The girls begged her to remember everything.
“Well now.” Mama’s cheeks rosied, and she took a sip of Coke, attempting to hide her deepening blush behind the frosty glass. “Miss Little shot him down flat.”
“Poor Honey Bee,” Flannery said. “What did he do?”
“Lessee, that’s been a while.”
“Mama!” the girls cried for more.
“Oh, don’t you know Honey Bee Butler took me to the dance.” She sly-eyed them with a wink.
“Honey Bee agreed to do her Bible study?” the twins asked, and looked at each other, incredulous.
“I sure hated telling Honey Bee she’d turned him down.” Mama frowned.
“But what did he say, what did he do?” Patsy needled.
“He never said a word. Not a one. Not a peep.”
“What happened, Mama?” Flannery pushed.
Mama chuckled. “Well, he wore himself out walking. I do remember that much.”
“Walking?” Patsy and Flannery puzzled.
“Walking.” Mama grinned. “Walked himself the three miles to and three miles back—six miles total—all spiffed up in his Sunday suit, twice a week for a month, just to attend Miss Little’s Bible studies. Walked himself silly, and wore out those shiny new shoes of his, and nearly knocked the nails off his toes.”
The girls laughed.
“He went to all of them,” Flannery said, admiringly.
“Attended every single one,” Mama said. “The next thing I knew, Honey Bee’d hiked the five miles over to my house. He pounded boldly on our door and handed my daddy the permission slip.”
“Did Gramps run him off?” A wide-eyed Patsy waited.
“Don’t you know Daddy took one look at Honey Bee’s busted shoes and right away gave his blessing. I knew right then I’d marry that boy. I’d walk barefoot across Kentucky to have a man as fine as your daddy.” Mama dabbed at her watery eyes. “Still got that old paper tucked inside my cedar chest with the quilt Miss Little made us for a wedding present.”
Patsy and Flannery smiled, proud of their parents. The one living, and the one not.
“How was the dance, Mama?” Patsy asked.
“I promised Honey Bee the dance would be divine.” Mama smiled a little dreamily as if it was happening all over again. Right then and there.
“And?” the girls chorused.
“And we danced, is all.” Mama took another drink of her cola, flicked at a tiny crumb on the table. “Danced the jitterbug and the Black Bottom like nobody’s business,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was all divine. A real gasser as they say.”
“Gasser,” Patsy and Flannery sang out and giggled.
“Well, it was. The dance was,” Mama said.
“Did you let him kiss you?” Flannery propped her chin on her fists and leaned in closer to the conversation.
“Oh, hush. Your daddy was a gentleman.” Mama shook a finger at Patsy. “A fine gentleman, and I