The Sisters of Glass Ferry. Kim Michele Richardson
More, would he still be willing to walk for her after tonight? Patsy was sure she was about to find out if he was a fine one like their Honey Bee.
Flannery leaned over, bumping Patsy’s shoulder to grab a ribbon off their vanity.
“I’m sorry Wendell didn’t ask you, tadpole,” Patsy said. “Miss Little would’ve said yes. Mama too.” Patsy knew Flannery had waited months, hoping for Wendell Black to ask her out.
“Yeah,” Flannery said to her twin. “But he has to work too.”
“That boy’s crazy about you, even if he can’t scrape the words off his tongue,” Patsy said. “At least you’ll get to be with him tonight.”
“Humph. A fat lotta good that does me.” Flannery grunted softly, taking a chew to the consolation.... “You really think he likes me?”
“I do.” Patsy pulled out the cubbyhole drawer on her side of their vanity and lifted out a Chicken Dinner candy bar. “Here, tadpole, you can have it,” she told Flannery, feeling a little more sorry her sister was stuck working. Lately, Patsy didn’t have the taste for the candy anyway.
When Danny went to Lexington with his folks, he’d always save his nickels to buy Patsy the expensive candy. Not made out of chicken, but a scrumptious chocolate-covered nut roll, and Patsy’s favorite. She held out the Chicken Dinner bar with the roasted chicken on its blue and gold wrapper.
“Patsy”—the girls’ mama poked her head into the bedroom—“don’t forget these.” She dangled an old string of pearls.
“Gramma’s pearls.” Flannery jumped off the bed, rushed over to her mama, and reached for them.
Jean Butler pulled back her hand. “You know these belong to your sister, baby girl. Firstborn gets the pearls, and the second child gets the wedding quilt,” she gently admonished.
“No fair.” Flannery flipped back her braid. “She was born only eight minutes before me, Mama. Only eight little min—”
Mama draped an arm across Flannery’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Come on. Behave.”
“A quilt, a stupid coverlet. Can’t wear a stupid quilt.” Flannery sulked.
“You’ll have Daddy’s business one day,” Patsy pointed out. “Same as his watch.”
“Small chance of that happening now that you and Mama sold his stills,” Flannery snipped.
“But you got his recipe books,” Patsy said, relieved Mama had rid the family of the old whiskey distillery, got rid of almost every trace of Honey Bee’s business. That was the first thing Mama did when he died. “And look what that old female did with just a pile of recipes, tadpole. It made her famous—”
“I’m not Catherine Carpenter. And, he meant for us both to have his secrets,” Flannery reminded, dismissing the famous Kentucky pioneer. “But he knew only one of us would be doing the work. And ’sides, you told Honey Bee you didn’t want anything from the whiskey—still, you got his gun that belonged to that old outlaw.” Flannery rubbed the leather band on the timepiece her daddy had passed to her.
Patsy wrinkled her nose.
“Please, girls. No bickering,” Mama scolded. “Let’s not bring up sadness on such a beautiful day. Whiskey is not a proper business for ladies. You’ll be sixteen—young ladies in a few weeks. And I’ve decided today’s the day. Flannery, you can go get your quilt out of the hope chest, and Patsy”—smiling, she handed her eldest-daughter-by-eight-minutes the pearls—“you’ll want to wear these to your big dance.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Patsy said, embracing the pearls, pinning them to her chest. Although old, the pearls were gems. Something precious to add to her beauty. The teen had been waiting for those family jewels ever since she had toddled around in them while wearing her Mama’s prized periwinkle-blue church heels that Honey Bee’d brought her back from New Orleans. Now finally the pearls were hers.
“Who needs fancy gems for soda-jerking anyway.” Flannery sighed. “I have to get ready for your shift if I’m going to make it on time. It’s late.”
“That’s because you wasted your time arguing,” Patsy said.
Earlier, Patsy had hung her robe beside the tub and bumped her sister aside, calling first dibs on the bath. And their mama had let her over Flannery’s loud protests about running late for work. Mama had gasped, “He’ll hear! Heavens, what’s gotten into you, Flannery Bee Butler? It’s nearly six . . . and it would be a sin to make your sister late—no respectable lady has her date sit in the parlor while she’s bathing just a hush away. That’s just plain wickedness!”
“Scandalous.” Patsy’s breaths hovered above her mama’s. “I can’t be naked in this house and have Danny Henry hearing it behind the wall like that, Mama. It’s my prom!”
“Indecent.” Mama pressed her hands to her ears.
“Lord,” Flannery sassed. “You’d think I’m committing a crime of moral turpitude the way you two are carrying on like that. Mama, I doubt if God has given that Henry boy, or any boy, special X-ray ears to hear a female taking her bubble bath through the acres of damask-rose skins that thicken our paper-soaked walls. Let me go first—”
“It’s my big dance,” Patsy cried.
“She’s always trying to boss and has to be first in everything, Mama. Everything! If Honey Bee was here, he’d make her be fair,” Flannery groused. “He wouldn’t let her—”
“Flannery!” Mama and Patsy scolded, running her out of the room.
Minutes later, Flannery poked her head back into the bedroom. “I’m going to be late, Mama. Can you iron my uniform for me?”
“Mama,” Patsy said, pulling out one of the bobby pins fastened to her pin curls, “you need to do my hair.”
“Heavens,” Mama said, “just look at the time.” Mama starched Flannery’s uniform, making it look out-of-the-box new as only she could, then fussed with Patsy’s hair and helped her into the prom dress she had made for her eldest daughter.
“Where did I put my new stockings?” Flannery wiggled into her girdle, held up a garter buckle. “Mama, have you seen—?”
“Look on your dresser under your apron.” Mama fluffed Patsy’s underskirts, lifting tulle and satin, and then prissed and fussed some more over the dress’s sunshine-yellow chiffon and lace puffy veneers, inspecting the pencil-thin velvet shoulder straps and sweetheart neckline. Smiling, she clasped the pearls around Patsy’s neck.
“Mama, you go on now,” Patsy insisted. “I don’t want you to be late.” She couldn’t have Mama making a fuss in front of her date.
“I’m gonna be late,” Flannery complained again, foot propped on the bed, carefully walking the hosiery up her leg.
“You could be twenty minutes early and still think you’re late,” Patsy said.
“I don’t like making folks wait like you, Queen Patsy.”
“Girls, shh.” Mama rested her hands on Patsy’s waist, looked over her daughter’s shoulder into the mirror.
“Flannery can see me off,” Patsy told Mama, shooing her away. “Right, tadpole?”
Reluctantly, Flannery nodded and pecked her mama’s cheek. “Thanks for ironing my uniform, Mama. Go on and get your stuff. I’ll take care of Queenie—so long as they pick her up on time.”
“The dress is beautiful, Mama. I’ll see you tonight,” Patsy said.
“It’s one of your best,” Flannery agreed.
“We’ll make you one just as pretty when it’s your time.” Mama lightly patted Flannery’s cheek. “Okay, girls. I’ll just get my dessert and be