1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE: WOLF HOWLS

"Oh my gosh, is he here again?"  I asked Mother as she stood frying steak in front of the gas range. 
"Shh," she hushed me.  "He might hear you."

"Well I don't care.  Maybe he'll quit coming so much if he hears me," I whined.  "Does he have to be here every day when we eat supper?"

"He's not here every day.  Maybe a little more often,  lately.  He and your Daddy like to go hunting, and he enjoys talking.  John Henry's not married.  He probably gets lonely.--Come on in, John Henry.  Have a seat.  Yes, right there by the table.  Would you like some iced tea?"

"Yes ma'am, shore would.  That'd be real nice.  Thankee."

I hated the way he said "shore" and "thankee".  I just wanted to correct him about that one thing.  He acted real nice , always tipping his hat to us, and taking it off while we ate.  He wore a narrow  brim fedora hat made out of corduroy  of some kind.  It seemed like more of a gentleman's hat, not a hunting hat.

He was a rather nice looking man with dark hair and tanned skin, but he wore overalls and  thick plaid shirts  that made him look older than his 38 years. 

The reason I didn't like his coming all the time was that we had to be quieter than usual at the table when he was there.   Mealtime was when we all tried to talk at the same time, telling everything we had done that day, what we planned to do the next day, and what made us mad, sad, or happy in the past twelve hours since breakfast.  We'd talk over each other, and sometimes get louder and louder until one of our parents had to call time, and a sudden silence ensued, which lasted only a few seconds before we started again.

Food was served family style, and as we passed all the food around, we talked.  My oldest brother Elton, who was seventeen, moved, talked, and ate really fast.  He couldn't even sit still in his chair, but jumped around in it, and when he told a story, he was quite expressive, and it usually ended with all of us laughing really loudly, and his smiling and watching everyone else laugh while he thought of his next story. 

Mother was always getting up to get something somebody needed,  worcestershire sauce, an extra napkin, tea, or ice, but the kitchen was so small, that with John Henry there, she practically had to crawl over him.  Somebody could reach the refrigerator, sink, extra dishes and stove from one of the eight seats around the table.  Mother would just ask one of us kids if we'd get whatever it was that another person needed when John Henry was there.

On John Henry Nights, as I called them, we'd kind of look at Elton, waiting for him to start off with a tale, and he'd look at us like WHAT? as though he didn't know our dinner routine and why we were looking at him.  That got Susan and I mad, but we couldn't really say anything.  We'd just have to wait till Daddy started talking to John Henry about wolf  hunting.  How did he think the weather was for hunting, John Henry? and did he think that new dog of Daddy's would stay on the trail? and had he heard that new dog of Cotton's that howled like a squealing pig?

Susan and I rolled our eyes, but we had to be careful.  If Daddy saw us, we would at least be threatened with getting in trouble though he never made good on his threats.  Elton was just eating as fast as he could, his fork working like a cotton stripping machine  through the broccoli and mashed potatoes and gravy.  He wasn't talking at all which meant he would probably finish his meal in under three minutes. 

Neila sat quietly eating with consummate good manners while Stephen was eating  and reading a copy of Mad Magazine  which he had smuggled in and hidden in his lap.  Reading at the table was strictly forbidden, even for Susan, and if Mother caught him,  all his magazines would probably be burned in the trash barrel out back.  Mealtime was family time, and it was one of the few things about which she was strict .

Mother always offered supper to John Henry, but he would never take anything more than a glass of tea.  I imagine more than once he wanted to say he'd take a plateful of that delicious smelling food, but he always said he'd  "just et".  Once in a while he'd have dessert, especially if it was pecan pie, which he "allowed" was his favorite. 

Tonight, we were having lemon pie, so he decided to have a piece, and Mother passed him the first slice on a small saucer, along with a fork and napkin.

Jan was sitting on her Mrs. Tucker's lard can in the chair between Mother and me, so she had a better vantage point of the whole table than I.  After we all had been served pie, we started eating,  but I noticed that Jan, who was left handed and sometimes did things differently than I did, was holding her fork oddly.  She had her entire hand doubled around the fork, with her thumb folded over her fingers. 

"Mother, what is wrong with Jan's hand?" I asked, peering around the lard can to see Mother. 

"What?" she asked absentmindedly, taking a small bite of broccoli.

"Her hand," I said, growing more emphatic.

"What's wrong with her hand?" Mother asked, looking for the first time toward Jan.  "Oh.........nothing, nothing at all.  Just eat your pie."

"But that's not how you're supposed to hold your fork," I kept on.

I felt something tapping Morse code on my back and turned to see mother's index finger.  Then I leaned forward around Jan so I could see Mother's  face and got that "don't you dare say anything else" look, so I slumped dispiritedly in my chair and cut into my slice of pie. 

As I looked across the table at Elton, who had finished his pie and was moving around a lot in his chair,  looking like he would leave the table in one leaping bound, I noticed John Henry, eating his pie in exactly the same way that Jan was, his fork held with his entire hand clamped around the handle. 

My surprise made me take a little shallow breath, and I immediately wanted to tell everyone why Jan was holding her fork that way.  I started beating Morse code on Mother's back.  It wasn't easy reaching all the way around the lard can, and my arm made little metal popping sounds on the can that certainly got everyone's attention, even my Dad's.

He sat at the head of the table near the door, and John Henry sat to his left and directly across from Jan.  Daddy seemed to sense what was happening, so just as I burst out with "Mother I know why....", he stood up, got John Henry's arm, and said "Let's go load those dogs, John Henry.  We're burnin' daylight."  They left quickly and Elton vaulted over their two chairs to make his exit. 

"Going to Deanna's," he yelled behind him.

All the activity had left me momentarily distracted, watching everyone leave in such a rush. 

"I know," I started.

"I know what you know," Mother said, "and there's no reason to say anything further."

"But......."

"Felisa.  I said stop-no more.  Stop.  And Stephen, I want you to bring all your Mad Magazines down from upstairs.  I'm going to burn them, including that one in your lap."

"I really like Mad Magazine," Susan said quietly, looking sad.

"Oh all right," Mother relented, a little too quickly.  "Leave them up there.  But you must not read at the table any more."

Stephen grinned.  He didn't even seem to notice that Susan's comment was probably what saved him.

We all spent our evening doing our usual routines.  Mother read with me while Jan listened and looked at the pictures.  Dick and Jane was beginning to seem too easy, but I did as instructed by my beloved Mrs. Hagle. 

I was looking forward to reading some of Susan's books.   She didn't seem as anxious to share them as I was to read them.  Susan did homework sitting on her bed.  Neila was studying and looking through college catalogs.  Stephen was doing who knew what up there in their room upstairs.  Probably working on some chemistry "experiment". 

Our cousin Phil, who often came down to stay with us on weekends from Arlington, said the government environmental agency should have condemned that desk where they mixed their chemistry concoctions a long time ago.  The paint and varnish were gummed up into balls and the top of the desk felt rough and grittty.

We took our baths and were getting ready for bed in the bathroom off the backporch when Elton came in the back door, let it slam,  and started laughing.  "What?  What?" we all asked, Mother included.

"Well, don't tell Daddy this," he said.  "Promise?"

"Promise," Jan and I nodded solemnly.

"Now I mean it.  Felisa, you can't tell.  Daddy would get mad at me."

That sealed it.  I would never tell on him if it would get him in trouble.  I adored him.  He was the spark in our family, the livewire, and we always had fun when he was around. 

"I won't tell, no matter what," I swore, right hand raised like I was taking an oath. 

"I not tell needer," Jan squeaked, also raising her right hand.

"Ok," he started.  "You know how Daddy likes to stand by the truck and howl like a wolf and try to get the wolves to howl back?"

We nodded and Mother said "yes".

"Well, I was at Deanna's and you know how far they live out in the sticks.  I heard someone howling.  From the front porch, I could see Daddy's pickup about a quarter mile down the road, lit up by the moonlight, him standing beside it with his hands cupped around his mouth, just howling to call those wolves.   I just couldn't help myself.  I howled back in my best wolf howl, and Daddy answered three different times.  Finally, I started laughing so hard I just had to go in the house."

It was time for bed.  Everyone except Daddy took their bath at night so the single bathroom wouldn't be crowded in the morning. 

The next morning, Daddy was just ready to leave for work when we ambled into the kitchen in our pajamas.  Rubbing my eyes, I asked Daddy, "How do you call wolves anyway?  Like this?"  Putting my hands around my mouth, I mimicked a howl.

Just then, Elton walked in and gave me a sharp look, so I stopped immediately, feeling ashamed.  Daddy looked a little puzzled, but he was in a hurry and left the house right away.  Mother, who was always in the kitchen at breakfast time, finished putting eight pieces of "egg on toast", a concoction of diced boiled eggs combined with white gravy, that was slathered on bread and toasted, into the oven.

She laughed, looking at Elton.  "Some people might not tell a secret, but they might forget and act it out."

I still had my head down, embarrassed, and couldn't look at him.  He walked over, picked me up and squeezed me real hard.  "That's okay," he said.  "You forgot it was a secret.  And it was pretty funny, wasn't it?  I'll show you how to call the wolves tonight.  But let's don't tell Daddy.  He might not think it's as funny as we do."

"Breakfast everyone," Mother called, as the rest of the pack assembled from all parts of the house.
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