Vibrant Village ™

These stories are in the words of Charles Aloysius Cathcart, known to ‘most everyone here in Coltrane as Grampa Charlie Loy. Most evenings except Sundays, he occupied a wobbly old straight-back chair in spitting distance of the squat, rusty pot-bellied stove in Homer Henderson’s dry-goods store. They were collected by Mr. Cathcart’s grand-nephew Ernest, who took to hiding in the back room on Thursdays and listenin’. Thursday was only night that his mother left the house after supper. She did her visiting on Thursdays.

CONSTANCE’S BIG DAY

Afterwards, well-fed, she was quite content

Not any time before, and surely not since, was there ever a party like what Elvira Crossfield threw on the occasion of her daughter Nancy Jean’s weddin’, and bein’ it was also Elvira’s dog’s birthday and the anniversary of her sow-pig Constance’s winnin’ of a blue ribbon for general disposition at the state fair, naturally she wanted it to be rememberable. Anybody that was there can tell you (an’ you don’t have to necessarily take it uncritical from me, but it will save you some askin’) how all Miz Crossfield’s organizin’ and changin’ things around and writin’s down and crossin’s out didn’t amount to a whistle in a windstorm when that party got goin’.

About anybody that could be counted on not to stay the night got an invite, includin’ Miz Crossfield’s sister Luba, Luba’s husband Grinner (his ma named him Grenholm but it never stuck, not surprisin’) and their son Arthur. Now Grinner hadn’t had a bath in three years, claimed soap was bad for the follicles, but he was family. Seein’ that, Miz Crossfield’s husband Burl, now he had six toes on his left foot so when he’d go barefoot it was just on his right, he had to invite his cousins. A mighty gang of ‘em there was, too, and not just first or second cousins either, he wasn’t sure what but they claimed his great-granddaddy so THEY were family. Miz Crossfield wasn’t any more enthusiastic for a repeat of eleven Thanksgivings back with Burl’s cousins and the destruction of her new couch an’ the door tore off its hinges than she absolutely had to be, but he insisted.

Now Nancy Jean was clear in her mind that it was her weddin’ and there wasn’t much could convince her otherwise about not lettin’ Constance run loose and cotton up to folks for a handout, with her ma just as firm as to how it was important to let folks know Constance was a pig of accomplishments. Naturally they fell out some.

It was Bill Stubbins, he was lanky as a bean tree and had ankles showin’ outa every pair of pants he ever wore in his life, along with bein’ Nancy Jean’s intended, as got the idea to just winkle Constance away to his brother’s pig farm shortly before the party so’s his new bride could get to shine the brightest.

That seemed like a good idea at the time.

On account of the size of the occasion, Miz Crossfield borrowed two tents that said “Rest in Peace” from the undertakery and the awning off the barber shop, along with nine rickety tables and forty-three chairs from the church basement, and set up in the back yard, the front yard bein’ unlevel and folks not likely to stay long if they had to work just to stay in one place. Almost everybody could be counted on to bring enough food to feed their own selves plus at least six more so there was gonna be more’n plenty, even bein’ that Burl Crossfield’s cousins wouldn’t bring anything but they sure could eat if experience was any sign of what to expect.

All that evenin’ Miz Crossfield and Nancy Jean hung out ribbons and bows and such as that, gettin’ along fine, an’ Nancy Jean smilin’ a little smile when she didn’t think her ma was lookin’.

The day of the party, Bill Stubbins and Nancy Jean got married in the mornin’, and Miz Crossfield didn’t have time to think too much about it when Constance turned up missin’ that afternoon from the hog-wallow. Knowin’ Constance, she was most likely rootin’ down in the woods behind the barn.

It did fret her some, bein’ she’d told folks about Constance’s anniversary and had put up a big sign on the roof of the back porch, it said CONGRATULATIONS CONSTANCE and WE LOVE YOU, NANCY JEAN AND BILL in black letters with red hearts and real arrows through the hearts, but she was plenty busy so she didn’t go lookin’.

About the time the mayor, now he was Burl Crossfield’s fishin’ buddy, he got set to toast a toast to the new bride an’ groom before the eatin’ started, it started in sprinklin’ rain so all of ‘em got up under the tents an’ awning.

The food now bein’ real close, folks got started in on what they came for, and the mayor had to get up on a chair and holler a little and hold up his glass.
He had got to a place in his toast about how he sure would like to stay bein’ mayor come next election, he must’a been savin’ his best wishes to the newlyweds for last, when there come a rumble and here came Constance at a dead run, headed for home and plain cross about bein’ shanghaied to start with, and right behind her there’s at least thirty of Bill’s brother’s hogs takin’ advantage of the door bein’ open, and all of  ‘em at a dead run too, that’s how porkers are.

Constance knocked down the dessert table and right behind her came another four hundred pounds of ham and bacon, smack into the mayor’s chair, well he turned a perty cartwheel and grabbed the edge of the awning and pulled it down on him and the chicken, cornbread, and lemonade table, which bein’ rickety gave up and collapsed, and that awning naturally tangled up everybody and they all ended up in the plates and bowls in a heap.

By the time the entire fleet had sailed through, all the tables were flat down or only standin’ one end up, and all the food on the ground either way. You can’t say hogs are dumb when it comes to eatin’ so they just turned around and took advantage.

Everybody includin’ Nancy Jean had took out runnin’ when the stampede arrived, well they got to chasin’ those hogs off their lunch before too much got gone and the hogs’d run off and circle around and come back. It was a perty sight, and exactly thirty-one times as much fun t’ see as a greased-pig chase.

Bill Stubbins must’a figured he’d end up bad off eventually, ‘coz Nancy Jean was givin’ him looks like all this was goin’ to cost him plenty, so he got his new daddy-in-law’s shotgun from inside and cut loose in the air, pigs generally bein’ real suggestible about loud noises. Oh, that sent the hogs off all right, but it got their neighbor’s cows so rattled they ran around and around the feedlot until they busted the fence and headed through the party, and while cows aren’t much for eatin’ chicken or dessert they didn’t do what was left of the food or surroundings much good on the way through. On top of that, it started to rain again.

By this time, Bill Stubbins is in a state of decidement should he own up and take it, or run off and leave his bride. Doesn’t see too many good choices, but Miz Crossfield’s determined to save what isn’t plain impossible to identify and she picks up what she can and invites everybody into the house. Before she’s got out two words about how she’s mighty glad to see everybody,  just like her to put a good face on it, Nancy Jean gets up on the back of the couch and absolutely dumps the only pot left of pinto beans on Bill Stubbins, who’s sittin’ there tryin’ not to be noticed. If there was ever a man as didn’t know what to do next, it’s him.

Now you know Miz Crossfield’s never quite calculated what happened, or how Constance came to show up with all those hogs at the wrong time, but Bill Stubbins is the very model of a husband ‘cept he’s not much admired by the men folk ‘coz he’s what their wives say she wishes her husband would be like.

Nancy Jean, guess she pretty much got what she wanted.