Dear Hank Williams Read online

A slow grin traveled across Uncle Jolly’s face. “Sissy, you are a softie.”

  “Wouldn’t want that to get around,” Aunt Patty Cake said, making her way back to clearing the table.

  Uncle Jolly dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of torn newspaper. “There’s one more gift, but we’ll have to wait until after Christmas to get it. Remember this?”

  He held out the scrap of newspaper, and I recognized the Victrola we saw in Hoyt’s window in Lecompte. “I’ll bet we’ll be able to hear your momma on that beauty.”

  Aunt Patty Cake’s face turned red. She glimpsed at Mrs. Applebud, but she was petting my dog.

  “What are you going to name her?” Mrs. Applebud asked.

  “Lovie,” I said. I couldn’t begin to tell you how I thought of it, but as soon as the name left my lips, I knew it was the perfect fit.

  The grown-ups started talking about Texas, and I got bored. I reckon you could say I enjoyed being the center of attention. Frog had been real quiet, and I searched around the room for him. He was hiding behind Aunt Patty Cake’s chair, his arms wrapped around his body as tight as thread on a spool. Like I told you before, Frog is afraid of the things he shouldn’t be and too brave about the things he should fear. But this time Frog didn’t look afraid. He looked sad.

  I held Lovie out to him and whispered, “She can be yours, too, Frog.” Well, it was like his body unfolded right in front of me. His shoulders let down and his arms relaxed. He stretched his fingers toward Lovie’s head. While he petted her, I scratched her back. Lovie took right to it. This dog is going to be spoiled rotten if Frog and me have anything to do with it.

  Merry Christmas again!

  Your fan and new dog owner,

  Tate P.

  December 26, 1948

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  AUNT PATTY CAKE said Lovie has to sleep outside in the shed. The shed is not a place where anyone should have to sleep. It’s dark, filled with old junk coated with thick cobwebs. But I didn’t argue, because I knew the only way Aunt Patty Cake would ever allow me to keep Lovie was if I kept her out of the house. So last night after Mrs. Applebud left, I carried Lovie out to the shed. Uncle Jolly went with me to help find a good place. He started searching around for some old saddle blankets we’d had from the days when Uncle Jolly owned a horse. While Uncle Jolly hunted for them on the high shelves, I combed the lower ones. That’s when I came across my daddy’s boots. I was glad they weren’t on Frog’s feet, but the sight of them made me freeze.

  Uncle Jolly must have noticed, because he came over and grabbed them. “Meant to throw those out,” he said. “Good time as any.”

  Frog wouldn’t like it. “They’re magic,” he’d tell me. He’d stand tall, looking down, admiring those boots. I think Frog believed if he wore them enough, our daddy would appear in front of us in his socks. I was glad Uncle Jolly was throwing them out. Frog didn’t need to be wearing them anyway. They were way too big for Frog’s little feet. He could trip or fall or worse.

  When Uncle Jolly returned, he patted me on the shoulder and went back to scouting for the blankets. A moment later he said, “Here’s one.” He handed me the blanket. I held it by two corners and flapped it into the air a few times. Dust flew, causing us to cough. Then I folded it and placed it on the dirt floor. I patted Lovie’s new bed and looked up at her. “Come on, girl.”

  Lovie studied me and the blanket. Then she slowly made her way to the spot. I raised my hand to pet her head, but she ducked away as if I was going to hit her.

  Uncle Jolly shook his head. “Poor thing. I think she was running away from some downright mean scoundrel. They must have mistreated her something awful. Haven’t heard her bark once.”

  “Where did you find her?” I asked. I wanted to know Lovie’s whole story.

  Then Uncle Jolly told me how he discovered Lovie. He was heading back from Dallas. He said he was so happy with his pocket filled with Christmas-tree money because he knew now he’d be able to buy the Victrola and we’d get to hear Momma on the radio. “I was thinking to myself, this must be what Santa Claus feels like, knowing he’s going to please all those boys and girls by getting them something they really want. Anyway, I was driving on Highway 80 and it began to rain, hitting the windshield so hard, I could hardly see. Hate to admit it, but I got scared all of a sudden.”

  “But it rains here all the time, Uncle Jolly.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I was in Texas. And your aunt Patty Cake’s words kept playing in my head. I was afraid I was going to meet my maker right outside Mineola. I decided not to push my luck. I pulled over to the side of the road, practically driving into the woods because of what happened to your grandparents. As soon as I parked, I knew I’d done the right thing. At least that’s what I thought until lightning struck a huge limb that landed about two feet in front of my truck. Talk about a close call.

  “Then I heard a yelp. I could tell it was from a dog, and normally I would have stayed put, but something got me curious, maybe because I only heard the sound once. I buttoned up my coat and fixed my hat on my head and stepped out into the rain. Then I checked all around the truck, but I didn’t see anything. I figured whatever it was had taken off. When I headed back, though, I saw a dog’s tail with a tip of white on the end sticking out from underneath the truck. I fetched my leftover ham sandwich and coaxed her to come to me. She was shaking, but I sweet-talked her. Finally, she inched her way out from underneath and let me lift her inside the truck. I figured we’d wait the weather out together, but by the time the rain stopped falling I’d come to the conclusion that this dog was meant for someone special.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Jolly.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking this dog should go to my next girlfriend,” Uncle Jolly said. He looked dead serious. Then he winked.

  Mr. Williams, did I ever tell you that Uncle Jolly thinks he’s funny?

  Until next time,

  Tate

  December 29, 1948

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  THERE ARE TWO WINDOWS in my bedroom. One faces out front where I can see the cemetery across the road. The other gives a view of the shed in the side yard. I hardly ever looked out the side window, but now that Lovie has to stay in the shed at night, I have good reason to be staring out that window. Christmas night it was so hard to go to sleep, knowing poor Lovie, who’d probably never had much love before, was sleeping out there by her lonesome. She didn’t make a sound, but Uncle Jolly said he’d never heard her bark at all.

  The next night, my mind fretted on it so much, I couldn’t sleep. Mr. Williams, you know me by now. I’m the sort of person who makes the best of situations. Aunt Patty Cake said Lovie had to be an outside dog. But Aunt Patty Cake would want me to get a good night’s sleep.

  So I was in a dilemma. On one hand, I could leave Lovie out in the shed and toss and turn all night. Or on the other, I could respect Aunt Patty Cake’s strict rule about getting a good night’s sleep. I weighed each option very carefully and realized Aunt Patty Cake would know if I didn’t get enough shut-eye, but she’d never know if Lovie became a part-time inside dog. (And if you want to get picky about it, a shed is inside too.)

  That decided, I threw back the covers and eased my window open. I tiptoed to the shed to get my dog. Good thing I’m a part-time spy.

  Now, Lovie is not a small dog. She’s not a big dog either, but that night she seemed heavier than when Uncle Jolly handed her to me for the first time. Lovie was a willing partner. She stayed quiet and didn’t yelp when I accidentally dropped her onto my bedroom floor. I quickly climbed in after her and shut the window.

  Most dogs would have headed straight to that bed, but not Lovie. She stood watching me, waiting to see what I was going to do next. I crawled into bed and patted the foot of the mattress. Lovie cowered like I was going to swat her. Swear to sweet Sally, I know someone hurt this dog bad. I waited and tapped the bed again. She glanced away. Then she checked back. I kept patting the bed, whispering, “Come on up, girl
.” Finally, as if she realized that I was absolutely serious about my offer, she hopped onto the foot of my bed and curled into a tight ball.

  I wish I could have told Frog, but he would have let the cat out of the bag. That boy gets too excited about some things.

  I know my secret is safe with you, though.

  All my best,

  Tate and Lovie, too

  PS—I’d better start setting my alarm a few minutes earlier so I can sneak Lovie back to the shed before Aunt Patty Cake heads to the kitchen.

  January 1, 1949

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  HAPPY NEW YEAR! I believe 1949 is going to be a great year for you and me. It’s already off to a terrific start because I have Lovie. This year I’ll be singing at the Rippling Creek May Festival Talent Contest, and I believe, with all my heart, this year you’ll become a household name around the entire United States. You’re already a big star in Rippling Creek. Aunt Patty Cake listens to you every morning at 7:15 sharp. She even bought Johnnie Fair Syrup the other day at the Piggly Wiggly just because you sang about it.

  This is also the year we will hear Momma on a Texas radio station. The other day Uncle Jolly went to Hoyt’s, and the Victrola was not the only thing he walked out with. He lined up a date with Garnett. I know what you’re thinking. There is that wedding band on her left ring finger. IMPORTANT NEWS FLASH: Garnett is a war widow! Well, I’ve never been so happy about someone being dead in my whole life. Garnett wears the ring to steer off unwanted advances. I guess Uncle Jolly isn’t on that list, because the next time I saw her, she wasn’t wearing it.

  Uncle Jolly took her to dinner at Herbie K’s in Alexandria. He told Aunt Patty Cake and me all about it. “You should see her eat,” he said. “I’ve never been on a date where a woman cleans her plate. I don’t know where Garnett puts it. She’s as tiny as a thimble.”

  I get to witness the next date. Uncle Jolly invited me to go to the movies with them. “Garnett said you could be our chaperone,” he told me.

  I’ll report back all about it in my next letter!

  Your fan in 1949 and hereafter,

  Tate P.

  January 8, 1949

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  GARNETT IS NOTHING LIKE DOLORES or any other of Uncle Jolly’s past women. She is bubbly and thinks life is a big bowl of strawberry ice cream! At the picture show we saw a Roy Rogers movie. When the bad guy showed up, Garnett threw popcorn at the screen and yelled, “Boo!”

  I knew Uncle Jolly was embarrassed, the way he glanced around. But then folks all around us joined in. Popcorn flew over the seats, and chants of “boo” came from row to row. Frog and me joined in. Then, lo and behold, Uncle Jolly tossed a big handful at the screen. Uncle Jolly should never plan on becoming a baseball pitcher. The popcorn landed in a lady’s hair. She turned around and scowled at us, but I never had such a good time at a picture show.

  Aunt Patty Cake likes Garnett too. She likes anyone who likes her food and tells her so. Especially people who don’t act as if they wish they could spread a layer of Vicks VapoRub underneath their nostrils.

  I hope Garnett doesn’t ever break up with Uncle Jolly. He hasn’t sipped anything stronger than Community Coffee since the Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet. I’m afraid if someone as special as Garnett broke up with him, he’d fall off the saddle for good. He’s so relaxed around her. He never sucks in his gut. He just lets his belly hang over his belt. Garnett must think it’s cute, because she sometimes rubs his tummy, closes her eyes, and says, “I’m making a wish.”

  Everyone likes Garnett. Lovie likes her because she brings her Ritz crackers tucked in her coat pocket. I know Frog likes her, because he’s real bashful but he doesn’t run off like he did with Uncle Jolly’s other girls.

  Aunt Patty Cake wrote and told Momma about her, and she wrote back saying, “It’s about time Jolly got smart. Tell him she’s a keeper.”

  I’ve been practicing my song in front of the magnolia tree. Lovie seems to like “Wildwood Flower” just fine, but Frog says he wishes I’d choose “You Are My Sunshine” instead. I still haven’t told my family I’m planning on singing in the talent contest. I want the timing to be perfect before I spring it on them.

  Bye for now.

  Your fan,

  Tate P.

  January 14, 1949

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  OUR SECRET HAS BEEN DISCOVERED. Aunt Patty Cake caught Lovie on my bed early this morning. When I heard the door squeak open, I almost sprang up, but it was dark. I decided to pretend I was asleep and pray she didn’t see Lovie. The door closed, and then it quickly opened again. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight, I could feel them quiver. Aunt Patty Cake let out a long sigh, then slowly closed the door.

  My heart pounded. I threw back the sheets and jumped out of bed. Then I eased the window open and stepped through to the outside. When I patted the windowsill, Lovie came over and rested her front paws on it like I trained her. (Mr. Williams, this is a smart dog!) My hands surrounded her rib cage, and I gently lifted her out of the room. My next plan is to teach her to jump outside by herself when the alarm clock sounds.

  After I got her settled inside the shed, I returned to my room the way I’d left. I scanned every inch of the floor. Lovie hadn’t had an accident. Then I walked into the kitchen. Aunt Patty Cake was sitting at the table drinking her coffee and reading the paper. Uncle Jolly was pouring himself a cup from the aluminum drip pot on the stove. I yawned real big, locking my hands and stretching my arms up to the ceiling.

  I was thinking, Boy, am I lucky. That had been a close call.

  Without looking up, Aunt Patty Cake said, “Guess you’d better put my old wedding-ring quilt on the floor if Lovie’s going to stay in your room at night.”

  Uncle Jolly took a big swig of coffee, but I could see his smirk. I felt the blood leave my face. Just when I think Aunt Patty Cake is as predictable as the sun rising, she goes and surprises me. Well, even the sun goes out for an eclipse sometimes. And with no husband, Aunt Patty Cake sure didn’t need a wedding-ring quilt.

  Owner of a part-time inside dog,

  Tate P.

  January 22, 1949

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  CONSTANCE CAME TO OUR HOUSE to place an order today, but Zion wasn’t with her. Frog and me were sad about that. I wanted to sing my song for her. I’ve been practicing every spare minute. I don’t know why it’s so important that I convince a little kid I’m a good singer and know how to sing from my heart. Lovie wags her tail when I sing. I figure that’s a dog’s way of clapping.

  There are other things I’ve learned about a dog. I’ll share them with you, in case you ever consider getting one.

  1. A dog will follow you around like a best friend. Better than a best friend, because she will love you no matter what (even if you yell at her for peeing on the bed).

  2. A dog probably shouldn’t sleep on your bed because she might forget she is a dog. (That fact comes from Aunt Patty Cake. She said that after Lovie peed on mine.)

  3. Dogs are like goats. They will eat almost anything, including lipstick (the reason Lovie is on Aunt Patty Cake’s three-two-one list), so feed them food that is good for them or they’ll get fat like Abner Hill’s hound, who waddles like a duck.

  4. A dog pours a pitcher of love into the lonesome spots of your life. Not that I have many of those. I’m a busy person.

  The Dog Expert of Rippling Creek,

  Tate P.

  February 3, 1949

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  LAST WEEK, Uncle Jolly wrote Momma and asked her to let us know where she’d be singing. Every day I check the mailbox as soon as I get off the school bus to see if she’s sent a letter or postcard. Every day I’m disappointed. Frog acts like he doesn’t care, but Lovie comes with me and waits patiently.

  Uncle Jolly took Lovie squirrel hunting the other day. I hoped she would make Uncle Jolly proud. After all, he saved her from a terrible home life. All morning I paced around the hous
e.

  “Have you got ants in your pants?” Aunt Patty Cake asked me.

  I looked out the window so many times, Frog gave up pestering me. Finally I saw Uncle Jolly and Lovie at the road. Uncle Jolly had a rope tied to Lovie. I grabbed my coat and ran out of the house.

  Lovie wagged her tail when she saw me. Halfway up the driveway, I noticed Uncle Jolly didn’t have any squirrels. “Uncle Jolly, how’d she do?”

  Uncle Jolly shook his head. “Tate, Lovie is no squirrel dog. Beats me. She’s a pure cur. Anyone can see that, but she doesn’t have any interest in squirrels. Heck, three darted right in front of us, and she didn’t even turn in their direction.”

  Well, I have to admit, I was disappointed myself. “Why did you tie a rope around her?”

  “She kept running off. At first I chased after her, figuring she found some bigger game. Maybe squirrels weren’t enough challenge for her. When I caught up, I found her under a shrub slapping crickets.”

  “I guess Lovie likes hunting bugs.” Maybe squirrels bored her. I started to think about all the things that bore me—collard greens, long sermons, and hearing Verbia Calhoon sing. Then I completely understood. A person can’t love everything on God’s green earth. Why should a dog?

  Uncle Jolly walked up the porch steps, shaking his head. “Beats all I ever seen. A cur dog that don’t like to hunt.”

  I untied the rope and gave Lovie a good scratching on her back. She rolled over so I could reach her belly. I gently raked my fingernails up and down her. Then I found her tickle spot. The sight of her left hind leg digging in the air was so funny.

  Lovie may not be much at hunting squirrels, but she’s real talented at making me smile.

  Hoping life is treating you real good too,

  Tate P.

  February 12, 1949

  Dear Mr. Williams,

  I HAVE THREE important things to tell you.