The Nearly Complete Works: Volume 2 by Donald Harington

Author:Donald Harington [Harington, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781611094374
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-11-20T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter nineteen

When the delegation of womenfolk came into the bivouac, my favorite woman addressed my favorite man. “Excuse us if we’re interrupting anything real important,” Latha said. “But we just had to see what all these young’uns have been up to lately.” She looked all around her—the other ladies looked all around them—there was Willard and Ella Jean’s mother, Selena Dinsmore; and Joe Don and Gypsy’s mother, Bliss Dingletoon; and Sammy’s mother, Dulcie Coe; and Rosa Faye’s mother—I was sorry I couldn’t remember what Mrs. Duckworth’s first name was. I guess I was happy my aunt wasn’t there. What they saw looking all around them was only an old abandoned farmstead temporarily populated by soldiers and kids. There was no sign of the bivouac.

Selena Dinsmore wagged her finger at Willard and Ella Jean. “You’uns told me a big fib the other evenin, when ye said all them greens was for the pore Dingletoons. And Bliss says she wasn’t sick atall!”

Bliss Dingletoon said, “And these two o’ mine used the same story on me!” She grabbed Joe Don and Gypsy by their ears.

And Dulcie Coe said, “So this is where all my blackberry cobbler ended up!”

“It sure was good, ma’am,” said Corporal Rucker.

“Best dessert I ever had the privilege of sinking my teeth into,” Sergeant Harris said.

“Those chickens and their dumplings,” said Polacek, “were positively de-lish, believe me.”

And all the other men made murmurs of “Mmmm-mmmm!” and “Oh, man!” and “Whatta life!” and a few of them began drooling in the memory of the banquet…or the expectation of further dishes.

The women of Stay More were temporarily charmed out of their anger, but Mrs. Duckworth said, “Aw, Rosa Faye made them chick’n dumplins all by herself!” and each of the other mothers protested that her daughter had done the cooking.

“But surely,” Lieutenant McPherson said, “they learned how to cook from their mothers, didn’t they?”

And the women allowed as how they might have learnt the girls a lesson or two in the kitchen.

Selena Dinsmore, making polite conversation, asked, “Where are you fellers from?”

The men looked at one another, as if waiting for someone else to name his hometown. “We are all stationed at Camp Chaffee,” McPherson said. And when he got blank looks, he explained, “That’s an army base near Fort Smith, here in Arkansas. Individually we come from all parts of the country. Sergeant Harris here is from Wisconsin. Corporal Rucker, Oregon. Corporal Quigg, Virginia. Private Polacek, New York. Private Crowder, California. Private Keough, Pennsylvania. Private Rogalski, New Jersey. Privates Nilson and Hewes are both from Michigan. Private Macklin, Florida. Private Lambert, South Dakota. And myself, Lieutenant McPherson, from Vermont. At your service, ladies.” Mac saluted, then bowed from the waist. Then he said, “I forgot someone. Gypsy, get Jarhead.” Gypsy ran to the mule’s shed and returned riding atop the animal. “And this is Corporal Jarhead,” McPherson concluded. “From Tennessee, I believe.” When the ladies had stopped laughing, McPherson looked at them and said, “And you are—?”

The women of Stay More introduced themselves, and I relearned Mrs.

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