Jerusha were a fine country fella. Took care a his wife 'n kids. Took care a his farm 'n crops 'n livestock. He just plain took good care a everthin’. But when he got a hankerin’ 'n felt real sorry for hisself, he just had ta make thet two mile trek to Buck’s ’cause he had the best shine in the county.
No matter Maribelle gave him the ol’ evil-eye. He’d pay fer thet later he knew. Boy, she were like a hound dog on a hunt 'n could tell when he were restless. She knew what were comin’ 'n didn’t miss a lick in lettin’ him hear 'bout it neither . . . afore and after. Thet was all well 'n good but he could handle Maribelle. Right now he were out the door 'n on his way to Buck’s for a snort. It were just a plain have-to sometime when a man had his fill; when he had ta drown his regrets afore he could get back on track.
Jerusha
Jacob Dixon were thirty-five year old 'n been married most half his life. He
loved Maribelle 'n she loved him but marriage were marriage. He had good kids, too, boys Ethan 'n Daniel, 'n his precious little Gracie were the apple a his
eye. He’d ne'er abuse ’em but still had ta get away from ’em e'er now 'n then.
Now Maribelle were good with the crafts, makin' quilts 'n such. They could count on a few extra pennies from folks traveling through ta the east . . . or the west. She hung them quilts on the porch 'n them city folk were plum amazed at her handiwork. Jerusha were right proud.
Now Buck were a no-account fella but he were good ta get soused with . . . a roarin’ two-fisted drinker 'n if need be, he’d cry in his shine right along with ya. E'er so often he’d say somethin’ weighty that’d make ya feel a bit better’n when ya first come. It were puzzlin’ how he could be so worthless 'n be so handy at the same time. Ta-night Jerusha were hoping Buck would hit the nail on the head fer him.
“Hey, there, ol’ Buck,” Jerusha yelled out afore walkin' inta camp. Ever’body knew better than to surprise Buck; they’d be gettin’ a surprise ’emselves with some buckshot in their behind.
“Thet you, there, Jerusha?” Buck yelled back.
“I come a callin’ fer some shine 'n some words.”
“Then come ahead on.”
Jerusha made his way over ta the well-worn log 'n sat, his elbows on his knees 'n his head hung low. Buck handed him a tin cup of shine 'n waited.
“So, what words ya wantin’ ta hear, there, Jerusha?”
“I want ya ta say my life ain’t been wasted. Thet I got somethin’ to live fer.”
“Somethin’ to live fer? A course ya got somethin’ to live fer! Just look at me. I got no family, no wife nor kids. I live in the woods 'n only get comp’ny when they’s a wantin’ some shine. Nobody loves me, not like that there Maribelle a yor’n. Yer not thinkin’ a doin’ somethin’ stupid, air ya?”
“Justa thinkin’.”
“Well, let me hep ya out. If yer thinkin’ ’bout leavin’, that’s a mighty fine thot. Mighty fine! Yes sir! Ya pack up yer duds 'n move on down the road. I’ll be a goin’ o'er ta comfert yer Maribelle 'n take real good care a her . . . 'n them young’uns, too. Ya don’t have ta worry ’bout nothin’. I kin live right nice in thet there cabin a yor’n 'n other things, too, iffin ya knows what I mean?”
“Now, you just hold on right there, ol’ Buck.” Jerusha stood 'n threw his tin cup on the ground. He had fire in his eyes now, just like his belly. “Yer not touchin’ nothin’ thet’s mine!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, ya just wait 'n see!”
“No, you wait ya ol' scoundrel! I’m a goin’ home 'n yer ne'er gonna see me agin, 'n ya better not e'er come ’round my place, neither!”
“Thet so?”
“Yer darn right thet’s so!” Jerusha stomped off in the dark fussin’ 'n fumin’ thet thet there ol’ shiner would e'er think ’bout touchin’ his Maribelle.
The first mile home give him thinkin’ time ’bout what just took place. By the end a the second mile he were smilin’ 'n almost racin’ ta get home ta his Maribelle. There she stood on the porch 'round them quilts with her hands on her hips just awaitin’ ta light inta him. He took the steps two atta time, grabbed her inta his arms, 'n laid one salacious smack on them beautiful lips. He picked her up 'n carried her inta the house with her holdin’ on fer dear life.
Yep, that’s right. Ol’ Buck had hit the nail right on the head agin.
Now Maribelle were good with the crafts, makin' quilts 'n such. They could count on a few extra pennies from folks traveling through ta the east . . . or the west. She hung them quilts on the porch 'n them city folk were plum amazed at her handiwork. Jerusha were right proud.
Now Buck were a no-account fella but he were good ta get soused with . . . a roarin’ two-fisted drinker 'n if need be, he’d cry in his shine right along with ya. E'er so often he’d say somethin’ weighty that’d make ya feel a bit better’n when ya first come. It were puzzlin’ how he could be so worthless 'n be so handy at the same time. Ta-night Jerusha were hoping Buck would hit the nail on the head fer him.
“Hey, there, ol’ Buck,” Jerusha yelled out afore walkin' inta camp. Ever’body knew better than to surprise Buck; they’d be gettin’ a surprise ’emselves with some buckshot in their behind.
“Thet you, there, Jerusha?” Buck yelled back.
“I come a callin’ fer some shine 'n some words.”
“Then come ahead on.”
Jerusha made his way over ta the well-worn log 'n sat, his elbows on his knees 'n his head hung low. Buck handed him a tin cup of shine 'n waited.
“So, what words ya wantin’ ta hear, there, Jerusha?”
“I want ya ta say my life ain’t been wasted. Thet I got somethin’ to live fer.”
“Somethin’ to live fer? A course ya got somethin’ to live fer! Just look at me. I got no family, no wife nor kids. I live in the woods 'n only get comp’ny when they’s a wantin’ some shine. Nobody loves me, not like that there Maribelle a yor’n. Yer not thinkin’ a doin’ somethin’ stupid, air ya?”
“Justa thinkin’.”
“Well, let me hep ya out. If yer thinkin’ ’bout leavin’, that’s a mighty fine thot. Mighty fine! Yes sir! Ya pack up yer duds 'n move on down the road. I’ll be a goin’ o'er ta comfert yer Maribelle 'n take real good care a her . . . 'n them young’uns, too. Ya don’t have ta worry ’bout nothin’. I kin live right nice in thet there cabin a yor’n 'n other things, too, iffin ya knows what I mean?”
“Now, you just hold on right there, ol’ Buck.” Jerusha stood 'n threw his tin cup on the ground. He had fire in his eyes now, just like his belly. “Yer not touchin’ nothin’ thet’s mine!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, ya just wait 'n see!”
“No, you wait ya ol' scoundrel! I’m a goin’ home 'n yer ne'er gonna see me agin, 'n ya better not e'er come ’round my place, neither!”
“Thet so?”
“Yer darn right thet’s so!” Jerusha stomped off in the dark fussin’ 'n fumin’ thet thet there ol’ shiner would e'er think ’bout touchin’ his Maribelle.
The first mile home give him thinkin’ time ’bout what just took place. By the end a the second mile he were smilin’ 'n almost racin’ ta get home ta his Maribelle. There she stood on the porch 'round them quilts with her hands on her hips just awaitin’ ta light inta him. He took the steps two atta time, grabbed her inta his arms, 'n laid one salacious smack on them beautiful lips. He picked her up 'n carried her inta the house with her holdin’ on fer dear life.
Yep, that’s right. Ol’ Buck had hit the nail right on the head agin.
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