THE SUNFLOWER DRESS
                                                    By
                                         Darlene Eichler

     Virginia Mary Owens was born into this world in a coal miner’s shack in Twila, Kentucky. The year was 1916. A cold spring rain fell as this innocent baby began a journey that would affect the lives of countless persons. Her mother, unaware of the perilous road ahead, closed her eyes and slept. Her father looked down upon his sleeping wife and new baby wondering how he would feed his growing family.
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     She heard her mother calling. Virginia turned away from the sound and continued to watch the crew of CCC workers as they labored under the August sun. They were working on turning little more than a rocky path into a road. This teenager dreamed about the roadway and these handsome strangers. She imagined one of them sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her down the new road far away from this pocket of poverty called, Coal Holler. She was hungry for pretty things. Ready-made dresses….she would throw out every last one made from a feed sack. She wanted jewelry that sparkled in candlelight. And shoes! She would have shelves of beautiful shoes…one pair for every outfit. As she placed one barefoot atop the other she remembered her only pair was too small.
     She finally realized the sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains and she ran home.
     Her thoughts kept returning to the crew of young men who toiled under the boiling sun. She had a favorite…he was tall, broad shouldered, with an air of shyness about him. She dreamed of him bending down to kiss her on the lips, lifting her up to his level. It never occurred to Virginia that he would not be interested in this scrawny mountain girl with the black, unruly braids and eyes as dark as coal. She had no doubt she could capture his heart if only she had the right dress to catch his attention…one that would show off her striking figure. Oh, what was the use of dreaming? She didn’t own a decent dress and she had no way of buying one.
     Just a hint of sunlight entered the room, but it was bright enough to awaken Virginia. Had she dreamed the new dress or was it hanging in the old, flimsy cardboard wardrobe? She slowly opened the door. It was a dream. There were only the two faded shapeless feed sack dresses and a tattered wool coat. Tears stung her eyes, but she would not let them flow. She would find a way. The handsome, fair-skinned man was her ticket to a new life.
     The gentle breeze just brushed the silky fabric enough to bring it above her shapely calves. The CCC boys were working near the mail box. Surely the shy one would notice her in this dress, the bright yellow of sunflowers. She had found a way. So what if she had stolen money from her mother’s secret stash? Dora Owens would understand when she brought this husband-to-be home for her approval. She tried to drown out the words of the preacher down at the Tabernacle of Faith. He said that God would bring down damnation on those who lied, stole, and fornicated, whatever that was. She was sure she had not done that. She had told little white lies and now she had stolen. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. After all it was her mother’s money. Didn’t she love her and want the best for her daughter? Didn’t she want her to get out of this holler which shouted “poor“ from every shack, the ramshackle school building, the coal dust covered porches and the barefoot children playing in the barren yards ?
      Virginia heard her parents and neighbors talking about the Depression. She heard it at the company store, from her teacher, and preacher Caldwell even mentioned it in his sermons. They talked of closed banks, no jobs, and people losing their homes, dust bowls, no food, and men jumping from windows in the big cities. It was sad to hear about these happenings but Virginia could not forget the black cloud of poverty that permeated everything in Coal Holler. It was not only the lack of pretty clothes, of food, a decent house, or a way to town; but it was the sense of hopelessness that weighed down one’s soul. If it were not for her mother she would have sunk into her own depression. But she inherited her mother’s stubbornness that would not allow her to give up. That special gift would serve Virginia well until she began to abuse it. In the years to come she would use that gift of tenacity to control and manipulate her family and friends.

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     It was a common practice for certain church members at the Tabernacle of Faith to handle snakes. Dora often took her young children to these services. The younger ones usually hid their faces against their mother’s soft belly. Virginia found the rattlers mesmerizing as they squirmed and swayed in the handlers’ hands. The serpents seemed to keep time to the steady beat of the twangy notes coming from the guitar and fiddle. The swaying became faster as the congregation’s emotions were worked into frenzy. The hallelujahs and amen’s rose to the fly-specked ceiling. The two bare light bulbs swayed as the shouts reached a crescendo. Preacher Caldwell began his sermon. He paced and he pounded the Bible.Shouts of praises filled the stagnant air. Tears mixed with sweat. The swaying and dancing took on a life of their own. This was the part of the service that Virginia looked forward to. She really was not in church, but dancing in her dream world with her prince charming. She did not like her world of coal dust covered poverty. She did not like preacher Caldwell. Some of the girls, and older women, too, thought he was handsome. They hung on his every word and tried to be the first to compliment him on his sermon; some went so far as to ask him home for supper. Virginia wondered if they had more food than was in her house. Her mother would be hard pressed to stretch their beans and cornbread to feed a big, strapping man like preacher Caldwell. His face reminded Virginia of the serpents he handled. He had coal black hair combed straight back from his face. His forehead jutted out over his small dark eyes. His mouth, usually drawn up in a half pucker, gave him the expression of just tasting a crab apple. Virginia thought maybe the women swooned over him because of his nice clothes. Really, they weren’t all that nice, but they beat bib overalls and brogans. And he always, except when he was preaching so hard, smelled of cloves and witch hazel. 
     The music was slowing. Those persons who had been hit by the spirit were coming out of their trances as friends and family frantically tried to revive with fans from Carter‘s Funeral Home. The snakes were placed in their cages for safe keeping until the next evening. The preacher was praying that God’s spirit would fall on all those who were full of demons. Virginia felt as if he were talking directly to her. She entered into her world of escape to tune out the words that were as sharp as her daddy’s pocketknife.
     Virginia hurried to reach the church house door before preacher Caldwell got there. She was too late. He called out to her in that high pitched, sing-song preacher voice. She turned to look him in the face but before he could say anything Miss Betty Fain acknowledged him with a faint smile and a nod of the head. His eyes remained on Virginia. Miss Betty was getting on in years and she had a keen awareness when she was being put off. She moved on and preacher Caldwell moved closer. Virginia held her breath and tried not to breathe in his scent of sweat. Seeing her daughter’s dilemma Dora swept up the church’s short aisle in about three strides. She reached for the preacher’s hand and gave him her best smile. She never “dipped” at church so there was not a hint of tobacco juice. He responded warmly, asking her about her husband and other family members. Virginia slipped out the door and waited for her mother in the dark shadows of the church house.

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     Dora Owens was a problem solver. She was willing to accept compromise, but every situation had a solution. This was not a quality one would expect from this mountain woman who occasionally allowed just a very tiny dribble of tobacco juice to slide from the corner of her mouth. She had so very little with which to work. Maybe she solved her dilemmas before they grew too big. Or maybe she just had a natural talent for doing so. Virginia was becoming a big problem. She did poorly in school; she daydreamed instead of studying. Her main goal in life was to find a husband who had nothing to do with the mines. Dora had a solution. She believed that the CCC boys were God’s answer to her prayers. Not the whole crew, but just one who would make a fine husband for Virginia. The Civilian Conservation Corp was the answer to many of the problems of the bleak depression years. Its main reason for being was to provide jobs for hundreds of young men across America; in doing so there are beautiful state and national parks, and the roads needed to reach them. These strong, healthy, single young men were paid a small wage. They were given a safe, dry place to sleep, usually in a military type camp. The food was plain but plentiful.
     Enter James Alfred Shortt, 23 years old, Virginia born and bred. His family was made up of farmers, school teachers, and ministers. They farmed the land granted to them by King George, III in the 1760s. James had grown up in a sturdy farm house with a swing on the front porch. Red geraniums grew in white washed pots beside the front steps. Life was not easy in these gently rolling hills surrounded by blue mountain peaks, but it was a land of milk and honey to Virginia and her family.
Virginia did not know that her mother had a plan very much like her own. Dora was aware that her daughter spent a lot of time watching the CCC boys, but she would be surprised to know the extent of Virginia’s scheming. The first step was to be noticed. The chosen one kept his head lowered and his eyes on his work. A few of the others would sometimes give out with a wolf whistle. She pretended she didn’t hear and walked, head held high, back to her house.
     She didn’t know if her new dress had worked. He had not even raised his head; maybe he had not seen her. She had to come up with a better plan. The scene last evening at the Tabernacle of Faith kept running through her mind. She recalled how everyone rushed to help bring back those faithful who had fainted. Passing out always seemed to drew lots of attention.
     Virginia awoke before the sun tried to peak through the single dirty window in her attic room. This was the day. She hurried down the rickety ladder to the big room which served as kitchen, dining and living room, and a bedroom for her big brother, Jack. She smelled the biscuits just coming out of the oven. The thick white gravy speckled with pepper was simmering in the iron skillet. She grabbed a chipped plate from the wall cabinet and quickly broke open the hot bread and covered it in steaming milk gravy. She wondered if her parents and brother had left just a little coffee in the pot for her. Dora came in from the other room and she apologized for the empty coffee pot. Joann said that water would be fine. She was in an unusually good mood this morning.
     The rusty pump out back squeaked and coughed as a tiny trickle of water came out into the old dented wash pan. Virginia took the pan and the cool water into the house. She took a feed-sack rag and a small cake of homemade soap from the kitchen and went into the quiet darkness of her parents’ bedroom. Some day she would live in a big house with running water inside and her own beautiful dressing room just off the bedroom. She would have silk under-wear, wonderful sweet smelling soap and towels as soft as velvet. She would bathe in a tub filled with bubbles smelling of roses and lavender. Her silk robe would fall down over her smooth , soft body. Her nails would be beautifully manicured and painted. “Virginia, stop day dreaming,” she thought to herself. She bathed and put on the sensible cotton underwear her mother bought at the company store. They were old and a little tattered, but they were the best she had. As the silky new dress slipped easily over her lithe body; she remembered the bottle of cheap cologne on her mother’s dresser. She opened the stopper and the fumes from the old cologne sent her into a coughing fit. She squeezed her feet into the too small ugly oxfords. They would never do, it would be better if she went barefoot. She looked under her parents’ bed and there were the black dust covered heels her mother wore when she was married. Virginia slowly placed her feet in them trying to scrunch her toes before they hit the tip of the shoes. She had inherited Dora’s tenacity to solve problems. She found some old rags in the closet for stuffing in the ends of the shoes.
     She started down the gravel road, walking with short steps and keeping her toes curled against the rags. She didn’t see the work crew. Had they finished the work project so early? She walked on, each step becoming more precarious than the one before. As she rounded the bend she almost ran into the shy one. He looked right into her eyes and smiled. She started to apologize, but instead her ankle turned and she fell into his arms. He gently stood her up as if she were a china doll with feet too small to hold her weight. Before she realized what she was saying she had blurted out an invitation to come to her house for supper. He said that he would do that, just tell him the day and time. Not wanting to let this chance go by , she quickly said, “this evening at 6 o’clock.“ She turned and walked carefully around the bend out of sight. She promptly removed the borrowed shoes and ran home.
      Her mother was going to be furious with her. What would they have for supper? It was near the end of the month and there was very little in the cupboard and no money. She entered the house almost hoping that her mother would not be there but she was sitting at the kitchen table peeling little green apples which looked wormy and not worth the effort. Virginia told her mother what she had done. She waited for the tongue lashing, but instead she heard her mother saying that she would find something to cook. They would even have apple cobbler if Virginia would go and borrow a cup of sugar from someone up the holler.
     James Alfred Shortt was a good eater. Virginia was fascinated with the way he held his fork-- he wrapped his fingers around it with his thumb on top. It reminded her of a little shovel. He kept his head down just the way he did when he was working. He complimented Dora on the country ham (where did she get that?) and the flaky biscuits. The beans were leftovers from the day before but they tasted even better with the fresh onion Virginia borrowed along with the cup of sugar.
Dora had gotten out her only table cloth to cover the old wooden table which served as a place to eat, a place for home work, and daddy’s work bench. There was even a small arrangement of black-eyed Susan placed in a pint jar in the middle of the table. James Alfred Shortt seemed content as he leaned back in the best chair in the house. Virginia made certain that the guest had the one with the strong cane bottom. He ate the warm spicy apple cobbler and placed his spoon in the empty dish with a sigh of contentment. Both Dora and Virginia felt certain that James Alfred Shortt would be putting his feet under their table again!