Bride of A Hillbilly

            My first husband, Dan, hailed from deep in the hills of Kentucky.  He’d learned to drive running moonshine after the citizens in Bell County voted to be ‘liquor-free’.

            His parents were unable to attend our wedding so six weeks later we drove down--unannounced.  Their place was in the boon-docks, high in a sheltered holler which was tucked into gigantic mountains.  The roads en route were winding, both graveled and dirt, but with more than a fair share of deep pot-holes.  It was nearly midnight when Dan pulled off to the side of an ancient road. 

            “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”  It was pitch black.  “I don’t want to drive off the mountain.”

            My first thought was about our new vehicle.  “Will the car be safe down here?”

            “Yep, lest there’s a shiner runnin’ from the law or a hungry bear.”

            “Bear?  Why would a bear bother the car?”

            “You ever have an itch you can’t scratch?” he didn’t wait for my response.  “Bears will rub up against anything and sometimes they feel the need to sharpen their claws.”

            Walking, he squeezed my hand. “If you feel somethin’ squirm underfoot, quietly tell me so I can wring its’ neck.  It’s likely a rattler!

            I ceased all movement, afraid to breathe, but he tugged wearily at my hand.

            Suddenly Dan gasped, I screamed.  “Durn, forgot about No-name!  That dog’s so vicious the law wanted to put him under.  Ma and Pa hid ‘em but let him out at night.”

            Nearly in tears I begged.  “Let’s stay in town tonight and return in the morning.”

            Dan was insistent.  “Trust me.  I’ll take care of you!”

            I trembled.  When we saw the moonlit porch, I nearly galloped ahead but then Dan spoke again.  “Be careful when you step on the porch ‘cause last I looked none of the boards were nailed down!  Nails are expensive.”

            He practically pulled me the rest of the way.  I don’t recall crossing the porch but once inside I stammered on about, “the bears, the snakes, the dog, etc.”

            My father-in-law, barely awake, quickly replied.  “Bears skinned, snakes et, No-name bit the wrong man and died, but you plumb lucked out on the porch!”

copyright 2004 Sandra S. Corona

"A Touch of the West"

"Reminisce" Oct/Nov 2008, page 25