"COME TRY YOUR LUCK . . . " ~ As Absolutely*Kate tells the tale of THE VILLAGE SMITHY {Epic*sode 8}

COME TRY YOUR LUCK

{ Just ahead of back-in-time with

   THE VILLAGE SMITHY }

~ As regaled by Absolutely*Kate 

ALL PRIOR EPIC*SODES FLOW JUST BELOW

The room at the top of the winding staircase with the mahogany rail looked like a room at the top of a winding staircase. It had a beveled paneled door. It sported a matched pair of glistening gold numerals. It wasn't painted a loud colour, no, not by a long shot . . . but it regaled raucous sounds pounding it down -- from the inside out.

 

From the inside of the room at the top of the winding mahogany railed stairs at The Narragansett Social Club, one could see the sea. One could hear the sea, smell the sea, sense the sea. On notorious nights when moonlight waltzed her shimmer of a silver strand upon the upper reaches of high tide -- one did not see upon the sea what entered the tunnel from the channel on the shore beyond the boulders into the cold stone cellar of The Narragansett Social Club. Twas the darker nights that the skillful silent oarsmen selected to row their spirited cargo to the tunnel which held the hoard which seven smug smugglers had hauled on board. 

 

This night, when Liza followed her deceased mother's most fondest friend, Captain Horatio Bennigan, up the twisting secret staircase to the room beyond the room of the door marked with the gleam of golden numerals, waves pounded incessantly against the moonless shore. Liza heard the waves, as well as the raucous patrons of Room 33, careening their cries, their insatiable thirsts, their adamant orders, "More! Hurry good man! More!" 

 

Hustling Harvey Hooper, the boisterous bartender's lanky son, hurried the stairs two at a time to descend to the cellar, to reach the room where the rum and amber whiskey stalwartly stood by. The hurry of Harvey's hustle to turn the tides against Prohibition elbowed Liza's waist with careless haste of his ambition. Her silver beaded purse fell to the stair. Her uncle's curse harangued the air. Coins spilled. Tempers flared.

 

"Be damned you oaf! That's my niece you're accosting - I'll have your job you senseless scalawag!"

  

"Sir, I meant no harm. The casino crowd is rowdy. This is the only passageway through and I'm doing what I've been sent to do. Clear the way I say!"

 

"Why you impertinent upstart! On your downward dash, you thoughtlessly shoved my niece -- "

 

"I did not!"

 

"I saw it with mine own eyes you lying misfit -- "

 

"She lurched directly into my way -- "

 

Liza, never a lurcher, lunged her way into the heated hotheads' disarray. "Stop it you two! And Uncle, pull back that punch! Dismiss that glare! Don't you know it's bad luck to argue on the stair? Why, it goes against time eternal's  -- "

  

The seaworthy soul of the captain courageously cut in rather than reveal where the wrath of Liza's agitation was beginning to begin. Hot on the hunch for a night of winning hands he intended to remember precisely how to play, he was not about her tipping her hand to reveal why they had come here this particular day. Instead, he calmed his countenance, stooped down to help Liza scoop what she was gathering. His horizon-hardened gaze did not fail to glean the gleam from something shiny swiftly concealed into the flapper frock's ruffled elegance. Duly noted, he gruffly advised, "Lizzie Gal, don't be so loose with your mentions of time. Those of our lot must be cautious in our careful. Otherwise luck will wan, the wrinkles of best times traveled shall warp. We won't be worth the persistence of our future's existence." He paused, lowering his whisper more softly yet, "Darlin', understood?"

 

On the periphery, with a huff, Harry Hooper hustled by. He was not about to give those two his time of day.

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, back in the serene village of Essex, ten years before this day came to be, time trailed forward and aft. Townsfolk did what townsfolk did. Aye, the living was good along the verdant village green. Jim Casey's brass band was attuned, and played on. Clarinets cleaved clarity and tubas resounded, deeper in base understandings of stanzas conveyed. On Main Street, that bustling thoroughfare of here to there, all was as it should be. The butcher's superb sense of humor ribbed his comrade when he swaggered his bluster through the door next door. He chuckled to challenge his buddy the baker's kneading profits from profiteroles; said he was rolling in the dough.

 

Just a shop away, caring not a flicker for their hearty har-hars and harrumphs, the cocksure candlestick maker consulted cunning charts. Eerily he chanted ~ 

 

"Her wish come true. Her luck fall through. 

Her wish come true. Her luck fall through. 

Her wish -- "

The sudden shadow in the doorway beneath the forest green awning blocked the evening dipping sun. The towering visage which held back that lambent light meant it could belong to only one. A strong voice of few chosen words impounded purpose. The mighty village smithy did assuredly stand.

"Candlestick maker, what do you know of where the new gal has gone? It's spoken in the village you saw her last. Tis said you taunted with your Wishing Candle lit. Tell me now of your chicanery. Tell me straight Chadwick. Dare you not leave out a bit."

~ ~ ~ 

A decade hence, angling a pretty pre-determined gaze across the teeming gaming tables in the room beyond the room numbered lucky 33, Liza studied well the whirl of the roulette wheel. Something akin to inner will, bespoke within the simultaneous Essex village exchange. It gripped her tightened, held her precarious heart still. Sensing danger, yet feeling safe contrasted how she ebbed her flow to feel. Best concentrate instead on the gaming room. Here was a place she already knew the deal. And what was to conspire time after time forward playing out on upon portentious tables. 

 

Another sip of her gin, drinking in the scene, calmed her nerves and current reality drew her in. Again her eyes danced a merry waltz growing accustomed to the spins of the roulette wheel. Round it went with gleam, its sheen. Who knew where it stopped, who knew who would win. Ah, Liza knew this spin, where the tiny tell of the silver ball would rightly fall in. She'd been here during before and would come into profitable times here in yet again, but now, something sharply cautioned to pay much more attention to the present of the now of when.

 

"Why, that's her! Right there. Took up all the stair. And the grizzled gent at the poker table near her accused me of disrupting them. The brazen nerve! I tell you Al, it just ain't fair!" Harvey Hooper was still hot around his holler and collared the fellow he'd been introduced to at the dice table. His tirade would have continued but the other man's mind was adept at tuning out the extraneous, concentrating instead on what was relative to the matter.

 

Albert glanced the indicated gal up and down when she swiveled gold fringe of her violet beaded flapper frock 'round and 'round. She seemed to transcend time, such as her motions spun in lights fantastic. A quick glance secured time was on his side for the companions he had walked in with were otherwise occupied. The dashing Robert Gilette and the fair Fairbanks couple huddled deep into conversation at the red leather bar. Gin flowed. Frosty iced glasses clinked. He caught the characteristic tinkle of Mary's adoring laugh at some comment Douglas must've made. Yes, his time was his.

 

As Harvey Hooper huffed his puffery off, whining with chagrin, the taller fellow let his gaze meet even with that of the gal with the determined grin. Odd sensation, he sensed her somehow familiar with him. Bolstering his innate charm the more, Albert's hand waved to the gaming table before him with a flourish of his suited sleeve. He led with the line his calculations had long deduced led to accuracy of  luring the ladies in ~ 

 

"Come try your luck?"

 

"Pardon me?"

 

"Care to join me? Try out a roll of your luck?"

 

Liza smiled. She knew this scene. It had played well before . . . for both of them. "You mean, will Luck be a Lady this night?" Inwardly she grinned as lyrics of her favorite RatPack tune from times well forward cautioned her not to blow on another man's dice, no matter how relatively outstretched they appeared. "Lordy, lordy," she preened, as the man with uncountable stars in his eyes held her gaze and teased, and leaned and leaned. 

  

She'd challenged him with these lines before. It had aided and abetted him well then, it would again. Fully, she fluttered Maybellined lashes, "But good sir, I hardly know thee. And dare you think God will be in the details of a fair win?"

 

His chuckle rumbled the room. Pity most never recalled him for the charmer he could be, rather dusty tomes of scientific history. "Dear lady, you may call me Al. And remember this well ~ God does not play dice with the universe -- "

  

Robert Gilette turned from the bar and saw him first, naturally enamored with a pretty girl. This one had some sensuosity of the femme fatale about her. Interesting, quite interesting, but they needed to confirm the next day's sailing plans. Priorities were priorities after all with the yawl. Heartily, his stage voice boomed out, "Einstein there you are. Care to introduce me to this gorgeous gamblin' gal?"

  

RELAX. WHAT'S TO COME

IS NOT A ROLL OF THE DICE.

IT'S ALL IN THE CARDS.

IT ALWAYS IS YOU KNOW.

THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT 

SUCH A BIG DEAL.

  

TIL NEXT WEEKEND'S

RETURN TO THE VILLAGE SMITHY

ON THE VILLAGE GREEN

~ AND ~

THE NARRAGANSETT GAMBLING SCENE.

WHO WILL COME UP ACES?

Does it take an Einstein 

to figure this one out?

~ ~ ~

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

As regaled by ~ Absolutely*Kate  

   

Click here for  The Beginning  ~ THE VILLAGE SMITHY

  

Click here for  Epic*sode 2 ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?"

 

Click here for  Epic*sode 3 ~ "Time Travel Is A Healer, Right?"

Click here for  Epic*sode 4 ~ "Rogues All!"

Click here for  Epic*sode 5 ~ "What If and The Tan Valise"

Click here for  Epic*sode 6 ~ "Make a Wish. I Dare You."

Click here for lucky  Epic*sode 7 ~ "The Narragansett Social Club"
    

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

 in a small-town large state of mind

currently on ~ shore leave  

Virile Village Smithy ala Wolfrage

Lucky roulette wheel ala Kathy


Photo representation of the former Narragansett Social Club of the roaring 20's  

 where Absolutely*Kate presided back-in-time for "shore leave".  

Now dubbed the Ocean Rose Inn, it sits proudly at the helm of Ocean Road
keeping good watch upon the sea.

"WHAT-IF and THE TAN VALISE" ~ Epic*sode 5 of THE VILLAGE SMITHY ~ As told by Absolutely*Kate ... (friday flash)

WHAT-IF and THE TAN VALISE

 

~ Epic*sode 5  through time ~

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

As told by ~ Absolutely*Kate  

 
 

~ Epic*sode 5  through time ~

Click here for  The Beginning  ~ THE VILLAGE SMITHY

  

Click here for  Epic*sode 2 ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?"

 

Click here for  Epic*sode 3 ~ "Time Travel Is A Healer, Right?"

Click here for  Epic*sode 4 ~ "Rogues All!"

 

"Darling, it's a human trait to dream What-If -- "

"But Mommy, What-If can come true, right?"

"Well Lizzie, sometimes when you push it, or turn it, or twist it just so, anything becomes possible."


The little girl, crossed-legged on the gold braided rug in front of her mother's mahogany dressing table, set aside the dolls and stuff of playtime. She warbled song snippets as she lined them up pretty as precision, all in a just-right row. Barbie and Buddy Bear and two seashells and her Grandfather's extra pocket-watch she was allowed to handle if she was very, very careful, and a shiny tiny red clown car. Mommy always said clown cars get to go to the funniest places. They laughed at that, squiggling their eyes up then down, to make even funnier funny faces. They laughed a very whole lot, her and her Mommy. And they made up stuff. But they always said it was true. Made up stuff can be. Well, Mommy said.

If she craned her neck, she could feel shimmering up above, every time crystal pendants shook light into ribbons rippling off the low lamp by the mirror when her Mommy laughed. Mommy laughed a very whole lot. It came out a silver sound like wind chimes and made rooms happier than even orange sherbet on a hot day or apple muffins for breakfast or lime green tissue wrapped packages or even her new kitten, Freddy Fluffo. The day they got him, Mommy sang in her best singsongy voice, "A kid's not a kid unless she has a cat named Fred sleepin' under her bed!" Then Mommy let loose a little dancey twirl right there in her bedroom doorway and yelped out, "Fanny Brice could learn a thing or three from me, yessiree!" Freddy Fluffo perked up on the dancey shouty-out part and crept tawny fur out from under the bed and Mommy got down low and curtsied real easy-pleasy to him, right there in her best navy blue flouncy skirt. And we laughed, oh how we laughed even Freddy in his own cat-ivating way.
 

~ ~ ~

 

"Cat got your tongue, Miss? I've asked you now three times if you liked stew. I shan't ask again. My sisters, Effie and Marguerite run a right nice rooming house here in Essex at the edge of the village green. They serve up about this time. I was wondering what if you're hungry, you being a newcomer to our town, fresh off the steam train, though drenched to all get-out now. I'm usually not a man of this many words, but something in the wind is telling my thoughts your spirit doesn't quench. So Miss, what if we moseyed on over? It's a very popular place, a  lively place and sometimes, well, sometimes folks just get up out of their chairs and sing -- "

Liza roused herself to the invitation tempting fate before her while raindrops kept falling on her head,  raindrops playing misty rather than bothersome now. The smith, a mighty nice man seemed he. She should say something. Anything, and quickly too. He was peering at her, as if he could see her through and true. She should liven into less than a dolt, who had plopped down on a place on a gold braided rug where safe felt home-happy and a tiny shiny clown car created its own parades. "Well smithy, I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin' -- Nothing's worrying me. And -- these friendly villagers of yours -- you're telling me -- They actually sing?"
 
"You repeat well Miss," the village smithy chuckled low, but clear, with an extra splash of dark reflective pools -- his eyes. Or maybe it was the rain. Cross currents fathomed the soggy though stalwart woman before him who had been hassled by the hustle of the tussle with the curmudgeon candlestick maker making moves for her tan valise. He noted she still clutched the worn leather handle far too close for a casual passing on through. "Though you seem to have traveled a hundred miles away -- Miss?"
 

~ ~ ~

The mirror up there was chockfull. Liza called it Reflection City when she played make believe for real in her Mommy's room. There were backs of little statues of dressed up porcelain ladies and brassy gentlemens she would move around for Let's-have-a-show, a creamy circle Sunbeam clock that ticked, ticked time where time wanted to go and a slim book of printed poems propped up behind a cobalt bottle that spouted buttercups and black-eyed susans picked for Mommy that day. On the next to the last page in the slim book of poetry propped behind the cobalt blue, was taped careful what Mommy said was a key for me, for you. There were reflections of pots of swirly pinks and  ruby reds which her mother touched magnificently to her face just so, to put on what she called her going-out face. Fascinated by colours and textures and all the magic that changes the picture when you concentrate on just so, her big little mind wrapped 'round and 'round What-If.
 
"Sooo, What-If I grow up some and sneak out in the night, barefoot right out the back kitchen door, being careful not to let it slam or creak but sneak out Matthew's red Schwinn and ride and ride all over countrysides where the time isn't the time it is now and then . . . well, then What-If I forget which roads to turn to come back to you? Will you come find me? Will you bring me home and hold me close and laugh and make the day our jokehouse and teach me to bake butterscotch brownies for supper and do puzzles and color the other page in the color book on the floor alongside me? Well, will you? Mom?"
 
The shadow came fast. The shadow came hard, one large steel-edge workboot crushing the head of formerly furry Fred, stomping the mood of the room where shimmering and make believe had played out good intentions. Reality came in dark. No songs, no spark.
 
His voice was gravel guts gruff, this shadow, this gloom in the room. "Tell her. Tell her Molly. Tell her now where What-If takes you. The girl's old enough to know. Then show her." Part of the shadow, a very deep dark part of the shadow lunged for the heart of the part of Liza's mother already down on the floor gathering up a little girl from a gold braided rug. There came a rip and a shatter and a scream where time seemed to careen. A porcelain lady lost her head. Sea shells became shards cutting sharp into a little girl's knee, and Liza bled. A bloody spot stained the gold braided rug, where a mother held fast a daughter to her.

THE TAN VALISE  ~ photo ala Humbert15

The whisper whizzed fast, like a song wrung out of key ~ "Try to remember. Remember you, remember me. The poem book -- Lizzie, the key. When you go, where you go, take the tan valise.
There you'll see."

~ ~ ~

"Stew you say?", Liza repeated into the mist on the village green concealing the same in her eyes.

The bulk of the solid village smithy before her nodded once, waited, nodded twice.

"Certainly I like stew. Who doesn't?"

~ ~ ~ 

In the town of Essex, the town that Liza was making her new town -- across the village green, the butcher, who was sweet on Marguerite, wrapped and tied a paper package of choice cut meat. In the shop next door,  the baker had had some fine day, rolling in the dough. Generously he bagged croissants, cloverleafs and hot cross buns, locked his door and ran through the wet grass that made the village green to catch up with his chum. "Saaaaay. I'm going for stew. You?"


Behind heavy closed curtains and incantations, the cocksure candlestick maker pored through the large gilt-edged tome spread wide on the table before him, muttering, muttering. Lordy, he was so hot and bothered, why . . . he was smokin'.

~ ~ ~ 

 

"When the time is right to make the time right -

why then, you'll know where to go.  

What-If is inside you . . . and the tan valise." 

Liza's mother's last words danced every day in her head. This night of this day though, she met Effie. She met Marguerite. She swallowed a very tasty stew and nibbled good bread. She knew when the time came, she'd know What-If to do. Liza nodded to the butcher and the baker, and sang along new songs with new villagers in her new town of Essex. Liza forged her thank you towards the eyes across the table of the village smithy.


Across the village green, the candlestick maker was nowhere to be seen . . . just a puff of smoke.

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

 in a small-town large state of mind 

Village Smithy photo ala Wolfrage

TimeTravel lead ala TheReal OXZ

OUT OF THE RAIN

AND IN TO A HEARTY SUPPER

TIL NEXT WEEKEND'S

RETURN TO THE VILLAGE GREEN

WHERE THE VILLAGE SMITHY

MAY STEW ON MORE

THAT HE BIT OFF TO CHEW

"ROGUES ALL!" ~ It's Epic*sode 4 of THE VILLAGE SMITHY ~ As told by Absolutely*Kate ... #fridayflash

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

As told by ~ Absolutely*Kate  

 

Epic*sode 4 ~ "ROGUES ALL"

Click here for The Beginning  ~ THE VILLAGE SMITHY

  

Click here for Epic*sode 2 ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?"

 

Click here for Epic*sode 3 ~ "Time Travel Is A Healer, Right?"

 

The sexton rang the village bell. The village band in the gazebo with lanky Jim Casey, the druggist's son, conducting . . . played on. The mighty village smithy moved not a brawny muscle where dripped honest sweat, but stared down the strawberry blonde, hands on svelte hips, entrenched before him. Casey's band . . . played on.

 

Muddled mutterings of the butcher, the baker and the cocksure candlestick maker grew progressively more profound, due in large part no doubt, to their unconcealed trouncings, closer and closer still (but not quietly), across the well groomed lawn which made the village green. The three came as one to ogle the two -- the village smithy under the magnificent spreading chestnut tree and Liza, alleged shady lady newcomer to their scene. Quick as the flick of a wick, the cocksure candlestick maker hardly ever missed a trick. He'd scurried and hurried companion businessmen so as not to let a curious occurence waft on by. And today, with his cronies . . . well, he was lit. 

 

SPOKE THE COCKSURE CANDLESTICK MAKER:  "I tell you boys, I've seen her. I've seen her before. She's been around town." 

SPOKE THE BUTCHER:  "Bah. She's new in Essex. You're the one after all who sent up smoke signals like crazy when she got off the train. Don't you recall?" 

SPOKE THE BAKER:  "Crazy, yeah crazy. Bartholomew cuts to the meat of the matter as usual, Chas Chadwick. Perhaps the wax in your ears got in your eyes?

At this, Bart the boisterous butcher pummeled the back of the baker good naturedly -- with guffaws. From his chum, flour flew! The cocksure candlestick maker, turning with disdain, got caught in puffs, mid airstream. A bit of a coughing fit did ensue -- but in no way, no way at all was he through.

 

SPOKE THE COCKSURE CANDLESTICK MAKER:  "You're right but you're wrong. She's been here longer than today. I know these truths to be self-evident. Will you two listen to me, what I say?"

 

SPOKE THE BOISTEROUS BUTCHER:  "Sorry Charley. History will show that you're repetitive and you blow smoke."

 

SPOKE THE BACKING UP BAKER:  "Yeah. That's right. Sorry Charley -- You blow smoke."

 

SPOKE THE COCKSURE CANDLESTICK MAKER:  "Why look you two lame lumpkins! -- Just look at her valise. Doesn't something stand out funny to you there? And there?"

 

SPOKE THE BAKER:  "Has a valise look to it, it does. Handles, latches, tan leather sides, every one of them, and a nice hue. Can't see how it makes me laugh though. It's made for travels, which surely she did do."

 

SPOKE THE BUTCHER, BACKING UP THE BAKER:  "Yup. Utilitarian, through and through."

 

EXASPERATEDLY SPOUTED THE STILL COCKSURE CANDLESTICK MAKER:  "But look, look there at its markings. Those labels. They appear to be not anything familiar to my learned eye."

 

At this the butcher and baker hooted in full chortling force,  hepping up their happy hysterics. They huffed and they hopped. They upped the ante of their antics to fan down the cocksure candlestick maker's smoke screen. Some in the village band under the gazebo's decorative Victorian roof lost their places in their sheet music, resoundingly deflating some D# sharps to come out quite flat.

Casey shook his head. "Rogues all," was all he softly said. Flo the floutist in the front row, sweet on Jim . . . fondly winked.

 

SPOKE THE BUTCHER:  "Hey Bakes, imagine that -- The great candlestick maker makes his smart eyes study. All I can see is wise eyes guy is up to no good with our comely newcomer."

 

Liza, startled at D-flats diminishing By The Light of The Silvery Moon, almost turned from where the village smithy clamped her vision, strong as iron bands. But forceful is as forceful does. This man could look the whole world in the face and cause mankind due pause. Still the village fellows whooped louder their protestations. "Rogues all", she exhaled from where still she held proud her ground.

 

There. Did she catch then, a twitch -- a twinkling, a besmirch of mirth in the village smithy's almond dancing eyes?

 

CHORTLED THE BAKER:  "Butch, I tell you, you've got vision and the rest of the world wears bifocals!"

 

At that, Liza did swiftly swivel and turn, way past startled, way past proud. The weather took that moment to evoke a sudden turn as well. Clouds changed formation, opened propensity for precipitation and soon, very soon, raindrops kept falling on her head. Liza gulped. Liza gasped, "That line. How do you know that line? Why it's from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance --- "

 

ERUPTED THE COCKSURE CANDLESTICK MAKER:   "Kid? -- You new around these parts or have you been around?"

 

The village smithy turned more than a sudden dislike of the meddlesome and cocksure candlestick maker clutching the handle of the lady's leather valise . . . into . . .  action. Leaning to grip where it propped against his anvil, he raised high the planishing hammer. 

 

Like his bellows, he blew!

 

They scattered, they scampered. They ballyhooed and ran their aprons ragged under more persistent rain drops which fell now against the slam, slam, slammed doors of the bakery, the butchery and the candle shop beneath the forest green awning at the other side of the village green.

 

Liza, assessing time and time-travel might not be on her best behavior's side right now, speedily configured a range of answers to questions she reckoned would be forthcoming.

 

The village smithy shook his head, shook his fist and thundered, "ROGUES ALL!" to the wet sky slopping o'er the empty village green. (Though the townsfolk were titillated, they knew enough to get out of the rain.) Raindrops bounced, reflecting bright sparks off his hair, dark and crisp and long. He angled almond eyes where Liza still held her ground, as well as more tightly, the handle of the tan valise. "You're getting bedraggled, you know. Say, you like stew?"

 

Jim Casey's band, under protection of the decorative gazebo on the village green no longer played on . . . not since watching that scene. They packed up sheets of music, tubas, trumpets, plus a trombone or two. They encased clarinets, an oboe and of course the kettle drum. Jim was so preoccupied with gathering the wobbly metal music stands that Flo the floutist turned to Stanley for sax appeal. 

It was suppertime in Essex . . . 

It was summertime in Essex . . .

 and the night . . . was young at heart.
  

Fairytales could come true,

It could happen to you . . . 
  

Couldn't it? 
  

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

 in a small-town large state of mind 

Village Smithy photo ala Wolfrage

OUT OF THE RAIN

AND IN TO SUPPER TIL

NEXT WEEKEND'S

RETURN TO THE VILLAGE GREEN

WHERE THE VILLAGE SMITHY

MAY POUND OUT GLEANINGS

 

THE VILLAGE SMITHY ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?" ~ Epic*sode 2 ~ By Absolutely*Kate (#flash-fiction)

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

~ By Absolutely*Kate  
 

Epic*sode 2 ~ "NEED A HOOF NIPPER?"

 
  
Click here for The Beginning Epic*sode

 

A mighty man the village smithy was to behold in the town livening up to be Liza's new town. (If ever a lady needed a new town, this shady lady was she.)  On the shady side of the Essex green, under the magnificent spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy's planishing hammer pounded testosterone into consenting anvil. Again, again . . . forcefully again, harder, stronger, swifter, more true with every arc his sinewy hands of instinct threw. 

Rugged the repetition that rose and fell, cleared the air . . . and clang, clang, clang went that volley. Recitation of elementary Longfellow rolled as easy off the mind and tongue as primal sensations dodge to forge molten their heat. The muscles of his brawny arms were as strong as iron bands. Sweat glistened where muscles punctuated the day. Reprising exclamation's point, Liza extended one white-gloved hand, and heard herself listen to gumption say ~

"Saaaaay Mister, I'm new in town. You have a hoof nipper?"

 
Where the hell that came from -- a snippet of a movie time with her funny Ma, or some snatch of lore in a book long paged and just about forgotten -- Liza couldn't for the life dancing Virginia reels in her peepers 'pon the the genteel town of Essex rightly say. But banal wouldn't become her, no matter how bodacious the view.  
 
A lyricist, after all, was attuned to break new ground ~ especially with the pomp that circumstanced a dame just blowin' in, fresh off the steam train, desiring fiercely to make a new resounding mark in a new town.  To make other towns . . . best forgot.

 

Come rain or come shine, underlying forces yet unseen, the village green was fast swirling to become Liza's kalideoscopic scene. Townsfolk took notice, slowed up their chatter. The butcher nudged the baker. Keenly, the business acumen of these men heeded what mattered. The village smithy stopped mid-swing. 
 

Liza was quicker than her own sassy wink. "You know Smithy, it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing." 
 

With nary a doo wop, the brassy band in the gazebo just played on. Seems only the candlestick maker, peering 'neath the forest green awning 'cross the street corner named Desire, had a flicker of what was to come.
 

The village smithy spoke. "You need a hoof nipper?"

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

 in a small-town large state of mind 

Photo ala Wolfrage

TO FORGE AHEAD

NEXT WEEKEND

ON THE VILLAGE GREEN

WHERE THE MEADOWLARK

TRILLS HIS TUNE

THE VILLAGE SMITHY ~ By Absolutely*Kate

THE VILLAGE SMITHY

 

~ By Absolutely*Kate  

It was a new town. It was to be her town. The kind of town you just wanted to amble around. And so she did. From the Essex train station, she gathered her weathered valise and leather shoulder bag, sauntered up Broad and sashayed down Elm. She crossed Genesee to see what she could see and meandered her enthusiasm along the bends beckoned by winding round Juniper Lane  . . . which turned enchanting when its tour de force hit the high notes of ample brass fanfare upon the Village Green.  

 

Over hill and over dale, a resounding gazebo band was practicing star-spangled standards of Memorial Day renditions. The jostling chatter of townsfolk interjected here, there and everywhere, evoking Norman Rockwell with sound effects. The butcher and the baker were haggling over meat on the street. No doubt the candlestick maker in the shop where forest green canvas awnings were flapping could wax eloquent over town goings on. What a wide open view to pan the panorama!

 

And so she did, and from her vantage near the street light on the streetcorner named Desire, she saw him, the most evocative character to jar her peepers so far, in all the travels in all the towns -- and even a few gin joints she'd known. She spied him under the spreading chestnut tree. Yes, that was where the village smithy stood. An urge warmed her bold, an urge lunged her fearless. Instinct pummeled nerves, to speak out to him if she could. "Well, move feet,"  Liza admonished, setting her stroll from the sunny side of the street to where shady leafed branches bid wonder and she hoped . . . welcome.

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

in a small-town large state of mind 
  

Photo ala Wolfrage

TO BE CONTINUED

NEXT WEEKEND

ON THE VILLAGE GREEN

WHERE THE WHIPPORWILL

WARBLES STILL . . . 

... OR ...

Click here for Epic*sode 2 ~ "Need A Hoof Nipper?"