Read Online The Search for Belle Prater by Ruth White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth White
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toothless man must have stayed on in Bluefield with his sister, Tulip.
There were also some newcomers, including two pretty ladies we knew as Tootsie and Ruby, who lived in Coal Station, and a young man named Chester.
Again Woodrow and I grabbed the wide seat at the end of the bus, and once we were on the road, Cassie joined us. There was a strong smell of fumes from the fuel of that old black-and-white bus, but right then it felt and smelled like home. It was warm and cozy in there ’cause it had a real good heater, while outside freezing rain was falling.
It was pitch black by the time the bus pulled out of the Bluefield terminal heading toward Deep Vale, and we were too give out to talk. Besides, there seemed nothing left to say.
Then, right on the outskirts of town, we saw some people huddled beside the road in the headlights, flagging the bus, and we came to life.
“They got git -tars!” Woodrow cried out. “And fiddles!”
“Oh, goody!” Cassie said. “It’s the Bluegrass Blues!”
She hurried up front to welcome the musicians aboard, collect their fares, and guide them to the seats right in front of ours. There was a man and three women, which was not your ordinary bluegrass band. They were usually all men. Pap turned on the inside lights in the bus while Cassie helped the musicians store their instruments in the rack over the seats.
“What are they doing out’cheer on a night like this?” Woodrow said to Cassie when she returned to us.
“It’s Saturday, and they’re going to Deep Vale to play at a honky-tonk,” she whispered. “We’ll let them rest and warm up a bit. Then we’ll ask them to play us some music. They’re always glad to oblige.”
Woodrow and I were squirming with excitement.
Pap had left the lights on, probably because he knew what was coming. Sure enough, about ten minutes later
the one man in the band peeped around the side of his seat and said to Cassie, “Well, okay, my gal, I’ll wager you wanna hear a tune, don’tcha?”
“I do!” Cassie said. “I wanna hear a tune, Billy Blue!”
Billy was a short, friendly, almost bald-headed feller with a bushy beard, and he had crinkly blue eyes that laughed when he talked. He looked for all the world like the cowboy Gabby Hayes.
“Will you read my palm for me?” Billy said to Cassie.
“I will for shore!” she said. “I wanna hear ‘In the Pines.’”
“All right, then!” I heard a woman’s voice there beside Billy. “Toss down my mandolin, honey chile, and hand me my rum, Billy Blue.”
“Your rum?” Billy said. “Now, Bonnie Blue, didn’t you promise me you’d never drink another drop?”
“Heck no, Billy! I promised never to drop another drink! So hand it to me careful.”
We laughed louder and longer than the joke was worth, ’cause we knew it was only part of their act, and Bonnie was not really going to drink rum.
The other two Blues women, who were introduced as Nancy Lou Blue and Nancy Too Blue, got up in the aisle to retrieve their instruments. There was no telling how old anybody was in this group. They all had on bright
colors, lots of fringe, rhinestones, and cowboy boots and hats. I suspected the women were wearing wigs, ’cause nobody could naturally have that much blond hair.
Bonnie Blue said to Cassie, “Who you got there wid’ja?”
“This is Gypsy and Woodrow,” Cassie introduced us.
We said hey, then Cassie said to us, “Let’s give the band our seat so they can spread out and have room for all their stuff.”
It was agreed, and with much bustle and jostling, we changed places with Billy and Bonnie. The two Nancys joined them.
Billy played the guitar, Bonnie the mandolin, Nancy Lou the banjo, and Nancy Too the fiddle. They were fooling around with the strings to get tuned up, and I settled between Woodrow and Cassie. The three of us were on our knees looking back.
“Are they all in the same family?” I asked Cassie.
“Naw, they’re not even related,” Cassie
There were also some newcomers, including two pretty ladies we knew as Tootsie and Ruby, who lived in Coal Station, and a young man named Chester.
Again Woodrow and I grabbed the wide seat at the end of the bus, and once we were on the road, Cassie joined us. There was a strong smell of fumes from the fuel of that old black-and-white bus, but right then it felt and smelled like home. It was warm and cozy in there ’cause it had a real good heater, while outside freezing rain was falling.
It was pitch black by the time the bus pulled out of the Bluefield terminal heading toward Deep Vale, and we were too give out to talk. Besides, there seemed nothing left to say.
Then, right on the outskirts of town, we saw some people huddled beside the road in the headlights, flagging the bus, and we came to life.
“They got git -tars!” Woodrow cried out. “And fiddles!”
“Oh, goody!” Cassie said. “It’s the Bluegrass Blues!”
She hurried up front to welcome the musicians aboard, collect their fares, and guide them to the seats right in front of ours. There was a man and three women, which was not your ordinary bluegrass band. They were usually all men. Pap turned on the inside lights in the bus while Cassie helped the musicians store their instruments in the rack over the seats.
“What are they doing out’cheer on a night like this?” Woodrow said to Cassie when she returned to us.
“It’s Saturday, and they’re going to Deep Vale to play at a honky-tonk,” she whispered. “We’ll let them rest and warm up a bit. Then we’ll ask them to play us some music. They’re always glad to oblige.”
Woodrow and I were squirming with excitement.
Pap had left the lights on, probably because he knew what was coming. Sure enough, about ten minutes later
the one man in the band peeped around the side of his seat and said to Cassie, “Well, okay, my gal, I’ll wager you wanna hear a tune, don’tcha?”
“I do!” Cassie said. “I wanna hear a tune, Billy Blue!”
Billy was a short, friendly, almost bald-headed feller with a bushy beard, and he had crinkly blue eyes that laughed when he talked. He looked for all the world like the cowboy Gabby Hayes.
“Will you read my palm for me?” Billy said to Cassie.
“I will for shore!” she said. “I wanna hear ‘In the Pines.’”
“All right, then!” I heard a woman’s voice there beside Billy. “Toss down my mandolin, honey chile, and hand me my rum, Billy Blue.”
“Your rum?” Billy said. “Now, Bonnie Blue, didn’t you promise me you’d never drink another drop?”
“Heck no, Billy! I promised never to drop another drink! So hand it to me careful.”
We laughed louder and longer than the joke was worth, ’cause we knew it was only part of their act, and Bonnie was not really going to drink rum.
The other two Blues women, who were introduced as Nancy Lou Blue and Nancy Too Blue, got up in the aisle to retrieve their instruments. There was no telling how old anybody was in this group. They all had on bright
colors, lots of fringe, rhinestones, and cowboy boots and hats. I suspected the women were wearing wigs, ’cause nobody could naturally have that much blond hair.
Bonnie Blue said to Cassie, “Who you got there wid’ja?”
“This is Gypsy and Woodrow,” Cassie introduced us.
We said hey, then Cassie said to us, “Let’s give the band our seat so they can spread out and have room for all their stuff.”
It was agreed, and with much bustle and jostling, we changed places with Billy and Bonnie. The two Nancys joined them.
Billy played the guitar, Bonnie the mandolin, Nancy Lou the banjo, and Nancy Too the fiddle. They were fooling around with the strings to get tuned up, and I settled between Woodrow and Cassie. The three of us were on our knees looking back.
“Are they all in the same family?” I asked Cassie.
“Naw, they’re not even related,” Cassie
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