No. 61

Chas. In 1895 (The Rosewood)

Stewart King c/o

John C. Davant, Attorney

501 Cleveland St.

Clearwater Florida

December 9, 1939

Dear Stewart,

The day your uncles Charles pulled me out of that saloon, he and I were scrambling to get out of the building, but I was just getting dress in one of the Railway Postal Clerk uniforms. As soon as my boots were fitted, we took off, together, both slipping on that wet floor. He lifted me. Tossed me up. Grabbed my shoulders, insisting that I keep “Chin down,” he commanded, “Hands in pockets. Walk as a man.”

I slouched as best I could.

Just before we turned on the landing to descend the open stairs, I held onto the wood to keep my balance, and clinging to that wood, I felt a grounding, but of course, we were over that balcony above the lunch tables and piano, which were empty of life as I saw in a blur a fight scene on the porch kick up dust and the crowd gathered there. Then I remembered! And exclaimed, “Mother!”

I broke from Charles and reversed, dashing to the back of my employer’s bedroom, into his closet, where I slept on the floor, and reached under my bed roll for a holy theft, I clench my rosary...something that created a stirring of energy and fire I can almost feel today in recalling it, that burst of frantic prayer rushing into my ears, something in my throat, keeping me from breathing as one exhale might loosen a grip on turning to truth after years of lying.

I felt his hand on my back. Not soft. He took the waist of my new trousers and started dragging me. For a second I noted he might flip me onto a horse. He led me through the buckets, brooms, barrels, tables, and chairs, out the swinging doors, into the blinding sun, I could not find the enemy, but there we were flying right past my employer with both hands clenching his one hip backside, still holding onto that wet blanket, which is probably the one thing that kept him from swinging his fist during this entire time and vouchsafing my exit.

Just before my boss turned to go back into the saloon, I saw something fly in the air—his friend had launched a bag our way—Charles tossed that mail onto my shoulder, and held it in place to hide my face.

As soon as we got onto the postal car, I tried to take in air but the hot box had none to give. There the great shakes began all over my body. My knees in fits and I felt I would pass out.

Charles said, “Stay here. This car is restricted. You are safe here.”

He reached for a window and opened it.

Not until he opened one at the other end did my mind blow again with reason.

He placed me between two folding tables with mail pouches and insisted I remain quiet and not move one inch.

Now Stewart, over the years your mother taught me vocabulary, as you and your brothers also did, and it was this day I remembered when she instructed me on how one might use the word vouchsafe.

At the very moment he told me to freeze in place, I heard the rail car door open again and close. The other mail clerks, the ones who aided Charles in causing what I later learned was an innocent misunderstanding on the front porch, got into the car and began sorting mail as if nothing had happened.

But something did happen, which caused those unnamed railway postal clerks to risk their jobs, and who were now late, which caused them to be mad, which caused them to storm in their sorting, and the mail started flying. Like confetti, it was, believe me, and I began to laugh. They could not hear me for their business over the mails.

--Miss Minnie

2025 Copyright Christine Friesel