Short Stories by Alex Whitson

North American First Serial Rights
In Search Of Tall Dark Strangers


To young girls growing up in the country, marriage was always a particular concern. In our area, when an unmarried girl reached the age of twenty-one. she was classified as an old maid. Due to limited mobility and few opportunities to meet young men from other areas of the country, girls usually married within their limited community. Some girls, more romantically inclined, yearned for a wider choice--dreaming of tall dark strangers.

Of course, as a lad of seven, I was unconcerned about female fancies, but their attempts to satisfy their insatiable curiosity about their future husbands, did offer some interesting diversions.

Their were certain rituals practiced that was supposed to reveal to a young girl what her future husband would look like. These rituals stemmed mostly from the black sharecroppers. But for girls desperate to know, these rituals and their magic potions added excitement to the mystery.

One particular ritual called for placing a large drinking glass filled with water on top of the family Bible with a mirror behind it. A large needle was dropped point down into the water. When the would-be bride stared at the needle long enough, by some magic process and a stretch of the imagination, the needle would undergo a metamorphism; that is, to perceptibly materialize into the figure of the future groom.

Another method of provoking an image of a future husband was based on the old adage that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. My sisters and their friends tried it once. They chose a Saturday when my father and mother had gone to town for the day. I thought there was something funny going on when I saw my sister, Alice, reading to the younger children under a tree. When I asked her what was going on, she put her finger to her lips.

"They're telling their fortunes," she motioned toward the house.

"How'er they doing that?" I wanted to know.

"They're cooking a meal for their future husbands and don't you make any noise. Now go and play someplace else and don't you dare go near the house," she added.

My friend Robert and I wandered off toward the barn. He was younger than I and still in the impressive stage.

"You think it'll really happen...I mean, do you think they will come?"

"I don't know. I've never seen this kind of fortune telling before."

As we neared the barn, I had a sudden inspiration.

"Hey! Let's have a little fun!"

We picked up some old chains and a old lard bucket that was lying around and sneaked back toward the house, creeping and crawling like Indians intent on a Massacre. The back of the house sat on a rise and was supported by large rock pillars at each corner. Underneath, in the soft dirt and leaves were we buried apples in the fall, we held our council of war. We first had to do some scouting. I sneaked outside and peeped in the dining room window. What I saw still makes my stomach churn.

On the table was mother's best white tablecloth and on that damask rectangle of whiteness was the most succulent banquet I have ever seen. Talk about fancy dinners, there was even flowers and brass candlesticks. The sight of all that food made my mouth water. The girls sat staring at the extra plates like zombies. I don't think they would have noticed me if I had walked right into the room. It was downright scary. What bothered me the most though, was all that food going to waste. It was after my lunchtime and the sight of all that food made my stomach growl.

I really hated to spoil their little party but there comes a time when eating becomes more important than future brother-in-laws. I crawled back under the house and we made ready to perform our dastardly deed. I counted: "One...two...THREE!" We rattled the chains, and beat on the lard can and yelled at the top of our lungs. It was a terrific racket. There were terrified screams overhead and the sound of pounding feet running pell-mell toward the back door. Robert was rolling in the dirt laughing but I headed straight for the table full of food. In one bound I was in the room tearing off chicken legs, grabbing hot biscuits, sticking pickles in my pocket and a piece of ham in my mouth. I didn't forget Robert. I made him a mound of food on one of the cloth napkins and topped it off with a piece of chocolate cake. We ate in the hay loft, grinning at each other. It was a feast! I'll say this about fortune telling, they sure bring out cooking skills.

We never get called to lunch but we didn't mind. After a restful snooze, we went down to the old beaver dam. When my oldest sister got married, I meant to ask her husband why he didn't show up for dinner that day but I always forgot.

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