- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Commercial & Creative Writing
Son Of Hubber : A New Chapter
Honor Among Thieves? Yeah Right!
It is a perfect time to try out the new Stellar Hub Template I suppose. I’m not even to go into what the word “stellar” means either. It should be entertaining to fool around with the template this time around, so I’ll just let my imagination flow.
I’m telling you one thing though, I’m still angry about HP putting their “Related Search” ads on my hubs during the time my codes are displayed. I charge that they are compromising the agreement they made with us by doing so. I cry foul!
Look out for more of their tricks to get around keeping their word and you won't be disappointed. It can only get worse instead of better since they've apparently gotten away with it. They will surely see this as an encouragement to do even more draining away of our earnings. Count on it.
Son Of A Batch
Greetings Hubsters. Once again it is time to create another place to vent and complain, as well as, visit friends, poke fun at other people and ourselves, and of course, solve the problems of the world.
Once again I’m going to place this hub under the Creative Writing classification to help ease it through the so-called QAP. But bear in mind the word “quality” doesn’t mean the same thing on HP as it does everywhere else.
In fact, the word "quality" is very subjective on HubPages with apparently only those on HP staff using the word to describe what they desire as a hub.
No, they are fooling no one except those who don't know any better. And really, these are the sort of people HubPages wants right now. It is what it is.
The Town Common
There wasn’t much a 14 year old boy could do for entertainment in the small town of Clear Springs Georgia in the summer of 1921. The dusty red clay streets and almost deserted stores made the rural hamlet seem like a ghost town during the noon hours.
I--I being Dickey Cross--was dozing in the shade of the awning which graced the front of my grandfather’s grocery store. When I heard the sound of an approaching wagon, I quickly awoke to the sight of an old caravan style wagon pulled by 4 beautiful horses.
The two lead horses were pure white in color with the two hindmost creatures being as dark as ebony. The wagon itself was painted a bright green color, with yellow spoked wheels to complete the color scheme.But all this paled in significance to the driver of this remarkable assemblage.
A beautiful, dark haired lady wearing a burgundy dress held the reins, controlling the great beasts with hardly a struggle. Her wonderfully dark eyes looked in my direction, sending a thrill through my soul. Her smile made me blush, even before I returned my own expression of delight.
Consulting With The Gypsy
“Vere is ze town common?” she asked in a foreign--but still enticing--accent. I stammered a bit until I finally pointed to a vacant lot on the edge of town. Clear Springs didn’t actually possess a town common, but we used the vacant lot for various revivals and medicine shows which occasionally passed through. “Right down yonder, thuh other side o’ the barber shop, Ma’am,” I managed to say through my grin.
I couldn’t tear my eyes from her face with her olive complexion contrasting with the large gold hoops adorning her ears, moving as she tilted her head, as did the long dark curls framing her perfect face. The red of her full lips, the white of her teeth when she smiled, made my heart hurt. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen in my rather limited time on this earth.
I didn’t notice the sign painted on the wagon until she drove away. SISTER DAGMAR the sign read, and beneath it in smaller letters, FORTUNES TOLD. Of course there was a representation of an open palm rendered faithfully in pink beside the words, there always is.
Dagmar set up her wagon, staying 5 days and then moving on to the next town. I believe every adult female visited her during that time, along with a few men folk too, if the truth be known.
There was always a short line of ladies waiting for their turn to have their fortune told, or to ask for advice from the mysterious beauty. They invariably came out of the wagon with a smile on their faces, with their heads held high, and seemingly happy with themselves all at once. Yes, the Clear Springs town common had quite a spate of business that summer.
Brother Rhymes'Tent Revival
The Faith Of Man..er..Woman
Two weeks later a tent revival was set up on the vacant lot--or town common, as we now referred to it--and it was an overwhelming success as far as saving souls was concerned. Brother Rhymes--the revival preacher and owner of the huge tent--seemed to know everyone and their problems, just as if he’d lived in Clear Springs himself.
It was his first time entering the small burg though, causing quite a stir among the religious and heathen alike in Clear Springs. He was a very handsome and charismatic man, was Brother Rhymes, with some suggesting it was this effect which caused so many members of the town’s gentler sex to reaffirm their faith in the almighty. He wore his hair long, to his shoulders it was. Dark as a raven's wing, it shimmered under the lantern lights as he strode the wooden stage, looking intently into the congregation's eyes as he preached his message of sin and redemption.
It did seem as if most of the men folk weren’t affected by the preacher quite as much, furthering the rumor around town about Rev. Rhymes' power over the fairer sex. When the tent revival finally left after two weeks of saving souls, Brother Rhymes was richer in spirit and pocketbook too, as the collection plates yielded up a bonanza for the pious reverend. Clear Springs would never experience such a forthcoming of religious fervor for decades to come. Some thought that was a good thing. My father and I were among them.
It'll All Come Out In The Wash!
One reason he thought as he did was because a few years later I went with Pa to Macon to visit some relatives, and to conduct some business at the same time. We were eating at the hotel when a couple came strolling through the door and was seated at a nearby table.
Pa suddenly started chuckling softly and was obviously trying not to burst out in uncontrolled laughter, not completely accomplishing his intention, but he covered up as best he could.
Yes, it was the gypsy and the preacher sitting there, and without the disguises they once wore when on the circuit. There was no mistaking those dark eyes, those red lips, the gentle laugh the former palmist exhibited for all to admire.
The former preacher too looked the same, even without his somber wardrobe worn during his short visit with us further south. His former long dark hair was now trimmed neatly, a slim mustache made him even more charming than when he played the part of the preacher. They smiled and laughed together easily, as if life was simply a game to be played. And I suppose for them, it really was.
No, neither Dad or I ever told anyone back home about seeing them. The gypsy was sent into town early to gather info the faux-reverend would later use to manipulate the church folk into giving up their coins. Her talks with the town ladies revealed much her partner-in-crime could use to convince them of his personal favor with God. You had to admire them for their gall.
Pa said, “No need to ruin everyone’s feelings of joy, not even the handsome couple who was the cause of it.” Pa was always right about such stuff, so I readily agreed to keep their secret. Besides, Mamma would've worried herself sick about it.