Dear Hank Williams by Kimberly Willis Holt Read Free Book Online Page A

butter in Rapides Parish to go in that dish.” If there was an entry for homemade butter at the Rapides Parish Fair, Ebby would win a blue ribbon. Ebby’s cow, Mrytis, gives the best milk. Last summer the Kizers invited us over to eat some blackberry ice cream they’d made from it. So when Ebby offered me butter made from Mrytis’s milk, I accepted wholeheartedly.
    Yesterday I decided I needed one more ingredient for my secret yam dish. I let Frog decide if it should be cinnamon or vanilla. Frog said a little of both would do the trick. He also said my dish should have a good name, like the title of a song. I settled on Secret Agent Yam Mash. It sounded like something a spy for Governor Earl K. Long would make. Frog agreed.
    You’re probably wondering how I’m going to attend the Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet when my daddy is all the way over in Paris, France, taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower. Well, Uncle Jolly, of course! He’s not my daddy, but he will do in a pinch.
    I can’t wait until all those folks at church ask me what my secret ingredient is.
    Your fan and creator of the Secret Agent Yam Mash,
    Tate P.

    PS—The night before the banquet, Aunt Patty Cake is going to roll my hair in rags. I’ll bet I’ll have more curls than Verbia.

 
    November 16, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    T HE OTHER DAY when I was rehearsing my song, I started wondering if you had a special lady. Then you go and sing with your missus. When they announced that Mrs. Hank Williams would be singing with you, it was as if you were reaching out of the radio to personally deliver my answer. After you finished that gospel duet, I said, “I’ll bet Mrs. Williams is real pretty.”
    Uncle Jolly said, “Of course she is. I can tell by her voice.” Uncle Jolly thinks if someone doesn’t sing good on the radio then they must be good-looking. (Just a reminder—Uncle Jolly is no expert on singing.)
    Do you have any children? If you do, is one of them a girl my age? If there was a Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet at your church, I’ll bet you would take her even if it was on the night of the Louisiana Hayride . I don’t know why, but I’m just certain you would. I feel as sure about that as Uncle Jolly feels sure about your wife being pretty. And if my daddy wasn’t all the way over in Paris, France, he’d be taking me too.
    Sure of a lot of things,
    Tate P.

    PS—I can’t wait to tell you what everyone thinks of my Secret Agent Yam Mash and my curls.

 
    November 20, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    W HY, OH WHY, did Dolores pick the day of the Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet to break up for good with Uncle Jolly?
    Apparently she went and fell in love with a fellow named Chester Fairfield from Oakdale. Rumor has it, Uncle Jolly found out the hard way. He caught them zipping around Glenmora in Chester’s new Chevrolet Fleetmaster. Now Uncle Jolly has the lovesick blues.
    I guess he found all that out a few hours before I started dressing for the Father and Daughter Potluck Banquet. I was ready thirty minutes early. My Secret Agent Yam Mash was in Aunt Patty Cake’s best bowl, wrapped with a warm towel. I was wearing my pink Sunday dress that Aunt Patty Cake bought for me at Penney’s in Alexandria. And when she untied the rags in my hair, the curls came out somewhat tighter than I’d preferred, like a bunch of skinny mattress springs glued to my scalp. I’m not complaining. If anyone asks me about them, I’ll just say it’s the newest look from Hollywood.
    Thirty minutes after the banquet was supposed to start, Aunt Patty Cake said, “We might as well eat. My mouth has been watering for that secret recipe of yours, Tate.” But I told her no, maybe Uncle Jolly was just running late.
    Frog and I settled on the porch steps. The moon was a great big buttermilk pie against the black sky. It stared down on me as if it was