Dear Hank Williams Read Online Free PDF

skin—dark as a cup of Community Coffee—so she wouldn’t be a candidate for the Devine Dream Dust Powder, but I think the Siren Red lipstick would be perfect on her. I told her that too. Constance said she might give it a try. Aunt Patty Cake told her she’d give her a tube if she wanted. She appreciates Constance’s big orders.
    Today Constance brought her daughter, Zion, with her. She looked like she was ready for church, wearing a yellow dress and about a dozen tiny yellow bows in her black braids. Zion is eight, like Frog. But do you think he would stick around and play with her? Of course not. That meant I had to entertain her. While Aunt Patty Cake took Constance’s order, I asked Zion, “Do you want to listen to me take my voice lessons?”
    She nodded and followed me over to the magnolia tree. I was glad the tree was far enough away from the house that Aunt Patty Cake couldn’t hear. I wasn’t ready to tell her about my plans to sing at the talent contest.
    Zion settled on the ground, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.
    All of a sudden I felt shy.
    This was not like singing in front of Frog. This was someone I hardly knew. Did you feel that way when you sang on the Louisiana Hayride for the first time?
    I took in a big breath, and then I started singing “Wildwood Flower.” Zion sat there, not moving or smiling or frowning. I couldn’t tell what the heck she thought of my talent. When I finished, she didn’t clap or say a word.
    â€œWell?” I said. “What did you think?”
    â€œDid that song make your insides quiver?” she asked.
    I told her, of course not. I wasn’t a bit nervous.
    â€œThat’s what I figured,” she said. “You ain’t singing from your heart.”
    â€œWhat do you know?”
    â€œMy daddy say when you really care about your singing, your insides quiver like there be butterflies flying around in your belly. My daddy knows. He be a good singer.”
    My cheeks burned. “Well, Frog likes my singing,” I said.
    â€œFrog?” She acted like she’d never heard of him. And I know she knows him. She’d been over here with her momma when I was practicing my piano lessons at Mrs. Applebud’s.
    â€œMy little brother, Frog, remember him? He likes my singing just fine.”
    Her eyes grew wide. “You sing for Frog?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “He’d be here this very minute, but he ran off when he saw the likes of you.”
    Then Zion’s momma called out to her. She looked relieved to leave my voice lessons. No wonder Frog took off.
    Singing from my heart (always!),
    Tate P.

    PS—I’m curious. Do your insides quiver when you sing on the Louisiana Hayride ?

 
    October 1, 1948
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    I GOT TWO ENVELOPES in the mail today. The first had another autographed picture of you. I don’t know why you sent me a second photograph, but I sure do thank you just the same. If you don’t mind, I’ll send this picture to my momma, which brings me to the second envelope. I received a nice long letter from her. And oh, you should hear the things she’s doing. She is very tired because it’s hard to be a celebrity.
    For instance, Momma begins her day before the sun comes up so she can exercise. (Actresses have to keep their slender figures.) She can’t tell me about the movie yet because she’s under contract to not talk about it. The movie people are worried folks would leak all the exciting parts. Then nobody would stand in line and pay for a ticket and a box of popcorn. They’re probably right. If I told only one person and asked them to promise and keep a cross-their-heart-and-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-their-eye secret, they probably wouldn’t. Then they’d blab and blab so much about the movie, half of Louisiana would catch wind of it. And if Verbia Calhoon ever heard, Lord help us. If