The Rockin' Chair Read Online Free PDF

McCarthys it was home.
    Life rolled along as usual until the old man realized he could not compete with the larger ranches in the area. They eventually traded in driving cattle and breaking broncs for milking cows.
    When it seemed there was nothing more to life than dairy farming, John was saved by the bell, a church bell of all things. The pastor, a man who loved to watch the pretty girls just as well as offer a heartfelt sermon, called for a square dance. All the girls in the county were going to be there. At sixteen years old, John wasn’t about to let the pastor have them all.
    It was a perfect night, as John recalled, a warm spring night filled with the smell of honeysuckle and the song of crickets. Duded up in clothes that didn’t need mending, he showed up stained with an hour’s walk of sweat.
    From the door, he could see that the barn had been cleaned up pretty good. There weren’t many older folks there, except the boys in the band and the pastor who, of course, was smiling from ear to ear. After taking a belt from the half-empty Mason jar being passed around, John matted down his mop of blond hair and went in. In no time, the moonshine was kicking in, giving him the courage to ask the hand of the prettiest girl.
    He searched the crowd and eyed her sitting in the corner. For a second, the sight stole his breath away. She’s beautiful in her peach polka dot dress , he thought. A closer look made his mouth go dry. She had high cheekbones, jet-black hair and eyes as black as coal, with equal amounts of the devil and heaven shining through. He couldn’t remember asking, but at some point they were on the floor—twirling, laughing and dancing in each other’s eyes. Through the clamor of dueling banjos, he learned that her name was Alice; the daughter of a drunken French trapper who’d left her and her mother as outcasts in their Sioux tribe.
    Under a magical moon—and after tripping over the roots of a weeping willow tree—a beautiful courtship began on that very night.
    John and Alice waited for the end of the autumn harvest before exchanging vows in the same white church that had witnessed their every stolen kiss. With chores that needed finishing, John showed up late, his suit disheveled from the frantic trip. As he ran for the altar, he vowed, I’ll never enter the Lord’s house again without wearin’ my best. And he never did. His young bride, however, was waiting patiently and never once complained about his tardiness. She smelled of lilac and beamed with love. The ring—a last-minute gift from John’s mother’s own hand—fit her finger perfectly. The sullen pastor, who was forced to witness another beauty get away, made the nuptials quick. Their kiss, in fact, lasted twice as long as the ceremony. But it didn’t matter. They were finally hitched and John had taken the hand of the woman he not only loved, but also needed. Even at seventeen years old, he knew the difference.
    After a brief honeymoon in the barn, they went right back to work—and they worked hard all week. As a reward, each Friday night they kicked up their heels down at the Grange Hall and wore out the linoleum floor with the Texas two-step or the Tennessee waltz—with John preferring the latter. God, how I loved dancin’ with Alice. She giggled like a child in his arms, while her body moved with his like water over rock. When they got home, they’d slip out of their proper dress. The dancing continued horizontally under the sheets—both of them completely comfortable and unashamed of each other’s moves. They became such good dance partners, in fact, that Alice awoke one morning with a surprise announcement. “John McCarthy, you’re gonna be a pa.”
    Those nine months whipped by and before he knew it, John was sitting in a hospital waiting room feeling like a cowboy at the opera. What a terrible place , he thought. The strong scent of