The All-of-a-Kind Family series, written in the '50s, details the exploits of the five daughters (all-of-a-kind!) of a Jewish family on the Lower East Side of New York City in the early 1900's. It's actually a very nice series and a good way for gentile kids to learn about some aspects of Jewish life. However, Ms. Taylor may be expanding horizons in other, unexpected ways...
Papa was always glad when Charlie returned. It was not only because Charlie was Papa's right-hand man. There was something special between Papa and this tall fellow, a man-to-man something. Of course Papa loved his family, but sometimes he felt lonesome as the only man among six females. At such time there was always Charlie he could turn to for companionship.
The title of a later chapter, "A Family Outing", hints at how this situation might develop.
"Strange feller, probl'y onodem homaseckshuls" opined Jake, proprietor of Dusty's Tavern, spitting into the peanut shells on the floor. "He asked me for some weird kinda beer - rock'n'roll or something-like, and axed if he could tape me? He sez he studies dialectical speech or somtin. I told him to get lost and all we had was Budweiser like any man would drink."
Kix Dunkin nodded wisely. The town's only law enforcement, he wore his name proudly. "I kicked my momma in the womb, and that's why she named me Kix, and I'm gonna kick your butt now!" was his favorite (and frequently-recited) speech, aimed at the town's occasional lawbreaker, usually bored kids tipping cows. "Yeah, but he lives right at the foot of Widow's Peak, and look what happened to Sofie Mae's lil' sister! Something about them Strunks likes the weird ones."
At the First Reformed Evangelical Fundamentalist Mission Church, just
across the headwaters of Right Wing Creek, which also ran through the
stranger's property (and-during the spring floods-through the better part
of his humble abode which was why Floyd had sold out, that and the fact
that the revenuers were getting suspicious about his latest distilling
enterprise), the stranger's appearance did not escape notice either.
Husband and wife evangelical team, Flem and Flammie Flaker discussed the
matter among themselves.
"Whut iff'n he is probl'y onodem homaseckshuls like ever body claims?" said Flem. "I reckon the only right thing to do is run him outta town 'less he reforms and gits saved and shows good faith by makin' a substantial offerin' to the church."
"You probl'y right, Honey," said Flammie, who had long since learned that this was the only acceptable response to anything her husband said to her. Flammie, who had many years ago given up a lucrative career as a Mary Kay representative to marry Flem, had been immediately attracted to Bertie. Not only was he good-looking (he appeared to have all his own teeth and was clean-shaven), but he was from the big city (a state capital!) and, if the rumors of his homaseckshulality were true, he might be knowledgeable about the latest hairstyles and make-up techniques. Ever' body said that's what them homaseckshuls was interested in-hair and make-up. Plus,he was so cute - and if the rumors were indeed true - perhaps she could use her Christian feminine wiles to change his sexual preference, save his soul, and learn some hair and make-up tips while doin' the Lord's work. Why, she considered, she might even be the first female saint to be recognized by the First Reformed Evangelical Fundamentalist Mission Church, which would no doubt lead to her gettin' all kinds of offers to be on talk shows where she could announce her ambitions to be a country-western songwriter (she was already halfway through her first song, "I Found Salvation on my Knees at the Lonely Hearts Motel") So absorbed was she in these dreams that she barely heard Flem's announcement that he "wuz goin' up on Widow's Peak to see iff'n I kin git that pore chile Sofie Mae to come to church agin."
Thus, as Flem scaled the peak in the hopes of redeeming Sofie Mae's soul - or at least getting a glimpse of the resplendent bounty that the Lord had bestowed upon her, Flammie finished applying her third coat of mascara to her carefully curled lashes and coated her full sensuous lips with gloss in anticipation of the missionary position which she was about to assume.
While she and Elmer (unnoticed by her father) struggled quietly back into their clothes, Trixi couldn't help but feel blessed at her singular good luck in snaring Elmer as her steady boyfriend. Not only was he-the richest boy she knew!- merely distantly related to her, but he was also the quarterback and defensive lineman on the Widow's Peak High School "Fighting Arachnids" football team-noted for being the smallest team in the state. With only six team members, each boy had to play two-and sometimes three, if anyone got so severely injured as to not be able to finish the game- positions. While this contributed to Elmer's physical agility that carried over into other aspects of his life, it often left him so exhausted that he was unable to give Trixi the attention she felt she deserved. Lucky for her, last night's game had been forfeited by the Skunk Creek "Stinkers," who were unable to play because they had some kind of communicable disease, so the "Fighting Arachnids" devoted their attentions to celebrating their first victory in a way that was pretty much guaranteed to increase the population of Widow's Peak in approximately nine months.
Her reverie was cut short as her father, Kix Dunkin, suddenly slammed on the brakes at the entrance to Elmer's mother's prestigious doublewide that was placed precipitously upon a precipice part-way up the peak, the better for the residents of the lower part of the peak to admire Marvella Maypole's conspicuous wealth that she'd suddenly accumulated as a result of a shrewd life insurance investment on her possibly-late husband, Maynard, who'd vanished without a trace in the mysterious coal mine cave-in deep within the hidden recesses of Widow's Peak two years earlier. While Trixi wondered why her father had continued to twice-weekly (usually on a Wednesday and Saturday) investigate Maynard's disappearance, who was she to question his integrity? After all, didn't he have a certificate from a correspondence school in police science prominently displayed in the dining room? So what if he hadn't gotten around to investigating all the other disappearances yet? It wasn't like anyone had actually filed missing person complaints or anything. And wasn't he still broken-hearted from when Trixi's mother left him two years ago to run off to Wheeling and find herself by becoming a dental hygienist?
A quick grunt and the trough was righted and filled with slop, though her exertions and the sounds of her boots in the muck masked the sound of Flem's Pink Cadillac (Flammie gave him the first one to replace his 1975 Dodge Dart when she won the second, the one with the wet bar, but his frequent attempts at removing the Mary Kay symbol from the rear window had only succeeded in creating a large blind spot). However, his raspy cough behind her alerted her instantly. "This day is getting more addled than a blind frog in a henhouse." she sighed, "Flem Flaker, what the HELL do you want?"
"Afternoon, Miz Sofie Mae", Flem leered. "Lookin' mighty pretty today".
"Shut up, you horse's ass! I'm standing knee-deep in pig-plop!"
Flem coughed at the sinful word, but recovered. "I've come to bring you back into the fold, Sofie Mae - we-all miss ya at church an' all, and you'll find yourself doing the DEVIL'S work if you're not careful..."
Sofie Mae snorted as she watched Petunia finish the slop with a satisfied snort. "I ain't comin' back to that collection of lunatics you call parishioners ever! Not after what happened!"
Flem, having noticed Sofie Mae's laced blouse becoming undone with her exertions, decided to brave the inside of the pen. Opening the pen door, his voice dripping with syrup, he began his approach, "Now, Sofie Mae, you know that was not..."
Before Flem could finish, he found himself sailing through the air, propelled by an escaping hog. Making a two-point landing in dung with his backside, as Petunia made her move, he also found himself getting kicked by a furious Sofie Mae. "You goddamn fool!", she cried as she chased the hog out of the pen, taking a second to kick Flem once more on the way out. "Petunia, you bitch! Come back here!"
Flem had never seen a hog run that fast. As he squishily extricated himself from the muck, he was delighted as Sofie wheeled around, then stopped and reinserted her bosom into her blouse, lacing it up as she approached. "She's headed for Floyd's old place. I never seen a pig liked her house so much. C'mon, Flem, run me down there, you idiot."
Meanwhile, a mystified, but polite Bertie Lindenwood was serving cookies to a vibrantly-glossed Flammie Flaker.
Unpacking the provisions from his sled, he shouldered them in one large pack and began trudging through the snow, muttering to himself. "If I don't get this serum back to the sawmill, Leon will die of frostbite malaria. And I'll be all alone..."
Meanwhile, back at the sawmill, Leon chuckled to himself about how gullible
Mandrake really was. Frostbite malaria indeeed! He couldn't believe
Mandrake really bought it. Finally, finally, Leon was able to have some
peace and quiet without Mandrake's insufferable whiney voice continually
bragging about how what a great Artic
logger/ musher/ explorer/ cabin-builder and hero-in-general he was! And those
yapping huskies! Thank goodness they were gone, too. Leon, still smiling,
tossed a log on the already-roaring fire, put his feet up, and sipped his
cup of cocoa.
Alone at last, Leon reflected back over the events of the last two months-how an especially large log had careened out of the flume and struck the bank, revealing a vein of gold. How Mandrake, so intent on showing off his rippling muscles while singled-handly maneuvering the log back onto its course and simultaneously fighting off an enraged grizzly never even noticed the gold. How Leon himself began hatching a plot to rid himself of the annoying braggart while becoming wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Of course, there were a few kinks to work out. Getting the gold out was one. The supply plane from Fairbanks wasn't due for another two months. And the weather in the Artic at this time of the year could turn especially nasty without a warning. "Oh well," Leon, said to himself, startled that his voice broke the silence, "I'll think about it tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day."
