Posted February 15, 2022 ~*~ Maude Potee

Maude Potee made her way along the boardwalk, then took a left turn into the dusty alley between the Star Dust and the grain & feed store. She lifted the hem of her properly dark and dour dress.

Oh God, she thought. What if a Church member saw her?

It was hot and the smell of horses and manure radiated upward from the dirt, but she made it to the back door of the saloon without upchucking. She sniffed and the scent of urine struck her as she passed were saloon patrons relieved themselves when the outhouses were either not functioning or occupied. There was a block of wood against the back wall of the saloon where people could step up and be able to enter through the door which was about two feet off the ground.

She knocked tentatively.

"Oh just come in, Mrs Potee, you don't have to knock none!"

Maude issued a thankful prayer. Thank the Lord it's Annabell ... er ... Andrea?

"I got the kettle on, don't mind me if I sit'n peel these spuds. Say, do you want some warmed through corn pone 'n' chitlins? There's only me and Mammy Cookie'll eat it, rest of these yankees here don't understand it." she rattled on, bringing over a bowl of water, a sharp knife and a sack of potatoes.

"Thank you, my dear," Maude said as she pulled a wooden chair from the table and sat down on it. "This heat can be so cruel! Especially to women who must stay modestly dressed." She fanned herself with her hand. "Oh, and thank you, no. I have no appetite today but I'll take some water if there is any to be had."

The young woman began whittling away on the potatoes like butcher attacks a side of beef. At least that was Maude's opinion.

"Hey, this looks muddier than Mister Potee!" Arabella began.

Maude put her hand to her forehead as if pained. "How nice of you to observe," she managed, before the girl spouted more.

"... how come he's in here anyhow, Mrs P? He don't normally come in here much, and I ain't just sayin' that because that's what we always tell fellers' wives, cause he really doesn't!" she put the knife and half-peeled tuber down on the table, put one hand on her heart and the other up in front of her, like she was taking the oath in court. "May my Mother burn in Hell if I tell a lie!"

"The Lord is all merciful, my dear," Maude replied, comfortable in the topic. "All we must do is confess our sins, and the way will be opened to us." She fanned some more. "I'm afraid that Mr. Potee (she never referred to him as Horace when not with blood family) has been bitten by the gambling bug. I tried everything to dissuade him, but alas. It is the ruination of many a good man. That, and demon liquor. Honestly, they should close every distillery in the Country."

Her trembling fingers went to her mouth. "I do hope he will be all right."

Posted February 18, 2022 ~*~ Maude Potee

Arabella chatted endlessly. Curiously, it was not annoying to Maude. It gave her a chance to calm down and square away her feeling about her headstrong husband who was about to gamble away what little money they had. He was just there, beyond the kitchen. Who knew? Perhaps he'd already fallen victim to cardsharps. It was all too horrible.

The girl prattled on about the heat of Virginia AND the cold of Virginia. Her biographical sketches were jaw-dropping,.

"Oh this heat ain't nuthin compared to Virginia!" Arabella had to go one better. "Mind'ya, when I lived there, we didn't have too many clothes betwixt us all, so that kept things cool. An' anyhow, since I got buried in all that snow before Christmas, I ain't felt properly warm since. Always cold as the grave!" she wittered on.

"How horrible for you!" exclaimed Mrs. Potee. Talk of graves tended, though, to make her even more righteously resolute. "But we have nothing to fear, do we, Dear?"

When Arabella handed her a glass of water, she said, "Water Bright is my One delight!"

"How lovely!" Maude said, complimenting the girl's sentiments. "It always reminds me of God's instruction to Moses, in Exodus, "Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb; and you shall strike the rock, and water will come out of it, that the people may drink.”"

Maude stopped her sermon, raised the glass and drank fully. It was sweet and cold, and she offered up a prayer of thanks.

It was impossible for Maude not to share her worries about her husband Horace, though she worried that informing the girl of their disagreements bordered on gossiping. But she made it plain that gambling and drinking liquor was sinful.

"Oh, I just don't bother sinning in the first place!" Arabella interjected, but it seemed that Maude wanted to get something off her chest.

She fanned some more. "I'm afraid that Mr. Potee (she never referred to him as Horace when not with blood family) has been bitten by the gambling bug. I tried everything to dissuade him, but alas. It is the ruination of many a good man. That, and demon liquor. Honestly, they should close every distillery in the Country."

Arabella gasped "OH NO! Not gambling?! Oh, Mrs P. that's the worst thing. All the card games round here are fixed! The fellers got so many Aces stuffed up their sleeves they can't bend their arms, and whenever one sneezes a Royal Flush drops out their trouser leg! I had a friendly game of Happy Families with Mr Crabbe the other day and he'd got Mrs Bun the Baker's Wife shoved down the front of his trousers! I mean, you wouldn't wanna eat her loaves after where she's been a hidin'!" she declared.

Maude held her hand to her mouth and giggled. The girl was a delight... but still, her thoughts went back to Horace. Her trembling fingers went to her mouth. "I do hope he will be all right."

"Yeah, well... sometimes hope ain't enough. We should pray!" Mrs Potee's fellow church-going nut proposed, and Arabella put down the potato and knife and clambered onto her knees on the kitchen floor, closed her eyes and clasped her hands.

"Oh Lord God in Heaven and your son Jesus Christ the Lord! Hear the prayer of your two wretched daughters, Maude Potee and Arabella Sumter Mudd. Yes, it's me again. We beg your help, Oh Lord to save a wretched sinner, Mr Potee, whose first name I don't know, but you do cause you know everything. Anyhow, he is in an awful fix, he has fallen by the wayside, he has obeyed the wrong command, in short, he's took to drink and gambling. Please, please, please God, stop him doin' these awful things, that he may return to the bosoms of his wife and little girl, an' I don't mean them kind of bosoms, and I lost my train of thought there but please, please God, at least make them card sharps fumble up their nasty tricks, like Mr Carbbe did, when Mrs Bun gave him that there paper cut. Erm..." she opened one eye and looked at Mrs Potee:

"You got anything you wanna add, while he's listening?"

Maude had been sitting with eyes shut, her elbow on the table, and her hand held against her forehead. At the invitation, she opened her eyes and made sure they were still alone. One never knew; there was an occasional whoop or hollering from beyond the kitchen.

"Dear Lord in Heaven, from who all mercies flow. We pray that you keep watch over your far flung flock -- even out here in Kalispell where every sin is at liberty to flourish. Please help us stay on the straight and narrow, even your servant Horace Potee. We fight the temptation of gambling and bowing to King Liquor, for we all know that no King rules here save Jesus Christ."

When Maude opened her eyes, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Posted February 20, 2022 ~*~ Maude Potee

"Oh, don't cry, Mrs P.!" consoled Arabella, once she'd opened her eyes too and taken a gander at the salty streams running down Maude's sallow cheeks. She put her arm around her and gave her a little hug before helping her back to her feet and sitting her on the dining room chair.

Maude was never embarrassed by her displays of emotion; They came from the a heart devoted to her God.

"Thank you, m'Dear," she managed to say before sitting solidly in her chair. "Oh this heat is almost unbearable," she added, again fanning her face with her hand.

"That was a 'double header' - if the Good Lord didn't hear that prayer, why, he must be going as deaf as Aunt Sal in his old age! Still, you gotta make allowances, I mean, it's nearly six thousand years since He first created the Earth, that's a long time to be stickin' around for listenin' to us sinners prayin' and a wailin'. But he'll stir his sticks and help us eventually." she tried to comfort the poor woman.

"He helps us all, and what is time to He who created it?" Maude always had a rejoinder when talk moved to the spiritual.

"Mebee we could sing a hymn to help things along: what's your favourite, Mrs P.?" she asked, starting to peel the potatoes again, slicing lustily into the one that was supposed to look like Mr. Potee with all the visceral frenzy of a girlish Jack the Ripper.

"Oh there are so many, .. er ... Anabella? One of my favorites is Bringing In the Sheaves. Oh, and I also like A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." Her hand went swiftly to her bosom. "Can I please beg you for a touch more water?"

Maude's eyes scanned the kitchen and took in all the details; a barrel of flour with the top set aside, onions and sprigs of rosemary and tarragon hanging from hooks high up on the wall, and a broom leaning against a counter. Its bristles so bent, thin and worn that did look to Maude as though it couldn't sweep anything very effectively. There was a large steaming kettle on a wood stove. These made the heat near tropical, and quite foreign to Maude Potee, a child of the West.

"I haven't seen you in church, lately, Dear," Maude said. There was no hint of disapproval in her tone, just a statement of fact. "I suppose they keep you quite busy here. Don't they?"