Flowers for a Lady

The fog began to lift just before noon and as Westport slowly began to come into view, the sun began to shine on the water and a rainbow appeared high in the sky. The ferry slip and the church spire were visible and soon all the brightly painted little houses could be seen. The fog seemed to melt away and the fishing boats appeared, rocking and bobbing on the tide. Gulls were flying over head again and in a matter of minutes the entire island could be seen across the mile wide passage.

Earlier that morning the fog had been so thick that we couldn't see the road from the sunporch and Nana had been grumbling about not being able to hang the wash. Now, I could hear her humming as she hauled the old wringer washer to the kitchen sink and began to fill it with water. My brothers were playing cards in the corner, a vicious sounding game of spades, and I was in Nana's window chair with an illustrated copy of "The Waterbabies" in my lap. My mother was changing beds in the upstairs and I could hear her randomly cursing the bed corners and the linens and chasing the dogs off the bedclothes with impatient stamps of her feet. Willie Foote arrived at the sideporch door unseen and began pounding on the door with one untied, muddy boot - my book fell to the floor, the cards went flying into the air in all directions, and the dogs descended the stairs in a rush of tumbling and hysterical barking. Willie began hopping up and down on one foot, delighted with all the commotion he had unwittingly caused, wildly waving his arm and tearing at his splotchy brown and green hair. He wore overalls with straps held in place by oversized safety pins and no shirt beneath - several buttons were missing down the sides and we could see the side of one bare leg, painted in yellow and green stripes. What appeared to be several stalks of broccoli protruded from the top of his overalls and a headless hammer dangled from a loop at his waist. When my grandmother appeared, he gave her an expansive but toothless grin and continued his mad dance until she had opened the door. Hello, Willie, she told him, What is it you want? He carefully withdrew a stalk of broccoli, wiped it off on the overalls, blew on it gently and gestured for her hand. When she extended it, he delicately laid the broccoli across her palm and closed her fingers around it. She hesitated for a second or two, then smiled and said Thank you, Willie. He gave her a sweeping bow, blew her a kiss, and danced off down the front path, still waving the one boot over his head and not turning back until he reached the road where he stopped, spun around and let loose the boot which went flying over the guardrail in a high arc, darkly silouhetted against the brilliant sky and then falling into the sea. Willie gave a delighted shout and followed with his other boot. Barefoot, in tattered clothes and with his odd hair reflecting the sun, he made his way down the ditch, high stepping, splashing in the muddy water, collecting weeds for his next bouquet.

Willie's song and dance world was a patchwork of colors, madness, and flowers for the ladies.