Morning Glory Read Free Page A

back and forced him through the screen door,
sprawling him out on the sidewalk flat on his stomach.
    Before he could draw breath into his lungs, the dis agreeing men stumbled out over him like he was no
more than a doormat. Yelling profanities. Pushing.
Finally doubling up their fists and pounding at each
other. Rolling around in the dusty street like they
enjoyed it. He raised his head in time to see one of the
ladies who'd been on the bench. She wasn't two feet
from him and the look on her face showed pure disgust.

    She stuck her nose in the air as if he were a pile of
horse manure freshly dropped on the plank sidewalk
and sidestepped him, careful to draw her skirt tail tight
around her legs. "Oil field trash!"
    "Snooty women!" he mumbled as he righted himself, climbed into his car and drove down the street,
completely ignoring the fight behind him.
    Morning Glory Inn was a sprawling two-storey
house with a front porch that wrapped around both
sides. Rocking chairs invited him to take his pick. A big
white one with a slat back. A brown one with wide
arms. A blue one with a soft cushion in the bottom.
Morning Glory vines climbed up the posts and railing.
The scorching hot sun had already taken its toll on the
blue blossoms, but Briar knew what it looked like in the
early morning when the whole front of the house would
be alive with blue blooms as big as saucers. His mother's front porch in Kentucky had looked the same when
he was a child.
    He didn't know whether to walk right in like he was
going into a hotel or to knock as if he were visiting a
friend. Deciding on the latter, he rapped on the door frame and brushed the dust from his overalls and chambray shirt sleeves.

    An enormous woman filled the open space behind
the screen door. "Yes, sir? You here to ask about the
room for rent?" She eyed him up and down.
    "Yes, ma'am, I surely am," he said.
    "You a preacher man? I don't hold none with no
preacher man. I wouldn't rent you a place to sleep in
the outhouse if you was a preacher man, and if you tell
Dulcie a lie and say you aren't, then you don't want to
think about the trouble you'd be in for." She crossed her
arms over her ample chest and stared at him.
    "I am not a preacher. Never have been" Briar
smiled.
    "Well, then I suppose the room is settin' empty and
Miss Clara can't pay the bills lettin' rooms go beggin',
so you just come on in here and sign your name sayin'
as how you are willin' to obey the rules of the house.
That'd be mostly bein' in your room by ten o'clock.
Miss Clara, now, she don't cotton to folks layin' out
half the night sinnin' like them oil riffraff do" Dulcie
opened the door and led him to a credenza where a
simple one-page contract lay beside a vase of freshly
picked pink roses.
    He noted the price, pulled enough to cover two
months' rent plus extra for supper from his wallet and
paid Dulcie. "What about laundry?"
    "That's your problem, mister. Miss Clara don't be
doin' washin' and ironin' for nobody, and I sure don't neither. There's a man who set up a laundry in town
when the oil wells started booming. That stuff they'd
be stealing from the Lord's earth is a mite hard to get
out of a feller's britches, so he's charging high dollar. I
expect he'd take in washin' from anybody though."

    "Okay." Briar nodded. "Which room is mine?"
    "That'd be the first one on the left at the top of the
stairs. Got five boarders. Mostly they're in their rooms
before dark, so I wouldn't be comin' in here too late.
You need to sign your name to the bottom of that paper.
Miss Clara, she puts great stock in keepin' things legal
and all. You better read it before you sign, because it
says if you move out you don't get a dime of your
money back," Dulcie said.
    "Yes, ma'am." He stifled a smile. The house was
spotless. Wonderful aromas were coming from the
kitchen. The room would be twice as nice as the one in
the hotel, he was sure. He signed "Briar Nelson" with