A Belle's Roots...A love story from a few generations before

Jimmy lifted the velvet box from his pocket, astonished that his hand shook a little. He was thirty years old, been on his own since eleven, a seasoned soldier after two wars, and he was the most afraid of his life. He doused another mug of homebrew, then looking into the swirling left over amber liquid in the bottom he considered he may be an alcoholic soon enough. What caused this man to drink more than usual and his hands to shake? Wilma Adams. His friends sister in law...eighteen year old sister in law.



Bob slammed his empty glass down and grunted at the bartender to give him and his friend another round.

"Come on Jimmy we are celebrating!" Bob exclaimed. "You are getting married." Jimmy looked up from under his red eyebrows fixing to remind his companion he hadn't even asked her yet. Then decided against it. Bob didn't need a reason to drink. But Jimmy needed to get back to the house. He hadn't seen Wilma at all since arriving in town from the base. They had been dating a while and he lived for the weekend when he would get a pass to go see her. She lived with her older sister Rita, Bob's wife. There were nine Adams siblings all together and a countless amount of cousins. But in Jimmy's eyes it was only Wilma.

Stopping the bar tender from refilling their glasses he pulled Bob up. He had already spent too much time drinking up courage to propose. Hopefully Wilma wouldn't be in tift he had been gone so long. A half smile adorned his lips. She was all stubborn backbone and spirit. Just like his moma. The moma he lost when just a boy.

Bob almost lost an arm as Jimmy pulled him to his car. A 1956 Ford...only two years old and went through gas like a barmaid went through rouge. But she was his and every time he walked by her his hand slid across the hood in admiration.

The Fords headlights moved along the drive that led to Bob's and Jimmy's heart raced as he noticed only a small light was on by the window. In the chair was no doubt Bob's wife Rita...waiting. He cursed and hit the steering wheel. Wilma may already be asleep. It was much later than he realized the pub's lack of windows had deceived him once again.

Yet again pulling on a drunk Bob's arm he headed to the door. Rita opened it,  her hair in curlers beneath a hair net, thin lips tight as she held her tongue. Jimmy suspected Bob might be one of those men who would take a swing when non coherent and Rita's behavior proved that theory now.

After Rita tucked Bob into their room she came back out with a handkerchief in her hand. She cleared her throat and offered him a forced smile.

"Thanks for watching out for him Jimmy." She thanked him. While he ducked his head and blushed he felt ashamed that he even went out with Bob.

"Is Wilma in the bed?" He asked the only thought skipping through his mind like a scratched record. Rita's shoulders tensed and her thin lips went tight again.

"I can't tell you that Jimmy. She's not here...been gone all evening in fact."

Jimmy's fist enclosed around the box with the rings in his pocket as his stomach seemed to drop to his feet like the first time he parachuted from a plane with the 101st Airborne. Then a combination of fear, anger, and pride sparked filling the empty space his stomach vacated. If she wasn't there then where was she...or better yet who was she with?


This post was different in my Feature Friday usual style. Still' in my beloved South I've been hearing stories of my family and in true Belle fashion are adding my own sprinklings of fiction to the facts shared with me.

Want to know what happened next? If I get at least ten comments I'll continue.