1. Widowed old ladies are supposed to curl up and die, which is what Momma always said. "Immerse yourself in good works and forget about men," she warned. "At your age, you shouldn't be thinking about romance and fooling around. Don't you have any respect for yourself? Men are after one thing, no matter how old they are. All they want is a woman's body to warm their bed." Momma went on and on, as she had been doing since I was 13. Even after I was married and had children, Momma made sure I understood how a woman must behave. And behave I did, at least until Chester came along in the summer of my 65th year. Momma, at 85, was still extremely wise, but I never paid no mind to her and wasn't about to start at this late date.


2. Chester drifted into town late one summer evening, dressed shabby and looking like a bum. Momma and I sat on the front porch and watched as he approached us. He wore overalls and had a red bandana sticking out of his rear pocket. His hair was sparse and he sported a fine-looking white beard. Momma became visibly alarmed, knowing my weakness for bearded men. For a man who was traveling the open road though, his beard was well trimmed. His brown felt hat, however, was dusty-looking and his boots, though expensive, were caked with mud.

"Evening, ladies," he drawled. "Y'all know where I might find a place to spend the night?" Chester looked to be about 70. He wore a large backpack that probably held all his belongings. He had no visible means of transportation and he looked like he had walked 100 miles. I took a look at this seedy character, looked deep into those soulful brown eyes, and my heart lurched. Momma just looked disgusted. Whether she was disgusted by Chester's appearance or by the sparkle she saw in my eyes, I don't know.

"You look like you've traveled far," I said. "Would you like a cold glass of lemonade?"

"Why, ma'am, that's right nice of you," he replied. He extended his rough hand and introduced himself as Chester Chatsworth, handyman from Arkansas, looking to put down roots in our fair town. Momma glared at me as I went inside to get him a glass of lemonade.

Chester slurped the lemonade and burped. My heart was doing flip-flops and Momma continued to glare. "Mr. Chatsworth, you are welcome to come inside and wash up before you go any further," I offered. Momma gasped and I thought she would fall off her rocker.

"That's mighty nice of you," Chester said. I have walked a long distance and I would like to wash my face before I look for lodging. Please call me Chester."

"It is nice to meet a man from Arkansas," I said. "My name is Violet Verdant, and this is my mother, Maybelle Munchley. We have lived in these Tennessee hills all our lives."

Chester wiped his boots before entering the house and then removed them. His big left toe stuck out from his socks and it must have been rubbing against his boot for many miles. It was blistered. He heaved a sigh of relief when the boots came off. I quickly remembered that I still had some socks that had belonged to my husband and I offered them to Chester. He was mighty grateful.

"Mrs. Huggins, down the road, has rooms to let," I told Chester. "She is clean and reasonable and won't give you any trouble. Tell her that you're a friend of mine." Chester thanked us, made a courtly bow, and then trudged on down the road to the Huggins place.


3. "Violet, I am ashamed of you," Momma yelled after Chester was out of sight. "You was coming on to that ol man like a teenage hussy. What's wrong with you? That man is a ne'er do well, sloppy looking and will bring this town nothing but trouble." I turned away from Momma and rolled my eyes. Whatever Chester might be, he aroused a spark deep inside me.

Next afternoon, just before dinnertime, Chester knocked at our door. "I just want to thank you ladies. I have rented a very nice room and Mrs. Huggins has hired me to do general chores and yard work. I am very grateful. Perhaps I can save enough money to buy myself a small cottage someday."

"Would you like to join us for dinner, Chester?" I asked. "I have made a fine beef stew and there is plenty."

For all his rough looks, Chester was well mannered. He knew enough to put the napkin on his lap, and he wiped his lips before taking sips of water from our best glassware. He spoke of his childhood in rural Arkansas and his dream of settling in a more affluent area such as ours in Tennessee. He was educated and smart, but very aware of his poor status. Chester finished the stew, ate the apple pie and drank coffee, making a slurping noise only once. Momma grimaced.

I walked Chester out to the road in front of our house. "By the end of the week," Chester said, "I will have enough money to buy a bicycle. Do you have a bicycle?" he asked. "Yes, I do," I replied. "Would you make me happy and take a ride with me some evening, before the sun goes down? We could bicycle to town where I would buy you an ice cream cone."

I went back into the house. Momma was clearing the table. There was a frown on her face. She took one look at my sparkling eyes and the frown grew deeper. Momma was going to have trouble with her daughter, that was for sure. Sixty-five year old Violet was acting like a fool.


4. Well, to make a long story short, Chester stole my heart, he did. He stayed at the Huggins' place in a rented room. But he came calling every night and made me feel like a young girl. Momma did not approve, but Chester won my heart. At 65, I was in love.

Momma continued to warn me, walking around the house singing her favorite song......

My momma done told me,
When I was in pigtails,
My momma done told me, hon,
A man's gonna sweet talk,
And give you the glad eye,
But when the sweet talkin's done,
A man is a two-face,
A worrisome thing, who'll leave you to sing,
The blues in the night.
(author unknown)

My momma was right. Chester drifted off to the next town and left me high and dry. But it don't matter none. Loving Chester was the best thing that ever happened to me. Momma doesn't understand at all and she keeps a close watch on me.