Wood, Wire & Bonnie

By Joe Moe

“Not many like you round these parts.” The elderly couple waited eagerly for a reaction.

Ivy Blossom expected “the issue” to come up. The issue was always up in 1955 America. Why should rural Pennsylvania be any different? Ivy smiled and hugged her precious bundle closer, “Yes, sir. I know it’s unusual for a colored girl and child to be looking to make a home with strangers in the middle of nowhere.”

On cue, baby poked its head out of dense cotton swaddling to get a look at “the middle of nowhere.” It cooed and chirped the sounds of a supremely happy baby. The infectious sweet murmurs worked their magic. The old couple bubbled as if downy chicks were tickling their butts while cherubs fed them cotton candy. “Oh, she’s so precious!”, the old woman proclaimed, tip-toeing to get a look. Her husband held her sleeve like the string of a wiley kite, “Honey, you’ll scare her...sorry, Miss Blossom…’

“Please, call me Ivy.”

“Ivy, I’m Gibby. Short for Gilbert. And the missus is Lettie…”

“...Short for Letitia.” Lettie smiled, not taking her eyes off the brown peak of baby’s head.

Gibby released Lettie’s sleeve, “Ivy, we have no problem that you and your sweet potato are cocoa while we’re vanilla. We’ve travelled the world performing for every color and creed you could want to imagine.”

Ivy let out a sigh of relief followed by a little bounce of excitement that caused baby to giggle, “You’re showbiz folk? How exciting! What is it you do? I mean, what’s your act?”

Gibby and Lettie gave simultaneous, “you don’t have to ask us twice” grins. Lettie practically ran into the house. Gibby’s eyes glinted, “Just wait right here for a sec, Ivy.” and he followed Lettie into the house.

Alone, Ivy took the liberty of sitting on the porch swing. A cool breeze blew the summer heat off of her as she swung gently, heels dragging across floorboards. The baby fell still as Ivy looked out at the surrounding land. No visible neighbors. A dusty dirt road a few hundred feet off the front yard. A cloud of Sparrows shifted shape in the sky just as a miniature cloud of gnats whirled past Ivy’s face. The world was silent but for an occasional distant chicken bawk. Ivy took a deep breath and held it. In the moments she’d spent alone on the porch, she’d become desperate to live here. Baby was as still as Ivy’s buff leather suitcase set at the bottom of the porch stairs. She turned and regarded the rather ominous house with its bleached and scarred wooden siding and dingy windows...

The door swung open too fast, banging against the wall, causing both Ivy and baby to jump as one. Gibby and Lettie appeared with an unspoken, “Tah-dah!” A gesture that would likely be accompanied by a drummer’s rim-shot, if they’d been on a vaudeville stage with full band. Unable to applaud with her arms full, Ivy gave an earnest, “Whoo-hoo!” causing the spritely old couple to bow deeply.

“Thank you, darlin’! We’re the Wood-words!” Gibby announced with vocal flourish. Ivy realized the old couple were both holding ventriloquist dummies. Gibby held a female puppet that could only be described as a caricature of a painted hussy. Over-rouged cheeks, stiff blonde hair in ringlets, and a trollop’s petticoats, “Hi, ya-a-a-ll! Ah’m Myrtle Mae! How you?” the puppet drawled in a voice much too high for a grown man to manufacture, wooden lips clicking - “tok-tok,” while Gibby’s lips remained stock still. Ivy gasped, “Wow!” Myrtle Mae batted clunky eyelashes, “Thup, thup, thup...”

Lettie stepped forward with her puppet, a dapper boy with straw hat, striped jacket and crisply pleated black slacks, “Hey there, Chik-a-dee!  Name’s Florence - but you can call me Flo!” Lettie’s thrown voice was deep, rich and thick as a baritone lounge singer’s.

“Hi, Flo, Myrtle!”, Ivy hollered. Baby bleated, “Ah-goo!”

Gibby turned suddenly serious and Lettie darkened. Ivy’s eyes flitted between the stoic couple until Gibby finally spoke, “Now, down to business, Ivy. If you move into ‘Casa de Wood-word’ we’ll be in close quarters, so we have to be serious for a moment. Need to make sure we’re compatible.”

Ivy nodded, “I’ll answer any questions you and Lettie…”

Gibby smiled knowingly, “Oh, hon, not us.” Lettie and Gibby did a little dance. Lettie nodded at the dummies, “Them!” Ivy smiled, until she realized the couple was serious. “Sure. I’m all ears.” Ivy bounced the baby.

Gibby nodded his head slowly, “We’re already convinced. You have to convince...Myrtle Mae and Flo.” Gibby and Lettie held their puppets out like ritual offerings.

Ivy bobbed her chin, getting the point, “I see. OK.”

Myrtle Mae sprung to life at the end of Gibby’s arm, “So, little praline! You a homebody or do ya’ll like to cut a rug at night?

Ivy giggled, “Well, with a baby, I can’t get out much, even if I wanted to.”

Now Lettie animated Flo, “Any kin gonna come poking around looking for a place to flop?”

Ivy saddened a bit, “I am all alone in this world,” dipping eyes to her bundle, “Except for...her.”

Myrtle Mae’s head spun comically, “Hey! Ya’ll haven’t even told us baby’s name!”

Ivy covered her mouth with her free hand and laughed, “I’m so sorry! How embarrassing.”

Flo’s wooden eyebrows danced noisily, “kuh-tuk, kuh-tuk,” “So, what’s her name?”

Ivy unfurled the baby’s swaddling, “Ask her yourself…”

Gibby and Lettie Woodword’s expressions collapsed like souffles in a slammed oven as Ivy revealed a puppet of her own. It appeared to be made of tanned flesh and bone. It seemed to grow from Ivy’s hand like some tumescent head of flesh-cauliflower with visibly pulsing veins and the blush of blood coursing through them. Tiny lips parted, “I’m...Bonnie,” came the voice, like a miniature wood chipper gurgling lard.

The Woodwords fell to their knees with Myrtle Mae and Flo strewn, laying prostrate beside their puppeteers, ”Welcome, Bonnie! Welcome…welcome...”