Incomparable Fanny Barnwarmer #4

by Jay Squires

The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.

BIRDSEYE VIEW OF PREVIOUS SCENE: The reporter persistently brings Fanny’s focus back to the old gray horse she had earlier described Juniper’s Daddy as straddling just before the gang lynched him. When she finally admits this horse is hers, the whole backstory begins unraveling and we learn that Fanny’s father is implicated.

CHARACTERS:
Fanny Barnwarmer: Eighty-five-year-old woman with plenty of spark and sizzle still in her. Has been performing at the Tavern for forty-four years.
Juniper Albright: Seventy-six-year-old woman who was Fanny’s former companion from their first years at Brady City.
Reporter: Mid-thirties. Works for the New York Times, on assignment in Brady, Texas to write a human-interest story on the famous Fanny Barnwarmer.
Messenger: Telegram delivery boy, early teens.

SETTING: Front porch of Fanny Barnwarmer’s home. Rocking chair, DOWNSTAGE RIGHT, facing kitchen chair, CENTER, and front steps behind, descending to street level with a flowerbed to the side. OFFSTAGE LEFT are street sounds of traffic: of vintage 1928 cars, some horse whinnying, etc., all of which continue as a kind stew of white-noise background throughout the scene. UPSTAGE LEFT, is like a separate SET placed at an angle to the main stage with indistinct, smoky walls (conveying a sense of unreality). A very plain cot faces DOWNSTAGE. This section is always in shadow when downstage is in full light—and vice-versa

PLACE/TIME: Brady Texas, MId-afternoon, August 10, 1929

AT RISE: FANNY sits in a rocking chair facing the REPORTER. Stepping out of the shadowed area, JUNIPER, in a long white gown, a misty nimbus of light surrounding her, glides from the shadows toward FANNY and stops behind the rocking chair. FANNY brings her shawl together at her neck and crosses her arms.

REPORTER:
You have a chill? Should we finish inside, Miss Fanny?

FANNY:
We’ll stay here a spell, Robert. These mid-Texas summers. Poor Richard* says they’s a norther comin’ ‘Spect the Almanac's* right. It’s like y’all’s sittin’ in a tub o’ muggy, till all at once’t a chill slaps ya like a washrag ‘crost yer face.

REPORTER:
(Smiling, regarding her for a long while without speaking; then …)
Miss Fanny …

FANNY:
I know. I know. Y’all ain’t forgot … an’ I ain’t forgot neither. ’Twas jes like ya thought. ’Twas my daddy what knocked on the Albright’s door.

[At this point, JUNIPER begins to gently massage FANNY’S shoulders, bends, and lays the side of her face atop FANNY’S head]

REPORTER:
That had to be a hard truth for you to swallow. He was—was he part of that gang, then?

FANNY:
(Quickly)
No!

REPORTER:
Oh … but then …
(looking away from FANNY then back)
I don’t want to ask you, but …

FANNY:
But ya gotta …

REPORTER:
Yes, I suppose I do. Miss Fanny … were you ever planning to tell me about your daddy if I hadn’t asked?

FANNY:
I don’t rightly know. T’would a been the same endin’ if’n ya didn’t know.

REPORTER:
With all due respect, Miss Fanny, you know that’s—well, it’s just not true. I’d have wanted to know why Mr. Albright would have opened the door if he’d peeked out of his window and saw the gang standing there instead of your daddy. That goes against common sense.
(Beat)
But I think you planned to tell me anyway, Miss Fanny. It’s who you are.

FANNY:
I did. But not ’till you knowed my daddy was a good man. He was a carin’ man.

REPORTER:
I know he was all that, Miss Fanny. But he was also a carrying man, wasn’t he? He was carrying a big burden. I mean, he did owe a sizeable amount of money to Mr. Albright.

FANNY:
Robert!

[At the REPORTER’S words and FANNY’S response, JUNIPER comes around to face FANNY, and kneeling at her feet, she rests her cheek in FANNY’S lap]

REPORTER:
I’m sorry, Miss Fanny. Please forgive me. That was uncalled for.

FANNY:
No, Robert, it's me .... I left too much unsaid. Y’all don’t need no forgivin’.
(Shaking her head, vigorously)
Daddy warn’t no part o’ the gang, though.

REPORTER:
Well … and I believe that. But it still leaves unanswered questions.

FANNY:
And I was fixin’ to answer ’em… ’afore y’all asked me ’bout Daddy bein’ that neighbor.

REPORTER:
But still ... I needn’t have pounced. I’m sorry, Miss Fanny.

FANNY:
Them was rough times, Robert. E’vn ’afore Mr. Lincoln got hisself elected, back in—eighteen ’n sixty? I know I’s only fourteen then, but I remember many’s the night Daddy’n Mama be talkin’ at the dinner table ’bout the deep rumblin’ ’mong the farmers ’n ranchers ’n their nigras. They’s most called freed, but they’s moneyed chattel jes the same—an’ they sure warn’t freed.

REPORTER:
So … your folks were worried?

FANNY:
Daddy was plenty scared. An’ he warn’t alone. They’s talk ’o some states in the south secedin’ the Union, an’ Daddy tellin’ Mama the nigras … they knew. They could feel it in their bellies—an’ Daddy … he’d say you could see it in they’s eyes.

REPORTER:
The negros' eyes …?

FANNY:
Course!

REPORTER:
Your daddy had these free negros on his farm?

FANNY:
No! An’ he say that be our savin’ grace—leastways fer a while. Says you could see it in they’s eyes. They’s brewin’ fer an uprisin’.

REPORTER:
But miss Fanny, I don’t understand. Be patient with me, but I don’t—where was your daddy seeing all those—those negro's eyes?

FANNY:
I’s fixin’ to tell y’all. Daddy were one of the deacons at the Methodist church where most all the farmers therebouts ’tended. He heard ’bout the farmers’ fears from they’s own mouths. Afore long, they’s fears became his, an’ Daddy started lookin’ in the eyes o’ the few nigra freedmen ’n women what ’tended the services, an’ he swan he saw somethin’ in them eyes, too. ’Spect that’s the way fears go. Afore long Daddy organized meetins ’mong the farmers. Onest a week they was.

REPORTER:
Ohhhh, I think I see where this is going.

FANNY:
Don’t reckon ya do, young man. Jes listen. See, Daddy’s hankerin’ to bring some Christian principles o’ spirit’al love ’n carin’ twixt the farmers an’ their nigra he’p—him bein’ a deacon an’ all.
(Beat)
Well … maybe he jes gettin’ kinda preachy ’n all—don’ rightly know, but someone or ’nother o’ them farmers … they splits off—is what Daddy thinks—an’ they gits with the Army o’ Uriel.

REPORTER:
Excuse me—Say again … Army of what?

FANNY:
(Impatiently)
Uriel. Uriel.

REPORTER:
(Writing)
U-R-I?

FANNY:
E-L—A-L—I don’ know, young man. They’s the gang, though. It’s in the papers. How they’s lots o’ little Armies an’ they makes one big Army. An’ they all wear gunnysacks with a big red U on the backs of ’em. They’s mostly in the south.

REPORTER:
Like the Ku Klux Klan?

FANNY:
They’s before the Klan.

REPORTER:
(Scratching his head)
So … Miss Fanny …. The Army of Uriel got to your Daddy?

FANNY:
(Pointing to his tablet)
’Spect y’all have to … write all this ….

[The REPORTER lowers his eyes briefly and in that same moment, JUNIPER raises her head from FANNY’S lap and gazes up into her eyes]

REPORTER:
I think you know, Miss Fanny. The story needs it.

FANNY:
Ain’t never tol’ nobody ’bout it ’afore—least of all Juniper.

REPORTER:
All those years that you and Juniper were—together … that must’ve been ….

FANNY:
Figgered her mama musta tol’ her. Why stir up the coals?

REPORTER:
But … how would Miss Elizabeth have known if—

[The REPORTER is interrupted by a voice from the street behind him]

VOICE (Messenger):
(Post-adolescent, reedy)
’Scuse me, Miss Fanny—Barnwarmer … I’s Timmy—I’s Brady’s telegraph messenger.

FANNY:
(Cautiously)
Yes … Timmy.

MESSENGER:
I’ve’s a telegram from the—the Texas State Corrections Institute. Want I should read it to you, Miss Barnwarmer?

FANNY:
No!
(Placing her hand on her chest)
Bring it—bring it to me.

MESSENGER:
Yes’m.

[The MESSENGER Ascends steps, hands FANNY the telegram with multiple bows. The REPORTER removes a coin from his pocket and hands it to the boy, who, smiling, descends. FANNY presses the sealed telegram to her chest, her eyes closed tightly. Meanwhile, JUNIPER rises and slowly makes her way back to her shadowed cubicle, and sitting on her cot, remains in silhouette]

REPORTER:
Should I excuse myself for a moment?

FANNY:
No … I ain’t holdin’ back nothin’ now. You be wantin’ the whole story. ’Spect this be a part of it.
(Putting the telegram in her lap)
But ’afore I read it, I needs to put to rest the other matter—’bout my Daddy … an’ why he’d a did what he did—whether the Army ’o Uriel got to him.
(Draws in a deep breath, fingering the corners of the telegram)
Plain truth is—Daddy never tol’ Mama’n me.

REPORTER:
(Waiting a long moment for FANNY to continue before he breaks the silence)
Then … then I’m back to being confused, Miss Fanny. Didn’t you say you figured Elizabeth told her daughter—told Juniper—why your daddy did what he did? How did Elizabeth know?

FANNY:
’Cause—’Cause ’lizabeth found out about it the same’s I found out about it. It all come out in the trial.

REPORTER:
The trial!

FANNY:
But ’afore I tell ya ’bout the trial, I best be puttin’ to rest another chapter of the story.
(holds up the telegram, briefly closing her eyes before removing the sheet from the envelope. Opening it, she reads it aloud, slowly)

Miss Fanny Barnwarmer:
As warden of the Texas State Corrections Institute, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you of the passing of Juniper Eileen Albright on August 10th, in the year of our Lord, 1929.
Miss Albright died of natural causes during the overnight.

FANNY
(Stops reading, and with a large in-rush of breath, holds her free hand over her heart while still staring at the telegram):
That be las’ night! Or early mornin’—I ’member wakin’ up an’ rollin’ to my side an’ puttin’ out my arm to pull her to me, ’cause I swan I feels her shiver clean through the springs ’n mattress an’ I aims to pull her over to me an’ keep her warm.
(Shaking her head and looking away from the telegram)
But my Juniper’s been ’carcerated fer nigh on to forty years.
(Looking directly at the REPORTER)
Now, ain’t that peculiar? Don’ that jes beat all?

REPORTER:
(Smiles at her weakly, then breaks eye contact)
I’ve heard of such things. But not often.

FANNY:
Forty years!
(Sighing, she returns to reading aloud the telegram)

Miss Albright was loved and respected by all her fellow inmates, and she spoke adoringly of you. Her passing will leave a void here at the institute, and I am sure, in your heart.
Please contact my office within 48 hours to make arrangements for the shipping of Juniper Eileen Albright’s remains.
Sincerely,
Harold G. Stannel
Warden

REPORTER:
May she rest in peace.

FANNY:
(Running the back of her hand across each eye, sniffing)
Reckon as she rested in peace the minute Thurston Flourney laid in the dirt at her feet. As fer the remainin’, took her forty years o’ jes bidin’ her time fer that final rest.
(Folding the telegram and returning it to the envelope)
Now, young man, y’all want the short version of the trial? Or the long one?

REPORTER:
(Removing his pocket watch, glancing at it, then returning it)
Shouldn’t you relax before tonight’s show? I’m so looking forward to it.

FANNY:
’Spect that would be best.

REPORTER:
Tomorrow, then? After church?

FANNY:
(Chuckling)
’leven be fine, young man.

END OF SCENE FOUR

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2022

Thanks to Google Images for the picture of an elderly lady in a rockingchair.

*Referencing "The Poor Richard's Almanac", an American publication used (and still in use by some today, I believe) to predict the weather as well as offering other homespun wisdom.

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The Telegram

A chapter in the book The Incomparable Fanny Barnwarmer

Incomparable Fanny Barnwarmer #4

by Jay Squires

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