This story takes place in Rockingham back in the 1950’s.  
Miss Polly had very recently started wearing a wedding
band, but no one remembers her ever having been
married.  No one was going to ask her about it, especially
the kids who really liked her.  Her last name was Robinson,
but everyone just called her “Miss Polly.”  She was born
and had grown up in the same house where she still lives
with her three sisters just up the hill from her place of
business.  None of her three sisters had ever been married.  
Her parents and brother were all dead now.  Her mother
had just recently died this year.  Miss Polly had a bakery on
what was then called Sand Hill Road, but is called South
Caroline Street today.  It was on the east side of the road
just across from Pop Brady’s store and directly across the
Great Fall’s millpond from the old depot.  She specialized
in all types of donuts, but she did do bigger projects such as
wedding cakes.  She also sold candy by the ounce the same
way they did at Rose’s and Wood’s Dime stores uptown.  
This was before the day of franchise stores.  Her store was
one big room with all her equipment in the rear just
behind the counter.  She had three tables with chairs
inside and two wrought iron tables with chairs outside for
use when the weather was nice.   


Miss Polly was fifty-something and was the nicest person
you could ever meet.  Usually when people came in, she
would stop what she was doing and sit down and talk with
them for as long as they stayed.  This was especially true
with children.  She was a religious person but didn’t talk
about that much unless you introduced the subject.  
Actually, she would talk about anything you wanted her to
talk about.  She was closed on Sundays, but so were all
other businesses back then except for a couple of gasoline
service stations and one drug store on Sunday afternoon.


On the back wall of her shop was a painting of a mountain
waterfall or maybe we should call it a cascade since it
seems to be a series of waterfalls.  It was painted by a fairly
good amateur, but was obviously not the work of one of the
great masters.  It was on the side of a dirt mountain road
looking down at a plentiful amount of water rushing by.  It
looked like someone had gone to a lot of trouble to include
so much detail in the painting.  The water had several large
boulders scattered randomly among the waterfalls.  This
painting was about five feet by eight feet and was painted
on canvas and with what appeared to be an expensive
frame.  It really dominated the back wall.   


Miss Polly’s Donut Shop was a favorite place for many
people, but especially children.  She would sometimes give
them an extra donut or at least an extra donut hole.  Young
Frank was setting there one day sipping his Royal Crown
(RC) cola along with slowly eating a fresh chocolate donut,
and he asked her about the big picture on the back wall.  
“Funny,” she said.  “You are the first person in a very long
time to ask about that; it’s almost thirty-five years old now.  
It’s a long story, do you have the time?”  He replied: “This is
summer vacation, what else does a kid have to do around
here?”  There’s plenty to do the first two days of summer
vacation, but after that it can get boring.  Vacation Bible
School helps a little, but it only lasts a week.  


Polly’s story:      


I was born back at the turn of the century, to be exact, in
the year 1898.  My mother was very strict; in fact, I would
have to say she was quite overbearing.  My mother’s father
was a preacher, and he brought up his family with talk of
“fire and brimstone.”  I never knew either of my
grandfathers; they both died before I was born.  In fact my
mother was late getting married, but then she had five
children late in life.  She raised all her daughters to think
men were always up to no good.  I guess that’s why all my
sisters never got married.  My lone brother was the oldest.  
My father wanted to have another son, but the four of us
girls was nature’s answer to that.  My father was a
plasterer.  Today most houses are built with sheetrock, but
that’s a fairly recent invention.  Back then, they would nail
small laths to the two-by-fours, and then the plasterer
would mix the plaster, which had the texture of wet
concrete.  He would apply the plaster and then smooth it
until you couldn’t tell it wasn’t a continuous wall.  All the
buildings in town built before World War II had plastered
walls and ceilings rather than sheetrock.  In fact, the old
grammar school building they just tore down had plastered
walls and ceilings.


My brother, Clyde, had a friend named Edward.  They both
were about fours years older than I was.  Edward would
come over to the house occasionally and eat dinner with
our family.  I liked him, but my mother put an abrupt stop
to that.  She punished me for just talking with him even
though I was seventeen.  She always said that girls should
be at least thirty before they are married and over twenty-
five before they start courting (dating).  My father would
never stand up to my mother; he certainly was no help to
me, as I wanted to get away from my mother’s iron fist
control.  Women back then just didn’t have the freedom
they do today.  I can remember when women were not
even allowed to vote.  My brother, Clyde, was sympathetic
and on several occasions arranged for me to see Edward.  
Clyde was very religious, and insisted that he always
chaperon these meetings so as to keep my reputation
beyond question.  Then just about the time we were getting
to know each other, America declared war on Germany in
1917.  Both Edward and Clyde rushed to enlist.  They both
went off to the Army for their basic training.


I also had an aunt who lived in Shingle Hollow, North
Carolina, a very small crossroads up above Rutherfordton
in the foothills of the mountains.  We girls would often go
stay with her for several weeks or more during the summer
especially when we were younger.  She was much more
liberal than my mother, and was sympathetic to my plight.  
Soon Clyde and Edward had their orders, and their unit
was headed to France.  Clyde arranged for Edward to meet
me at my Aunt’s house in Shingle Hollow.  We immediately
got our marriage license, and three days later we were
married.  I was just barely 19 at the time.    I used my
cousin’s wedding dress.  My Aunt’s minister married us at
her church.  But we never told my mother or any of my
sisters about my marriage.  There were only a few cars back
then; most people were still using horses and buggies.  We
usually took the train to my Aunt’s house; they would meet
us in Rutherfordton with their horse and buggy.  Buses
were not commonplace until the 1930’s.  This is when
paved highways started to appear.  I can remember when
most of the streets here in Rockingham were dirt roads.


My Aunt had a sister-in-law who had a mountain cottage
above Asheville and a house in Florida.  She spent her
summers in the mountains, and her winters in Florida.  My
aunt talked with her, and she delayed her return trip to the
mountains so we could use her mountain cottage for our
honeymoon.  My Aunt would forward my letters to my
mother, and her letters to me.  Edward and I had almost
two full weeks together, but then he had to leave on the
train for his Army unit.  I think they shipped out of Norfolk,
but I’m not sure of that.  They both looked so handsome in
their uniforms.  They were so full of the vigor of life.  When
they left for Norfolk, I was so afraid for them.  But they
didn’t show any fear or concern.  They were going to
Europe to end the “Great War” within a week.  There were
just short of two million Americans in Europe by the time
the War ended in late 1918.  Both Clyde and Edward were
good to write.  I could mail my letters from Rockingham,
but Edward addressed his letter to me in care of my Aunt.  
She would forward some of them to me.  I had to be careful
not to make my mother suspicious.  Whenever my mother
thought one of us was challenging her, she would feign a
heart attack.  We were planning to announce our marriage
after Edward got back from the War.


Then we got the bad news.  Both Clyde and Edward had
been killed in France during a German chlorine gas attack.  
That had to be a horrible death.  They outlawed gas during
World War II.  My mother thought I was grieving for
Clyde.  I was grieving for him, but of course I was also
grieving for Edward.  I should have just told my family
about Edward and me, but I was scared my mother would
make me leave the house since I had defied her.  I had
nowhere to go.  I didn’t have any job, any money or any
skills.  Women just didn’t work outside the house much
back then, but if they did, it was in a dressmaker’s shop or
in a small bakery.  It was later when my father died and left
me a little money that I started my donut shop.  Almost all
my life’s savings are tied up in the equipment you are
looking at over there.


Anyhow, I kept my mouth shut for all these many years.  
Almost thirty-five years now.  But if you notice on the other
wall there I have a framed copy of my marriage certificate.  
I have bought a cemetery plot for Edward and myself.  The
name across the top says McLean, not Robinson.  Of course
Edward is buried in France in an unmarked (unknown)
grave, but he will also be “buried” at home here in
Rockingham beside his loving wife.  I wish many times that
I had defied my mother earlier.  We could have been
married so much sooner, and maybe Clyde and Edward
would not have been in the same unit.


I recently told my sisters about my marriage, and they were
disbelieving at first, but now have been very comforting to
me.  My mother really messed up my life and also all my
sisters’ lives too.  We are all too old to get married now.  We’
re not young and pretty like we used to be.  All my sisters
and I were attractive when we were young.  The clothes
and hairstyles are different, but we were just as pretty back
then as young girls are today.  Today, a lot of young people
look at old people and feel sorry for them because they are
so old looking.  They seem to be unable to visualize them as
ever having been young and attractive.  They will soon
realize that their generation on average will not stay young
and pretty any longer than we did.  They too will be old
some day.  Yes, if I had the opportunity to get remarried to
a fine Christian man, I would certainly do that.  But even if
I did get remarried, I still want to be buried where the
gravestone says my first husband is buried.  After a little
time, no one will know he’s not really physically there.  We
will be together in people’s thoughts and in heaven some
day.


Now the waterfall or maybe I should say waterfalls or
cascade in the picture is near the mountain cottage where I
spent my honeymoon over thirty-five years ago.  We would
go walking down that dirt road to do our grocery shopping
or for just walking around.  I loved those waterfalls.


My sisters and I are planning a trip to Asheville later this
summer.  My Aunt and her sister-in-law are long dead.  I
wonder who owns that property now?  We’ll find out and
hopefully get their permission to go visit my honeymoon
cottage.  The cottage may not still be there, but I’d bet the
waterfalls are.  I painted the picture on the back wall from
memory.  We’ll take a camera with us this summer, so I can
tell how much the place has changed since back then.  I’m
pretty sure of the details in my painting.  They didn’t have
cheap handheld cameras back then; you could only get
pictures made at a photographer’s place.  That photograph
over there is of my husband and me.  See how well his
uniform looks on him.  From now on my name is Pollyanna
McLean, but you can call me “Mrs. Polly.”