A Poor Rule

I’ve always said that women are not a mystery; men can understand and figure them out. Some people think women are mysterious, but I think that’s just something people believe because women want them to. Let’s see if I’m right or wrong. Like an old saying from a magazine: “Here’s a funny story about Miss –, Mr. –, Mr. –, and Mr. –.”

We can forget about “Bishop X” and “the Rev. –,” they are not part of the story.

Long ago, Paloma was a new town near the train tracks of the Southern Pacific. A person who writes news might have called it a fast-growing town, but it was not that good. It was like a town that grew without any plan.

Trains stopped there around noon so that the engine could get water and passengers could eat and drink. The town had a wooden hotel, a warehouse for wool, and a few houses. The rest of the town had tents, horses, lots of mud, and some trees. People hoped Paloma would become a big city one day. The houses showed they believed it would happen, the tents showed they hoped, and the trains gave them a way to leave, which was a good thing.

There was a place called The Parisian Restaurant in the town. It was in the muddiest spot when it rained and the hottest spot when it was sunny. A man named Old Man Hinkle, who came from Indiana to make money, owned it.

There was a small wooden house with four rooms where the family lived. Near the kitchen, there was a covered area with a long table and benches. This is where people ate the food like roast meat, apples, beans, biscuits, pudding or pie, and hot coffee.

Old Man Hinkle’s wife and someone named “Betty,” whom people only heard but never saw, cooked the food. Old Man Hinkle, whose hands could handle very hot things, served the food. When it was busy, a young man who liked to make and smoke cigarettes helped serve the guests.

Now, let me tell you about the best part.

Ileen Hinkle!

That’s how she spelled her name. I guess someone named her by how it sounds, but she was so amazing that the spelling seemed just right.

Ileen was Old Man Hinkle’s daughter, and she was the first woman to handle money in a restaurant in that area. She sat on a tall chair at a wooden counter near the kitchen. There was some wire in front of her to protect her, and a small space to pass the money through. It’s funny that she needed protection because any man who ate there would have done anything for her. She had an easy job; each meal cost a dollar, and people just gave it to her.

I wanted to tell you how Ileen looked, but it’s so hard! Instead, I’ll say that there’s a book by Edmund Burke about what makes things pretty and amazing. Ileen was just naturally beautiful, like good food for the soul. She had light hair and looked fresh like fruits – strawberries, peaches, cherries. Her eyes were calm, and she looked like she was never worried. But describing beauty with words is so tough. Beauty is something you see with your eyes. There are different kinds of beauty. I wish I could stick to the story, but sometimes I just have to say more.

The first type of beauty is the girl with freckles and a short nose whom you like. The second is a very famous and beautiful lady named Maud Adams. The third is the women in paintings by an artist named Bouguereau. Ileen Hinkle was a fourth kind. She was so clean and perfect, like a queen of a town where everything is spotless. She was as amazing as a famous beauty from old stories.

The Parisian Restaurant was famous in the area. Men came from far away to Paloma just to see Ileen and make her smile. They got her smile when they had a meal. One meal, one smile, and it cost one dollar. Ileen was friendly to everyone, but it seemed like she liked three guys a little more than the others. Being polite, I will talk about myself last.

The first guy was named Bryan Jacks, who seemed like a made-up person. Jacks was from big cities. He was a small man with a tough look. He had red hair, eyes like red berries, and a mouth like a slot for letters in a mailbox.

He knew every city in the United States and could tell you about them. He talked like he knew more than anyone about famous places and had done everything. He had seen and done so much that it was like he used up all the exciting things in life. But instead of being sad about it, he came to Paloma, which was very quiet and small. He worked with telegraphs and was a station agent, and got seventy-five dollars a month. I didn’t know why such a smart guy would take a simple job, but he once said it was a favor to some important people who owned the trains.

One more thing about Jacks: he wore bright blue clothes, yellow shoes, and a tie made of the same cloth as his shirt.

My second rival was Bud Cunningham. He worked on a ranch near Paloma, helping to take care of cows. Bud looked like what you imagine a cowboy looks like. He wore a big hat, special cowboy pants, and a handkerchief around his neck.

Bud came to the Parisian Restaurant two times a week. He rode a really tall and fast horse and would stop it so quickly that the horse’s feet would dig into the ground.

Jacks and I ate at the restaurant every day.

The Hinkle’s house had a really nice little room at the front. It had rocking chairs, hand-made covers, picture albums, and seashells lined up. There was also a small piano in one corner.

In the evenings, when the restaurant was not busy, Jacks, Bud, and I, or sometimes just one or two of us, would sit in that room and spend time with Miss Hinkle.

The first type of beauty is the girl with freckles and a short nose whom you like. The second is a very famous and beautiful lady named Maud Adams. The third is the women in paintings by an artist named Bouguereau. Ileen Hinkle was a fourth kind. She was so clean and perfect, like a queen of a town where everything is spotless. She was as amazing as a famous beauty from old stories.

The Parisian Restaurant was famous in the area. Men came from far away to Paloma just to see Ileen and make her smile. They got her smile when they had a meal. One meal, one smile, and it cost one dollar. Ileen was friendly to everyone, but it seemed like she liked three guys a little more than the others. Being polite, I will talk about myself last.

The first guy was named Bryan Jacks, who seemed like a made-up person. Jacks was from big cities. He was a small man with a tough look. He had red hair, eyes like red berries, and a mouth like a slot for letters in a mailbox.

He knew every city in the United States and could tell you about them. He talked like he knew more than anyone about famous places and had done everything. He had seen and done so much that it was like he used up all the exciting things in life. But instead of being sad about it, he came to Paloma, which was very quiet and small. He worked with telegraphs and was a station agent, and got seventy-five dollars a month. I didn’t know why such a smart guy would take a simple job, but he once said it was a favor to some important people who owned the trains.

One more thing about Jacks: he wore bright blue clothes, yellow shoes, and a tie made of the same cloth as his shirt.

My second rival was Bud Cunningham. He worked on a ranch near Paloma, helping to take care of cows. Bud looked like what you imagine a cowboy looks like. He wore a big hat, special cowboy pants, and a handkerchief around his neck.

Bud came to the Parisian Restaurant two times a week. He rode a really tall and fast horse and would stop it so quickly that the horse’s feet would dig into the ground.

Jacks and I ate at the restaurant every day.

The Hinkle’s house had a really nice little room at the front. It had rocking chairs, hand-made covers, picture albums, and seashells lined up. There was also a small piano in one corner.

In the evenings, when the restaurant was not busy, Jacks, Bud, and I, or sometimes just one or two of us, would sit in that room and spend time with Miss Hinkle.

Then, I saw that Ileen looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something. A strong feeling hit me. I wanted to tell her that she was the most beautiful thing in the world, more beautiful than anything else made by nature – that she was like a perfect pearl shining brightly in a land of dirt and green fields – that she was amazing. And I didn’t care if she was mean to her parents or didn’t know much about money. I just wanted to tell her how beautiful she was.

But I stopped myself. I was afraid that if I said all these nice things, she might not like it. I had seen how happy she was when Bud and Jacks were careful with their words. No, Miss Hinkle wouldn’t like it if I just said nice things to make her happy. So, I decided to be honest too. I started talking like a teacher.

“Miss Hinkle,” I said, “in history, people have always liked smart women more than pretty women. Even Cleopatra was liked more for her smart mind than her looks.”

“Well, I guess so!” said Ileen. “I’ve seen pictures of her, and she wasn’t that pretty. She had a really long nose.”

“If I may say so,” I went on, “you make me think of Cleopatra, Miss Ileen.”

“What? But my nose isn’t that long!” said she, looking surprised and touching her nose.

“No, no,” I said quickly, “I mean you are smart like her.”

“Oh!” said she; and then she gave me a smile just like Bud and Jacks got.

“Thank you all,” she said in a very sweet voice, “for being honest with me. That’s how I want you to be. Just tell me what you really think, and we’ll be very good friends. And now, because you’ve been so nice to me and understand that I don’t like people saying over-the-top nice things to me, I’ll sing and play some music for you.”

We thanked her and said we were happy, but we would have liked it more if Ileen stayed sitting with us so we could keep looking at her. Her singing wasn’t that great. She had a small voice like a little bird. It was just loud enough in the room when everything was quiet. She could play a few notes on the piano, but when she tried to do fancy things, it sounded like water boiling in a big pot. But here’s the thing – she was so beautiful that it felt like the best music to us.

Ileen liked all kinds of music. She would play and sing songs from a stack of papers on one side of the piano, and then put them on the other side. The next night she would do it again from the other side. She really liked Mendelssohn and songs by Moody and Sankey. She always ended by singing “Sweet Violets” and “When the Leaves Begin to Turn.”

When we left at ten o’clock, the three of us would go to Jacks’ little train station and sit down. We would swing our feet and try to find out from each other what we thought about which one of us Ileen liked the most. That’s what guys who like the same girl do – they talk and try to figure out how the others are doing.

One day, a new man came to Paloma town. He was a young lawyer named C. Vincent Vesey. He quickly showed the town that he was there to work. You could tell he had just finished school by the way he dressed. He wore a fancy coat, light striped pants, a wide soft black hat, and a thin white tie. He looked like he was trying to be a mix of famous and stylish people from history. His coming made the town grow. The next day, more land was divided into lots for houses.

Vesey knew he had to make friends with people in Paloma to do well in his job. He also wanted to be liked by the fun-loving guys in town. So, Jacks, Bud Cunningham, and I got to know him.

It was clear from the start that Vesey would like Ileen Hinkle and join us in trying to win her heart. He stayed at the nice hotel, not the small restaurant, but he was often at the Hinkle’s house. He was good with words and spoke like water flowing from a fountain. He knew how to give compliments and say nice things. We thought Ileen might not be able to say no to his smooth talk and fancy clothes.

But then something happened that made us feel better.

One evening, just before night, I was sitting outside the Hinkle’s living room, waiting for Ileen. I heard voices inside. She and her dad were talking. I had noticed before that her dad was a smart man.

“Ily,” her dad said, “I see that three or four young guys come to see you a lot. Do you like any of them more than the others?”

“Pa,” she answered, “I like all of them. Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Jacks, and Mr. Harris are nice. They are honest and say what they really think. I don’t know Mr. Vesey for long, but he seems nice and honest too.”

“That’s what I want to talk about,” said her dad. “You always say you like honest people who don’t just say nice things to make you happy. What if you test these guys to see which one is the most honest?”

“But how, pa?”

“I’ll tell you. You took singing lessons for a short time, Ily. But your teacher said you didn’t have a singing voice. Ask the guys what they think of your singing. The one who tells you the truth has guts, and he’s worth keeping. What do you think?”

“Okay, pa,” said Ileen. “I think it’s a good plan. I’ll try it.”

Ileen and her dad left the room. They didn’t see me, so I quickly went to the train station. Jacks was there waiting. When Bud came to town, I told them both what I had heard. I wanted to be fair to them because we all liked Ileen.

Right away, the three of us had the same happy thought. This test would surely make Vesey lose. He always said nice things to make people happy, but now that wouldn’t work. We knew that Ileen really liked people who were honest.

We linked arms and did a funny happy dance on the platform, singing a song loudly.

That evening, four of us were sitting in rocking chairs, and Ileen was also there. We were really excited to see how the test would work. Ileen tried it on Bud first.

“Mr. Cunningham,” said Ileen with a big smile, after she sang a song, “what do you really think of my voice? Be honest, as you know that’s what I like.”

Bud was a little uncomfortable but eager to show how honest he could be.

“Tell you the truth, Miss Ileen,” he said seriously, “you don’t have much of a voice—it’s kind of small and squeaky. But we like hearing you sing because it’s sweet, and you look nice sitting at the piano. But it’s not really great singing.”

I watched Ileen closely to see if Bud was too honest, but she smiled and thanked him, so it seemed okay.

“And what do you think, Mr. Jacks?” she asked next.

Jacks said, “You are not a top singer. I’ve heard many singers and your singing isn’t great. But you look way better than the famous singers—they often look not so nice. But your singing doesn’t really work. You don’t have the moves in your throat for it.”

Ileen laughed at what Jacks said and then looked at me.

I was a bit nervous. Is it possible to be too honest? Maybe I was a bit careful with what I said, but I agreed with the others.

“I don’t know much about music, Miss Ileen,” I said, “but to be honest, I don’t think your singing voice is very good. People often say good singers sing like birds. Well, your voice is like a small bird’s – not very strong or varied. But it is, um, sweet in, um, its own way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harris,” said Miss Hinkle, cutting me off. “I knew I could count on your honesty.”

Then it was Vesey’s turn. He started talking about Ileen’s voice and he just couldn’t stop. He talked as if her voice was the best thing in the world. He compared her to famous singers and said she was better. He talked about technical stuff in singing. He did say one famous singer had a couple of notes that Ileen didn’t, but said that was just because Ileen needed practice.

He ended by saying that Ileen would be a big star in singing and that everyone would be proud.

When we left at ten, Ileen smiled and shook hands with all of us as usual. It didn’t seem like she liked any of us more than the others, but three of us knew the truth.

We knew that being honest had worked and now there were only three of us trying to win Ileen’s heart.

At the station, Jacks took out a small bottle of strong drink and we celebrated because Vesey had lost.

Four days passed and nothing much happened.

On the fifth day, Jacks and I went to the place where we usually ate and saw a young man instead of Ileen taking the money. We ran into the kitchen and met Ileen’s dad carrying coffee.

“Where’s Ileen?” we both asked.

Her dad was nice and explained, “Gents, she suddenly decided to do something, and I had the money, so I let her. She’s gone to a music school in Boston for four years to learn to sing better. Now let me through, this coffee is hot.”

That night there were four of us, including Vesey, sitting at the station. We talked about whether it is better to tell a woman the truth or to lie.

Since we were all young, we couldn’t decide.