The Hair-Raising Adventures of Issy Martin

(ahem!)

Isabel Martin had always been the belle of the ball. Well, not literally or anything, because there weren’t too many grand balls in rural Michigan in the 19-teens—after all, there weren’t any grand ballROOMS. It was more like she was always the belle of the square-dance, but a belle is a belle, and you know the girl I mean: dimples, big baby blues, long, flowing blond curls, and an adorable giggle that made it pretty hard to hate her no matter how hard you tried. And the girls in Issy’s (as she was popularly known) town tried as hard as they could, because the fact was, they were pretty much invisible to the male population whenever she and her rosy red cheeks and her cute little laugh and her very nice way of filling out a calico dress were around. In fact, the only thing more fascinating to the boys in late March of 1917 than Issy’s uncanny ability to walk and chew gum at the same time, was the small fact that the US had finally abandoned the whole neutral-country-silent-partner thing and decided to dive into World War I so that those upstart Germans wouldn’t take over Europe and then make like Atilla the HUN (get it??) and conquer just basically the whole known universe.

So since World War I was sort of like the last war people found to be pretty dashing and romantic and noble, all the boys were crazy to sign up and go to Europe and be big heroes and revel in their testosterone (or at least that’s what they THOUGHT they were going to be doing in Europe). And of course the one indispensable accessory for a manly soldier type is an adoring sweetheart back home: someone to provide pretty pictures that you can show off to all your buddies, and who will be waiting breathlessly by her mailbox to receive your detailed accounts of your heroic exploits. And for most boys in town, only one sweetheart would do.

It was April 25, 1917, and the train left the next morning to carry the boys from Michigan off to their soldierly destinies overseas. The hour was 5 a.m. and Issy was out in the barn milking her cow, named Cow. The morning was a cold one with the sun just beginning to creep out of bed, but the barn was cozy and filled with warm smells, and anyway Issy was used to milking in all sorts of weather being from Michigan, so she was totally absorbed in her task. But the peace was shattered suddenly as a body hurtled through the doors of Cow’s stall, causing Issy to squeeze Cow’s udder unusually sharply in her fright, and Cow, a gentle soul, to kick the milk bucket over in shock. "Well goodness gracious!" swore Issy as she surveyed her milky, yet form-fitting, apron. "What’re you doing here scaring me halfway into the grave, John Smith??"

"Aw Issy, I’m sorry," stammered the hapless, and lovelorn, Johnny. "It’s just that I wanted to be the first to tell you the news that I’m going away to show those gol-danged German boys the way it’s done here in America!! I-I’m real sorry ‘bout your dress."

"Well, watch it next time," Issy snapped. Then, fixing him with a limpid blue gaze she cooed, "But I’m real proud to hear that you’re going to do right by your country, Johnny. That’s so strong and brave of you." And she unleashed that trilling giggle. Johnny melted like a pat of butter in a warm skillet.

"Well, Issy—I came to see ya ‘cause—well, ‘cause—‘cause I—I just--I"

"For heaven’s sakes—spit it out, Johnny! My apron is starting to ice up!"

"Er, well, um…Ijustwanttoknowifyou’llbemygirl. There! I asked it!" And Johnny smiled triumphantly, then shrank a little under Issy’s considering gaze.

Hmm, Issy thought. Well I HAVE always admired Johnny’s way with a horse. He has pretty nice eyes. And his father is quite well off. It’s going to be pretty dull around here with all the boys gone--and he might send neat things from Europe. And he IS leaving tomorrow…

"All right, Johnny. I’ll be your girl," she said aloud in a soft, quivering voice.

"Really?! Do ya mean it? Well this is GREAT, Issy! I can to write you—I know how to write a little--and keep your picture by my cot and tell all the guys and…"

"No, no!" Issy said sharply, looking up from her milking. "Don’t let’s tell anyone, okay Johnny? Let’s keep our love a secret until you return to me after the war. I think that’s much more romantic, don’t you, Johnny? Well, don’t you?" And her foaming chuckle again overflowed her ruby red lips.

Johnny looked uncertain for a moment, but then the sheen of her golden curls and the sparkle of her white teeth convinced him that Issy was worth any price.

"Well, okay, Issy. I guess. But I’m going to give you something of mine so’s you don’t forget I’m thinkin’ about you…" and he looked around wildly, patting the pockets of his overalls as Issy turned back to stripping Cow’s udders. What could he present to this flawless creature? He needed something…romantic like she had said, so she’d think he was like that. And then in a flash, it came to him.

"Uh—you know, Issy, they’re gonna cut my hair at training, so why don’t I give you a little piece of it right now…" and he trailed off, trying to gauge Issy’s reaction.

"A lock of your hair? Well—that would be awfully sweet of you, Johnny," Issy replied, dimpling. Privately, she thought Humph. That is sort of romantic. I wouldn’t have guessed Johnny would have it in him.

Heading back across the frozen mud with the full pail of milk and Johnny’s hair in her apron pocket, Issy had a momentary spasm of conscience. It’s not like I love Johnny or anything, she thought. Maybe I should have told him no. But then, there was no one in town she really felt LOVE about, she reflected. Most of the boys were kind of clumsy and rough. In fact, life was pretty boring on the whole—just a blur of chores and that crocheting her mother liked her to work at and reading and the occasional dance in someone’s barn. "I wish I were going overseas," she sighed as she bumped the back door open with her hip.

"What’s that, Issy?" said her mother, looking up from the porridge bubbling on the stove.

"Oh nothing, Mother," she replied, smiling. "How did you sleep last night?" she asked, her blue eyes soft and solicitous. She had found the more polite she was to her mother, the more willing her mother was to overlook how little time Issy spent with her crocheting.

"Oh pretty well, I guess. Come and get this hot syrup and take it to the table, will you?"

"Yes of course, Mother," Issy said, deftly skimming the cream from the milk and ladling it into a pitcher. With the cream in one hand and the hot syrup in the other, she began to head towards the dining room when there was a knock at the back door. Changing course, she started towards it when her 11-year-old brother Charles skidded by on the polished wood floor, grabbing for the door knob and bumping Issy, who lost her balance and dumped equal portions of hot syrup and warm cream down her front.

"Well, mercy!" she fumed. "I guess that’s about it for this apron then!"

"Issy! Watch your language! Charles! Slow down! Who’s at the door?" Mother barked from the kitchen.

"Maude! Stop that yellin’! Charles! No running in the house! Who’s at the door?" boomed her father, who had just come in from washing his hands.

Their expressions softened when the door swung open to reveal a startled Eugene Frank from next door. "Oh my stars," Issy groaned to herself. She got out of her sodden apron as her parents fell all over themselves inviting Eugene in and asking him to stay to breakfast. Her parents LOVED Eugene Frank because they were good friends with his parents, and because he was steady and serious, and then it was a well-known fact that Eugene had loved Issy ever since they were kids. Issy found him long-winded and boring—and besides there were plenty of other boys to chat with who were funnier and gave better presents. Why waste time on Eugene? But now here he was staying to eat porridge and obviously working himself up for something to judge by the way he was dithering and quivering and pushing his food around.

"So Eugene," began Issy’s father. "I hear you’re off to training camp tomorrow. I want you to know that I think it’s real American of you to volunteer to fight to protect the world from scum like the Germans. I wish I could go myself!"

"Well, thank you Mr. Martin," quavered Eugene. "It makes it easier to go when I know my sacrifice is made to protect the good people of Michigan. Especially people like…your daughter Isabel." All heads at the table swiveled to catch Issy’s reaction to this fraught declaration, Charles snorting a little in disbelief. Sensing that there could be greater danger ahead, Issy kept her composure and smiled shyly and prettily. She even managed a little blush. All eyes turned back to Eugene, who was clearly gaining momentum.

"And that’s why I came over here this morning. Issy, I’m going to face mortal danger in France, and only God above knows what the outcome will be. I may not even come back to Michigan alive, or I could be captured and held by the Germans; I may come back but be wounded, or disfigured beyond recognition, or I could have a strange disease that I picked up overseas, or…" Issy wasn’t sure anymore where Eugene was heading with this depressing outburst, but she wished he would wrap it up because it was spoiling her appetite. From the look on Charles’s face, he wasn’t feeling so hot either.

"…but what I’m trying to say, Issy, or not say--I mean what I’m trying to ask, here in front of God and everyone, is if I might…just…give you this and ask you to think of me a little while I am away." And with that he produced a lock of his hair tied with a blue satin ribbon and walked around the table to present it to her.

More hair! thought Issy. Eugene really gives the worst presents ever. Then there was the fact that, unbeknownst to her parents who looked about to burst they were so happy and excited, she had already accepted hair this morning. It wasn’t like an engagement ring or anything, but still…

"Oh, Eugene," she said, looking up at him through her sooty, tangled lashes. "I don’t know if I…"

"She’d love to accept your token, Eugene!" her mother broke in, giving Issy a hard look. "We’ll all be thinking of you over there fighting for us, and I’m sure Issy would love to write you lots of letters to make sure you remember that."

Well, that went well, thought Issy, as she mutely accepted the hair. Hopefully Johnny really won’t say anything about ‘our love’; or maybe Eugene will leave town before he hears. And what’s a few letters going to hurt. Plus Eugene’s right—it’s terrible but he might not even come back to Michigan. Might as well just placate Mother for now.

After clearing up breakfast and finishing her inside chores, Issy was able to escape the house on the pretense of walking to the shops for more crochet thread. Her mother was nagging her to finish a few more handkerchiefs to add to her glory box for when she got married. I just know they’re going to try to marry me off to Eugene, Issy thought glumly as she plodded to town. But I’ve never met any man that I’d want to marry, least of all Dull-gene. I mean, I’d have to be pretty excited about someone to agree to spend the rest of my life with him, the two of us cooped up on a farm, with me cooking and having kids. She shuddered just thinking about it, and was so deeply engrossed in this terrifying vision of the future that she didn’t even hear the horse galloping up beside her until it reared to a stop, causing her to drop her bag and spill her money in the muddy road.

"Oh fiddlesticks!" Issy shrieked furiously. "I declare it is hard to stay clean today!" She bent over to retrieve her things and realized that the horse’s rider was still sitting astride the horse waiting for her to look up. She raised her bright aqua pools to drink in the sight of Matt Collier wearing a smug grin.

"Hey Issy," he boomed. "I heard that Eugene Frank asked you to be his girl."

"Well, that didn’t take long," Issy replied, annoyance in her voice.

"Well you can’t tell me you like that guy better than me. You’d have to be crazy. Everyone knows I have the best prospects out of any man in town, and when I get back from the war I’m going to take over my father’s farm and really start turning a profit from it." His father was the wealthiest farmer in town because he also bred racehorses, and as far as Isabel knew, he had absolutely no plans to turn the business over to Matt. She was about to point this out when Matt cut her off, saying, "So I’m sure it’s clear to both of us that you should be MY girl. It will benefit you because I can buy you the nicest things and provide the best house and horses, and it will benefit me because no girl but the prettiest and most desirable one in town will do for me, and that’s you."

Issy flushed at his hubris and was about to tell him exactly where he could gallop on that fine horse he was riding, when he interrupted her again with, "So I heard Eugene gave you a lock of his hair or something which sounds pretty stupid to me, but if that’s all you need than here—" and he thrust a paper bag with some hair in it into her hand and rode off waving, calling back, "I’ll expect some nice long letters from you, Issy! See you when I get back from wiping out the Huns!"

Issy stood stock still, paralyzed with anger as his figure retreated into the distance. Then she looked down at the bag of hair she was holding and her anger ebbed as the humor of the situation struck her. "I’m going to be able to open my own wig store by the end of today!" she exclaimed, her famous giggle ringing out.

And little did she know how right she’d turn out to be. Issy arrived home that afternoon with two more shades of hair to add to the ones already in her collection, the product of an encounter at the General Store with the Burns twins. They said they’d heard she was promising to write to people and wondered if she would write them once or twice too, so they’d have mail to show the guys in whatever companies they ended up in. Issy felt kind of sorry for them because their mother had passed away the year before, so she agreed, all the while swiping vigorously at the saltine crumbs spewing out of their mouths while they talked and chewed. They gave her what they considered a down-payment in the form of some pieces of their hair (they had heard that’s what all the guys were doing) and she walked home, shaking her head at how out of control the day had gotten.

So whom did Issy end up with? Did she get writer’s cramp from all those letters she was supposed to write or carpal tunnel’s from the crocheting her Mother made her do? Did she ever get revenge on Charles for making her spill syrup down her front? Were her terrible five-timing ways exposed and did the girls in town attack her in an angry mob? Well, no, actually, because that night she decided she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her. So she stuffed all the locks of hair in the only lace handkerchief she had managed to complete and buried it in the beginnings of her glory box, bound up her own her hair in one of her father’s hats and slipped into a pair of his trousers, and then jumped a boxcar to New York City. There her beautiful face and figure and her winsome ways made her a famous flapper personality. She ended up moving to Hollywood, marrying a famous director, and living in a big mansion in the LA hills. And she never even gave Michigan a backward glance.

The End