Nash’s
usual antics, but they paused when they
noticed Maralee sitting on the step.
“She doesn’t have her sword,” Carsha
informed them. All eyes moved to
Maralee’s hip, which was indeed devoid
of weapon.
Nash
patted
Maralee’s
hand
encouragingly and stood up. “So what
shall we play this afternoon?”
The children looked at him and then
back at Maralee.
“I know,” Carsha said, jumping up and
down. “We’ll play ogre.”
“Ogre?” Nash questioned.
“She’ll be the ogre,” Carsha said,
pointing at Maralee with a theatrical flair.
“She’ll capture us and put us in the
dungeon so she can eat us. The dungeon
will be Uncle Nash’s porch, and you’ll be
the hero, Uncle Nash. You have to rescue
us and take us to your castle at the hickory
stump.” She pointed to the stump across a
small clearing in front of Nash’s cabin.
“I like being the hero,” Nash said,
grinning. “You’re the ugly ogre,” he said
to Maralee, glancing down at her with a
teasing smile.
Maralee felt awkward, and decided
Carsha had made her the ogre for a
reason, but she hated that the children
were so leery of her. Maybe if she played
their game admirably, they would trust
her, maybe even like her the way they so
obviously liked Nash.
“If I capture you, you have to stay in
the dungeon,” Maralee told them, hopping
off the step to her feet. “I need someone to
guard my dungeon and keep the hero from
rescuing my dinner.”
The children glanced around at each
other, and then one of the older boys, an
adolescent in his gangly years, said, “I’ll
be the guard.”
“Your name?” Maralee asked.
He glanced at Nash nervously, and
then whispered, “Dart.”
“Okay, Dart’s my guard. Don’t let
Nash take my prisoners.”
“I won’t,” Dart vowed, holding
Maralee’s gaze for a scant second before
taking his place in front of the porch
dungeon.
“Who shall I eat first?” Maralee
yelled.
Screaming children scattered in all
directions.
Maralee grabbed the nearest child, and
the small boy cried, “Help! Help! The
ogre’s got me.”
She set the boy on Nash’s porch and
went after another child while Dart tried
to keep Nash from saving her first victim.
It didn’t take long for Maralee to get into
their game.
“I’m going to eat you!” she shouted in
her most monstrous voice as she chased
the children around the cabin, catching
them with maximal effort and hauling them
back to the porch. They were fast little
buggers.
Nash put on quite a show as he
rescued each child, sometimes allowing
Dart to tackle him to the ground to
increase the suspense. The captured
children were jumping up and down on the
porch chorusing, “Save me, Nash! Save
me!”
When Maralee captured the last child,
most of the children were huddled around
the hickory stump, cheering on the hero.
She was exhausted when she heaved
Carsha up on the porch. Dart was
sprawled on the ground, gasping for air.
Nash had taken to stealing her prisoners
two at a time.
“Hey!” Maralee called to him.
“How’s an ogre supposed to get anything
to eat around here?”
He laughed, setting two children down
by the stump and turning to retrieve the
last few still on the porch. “There will be
no children for your supper as long as the
heroic knight of the castle is here.”
“So you’ve knighted yourself, have
you?” Maralee challenged.
He made a go for the porch and she
tackled him around the waist, bringing him
down easily as he gave very little
resistance. “Help!” he called, stifling his
laughter as Maralee pinned him to the
ground. “The big, ugly…smelly, foul…
vile, disgusting, grotesque, old ogre has
got me.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe
I’ll have hero for supper tonight.”
“Get the ogre! Save Uncle Nash!”
Carsha yelled and all thirteen of the
children rushed forward, piling on top of
them, squashing Nash flat on the bottom
usual antics, but they paused when they
noticed Maralee sitting on the step.
“She doesn’t have her sword,” Carsha
informed them. All eyes moved to
Maralee’s hip, which was indeed devoid
of weapon.
Nash
patted
Maralee’s
hand
encouragingly and stood up. “So what
shall we play this afternoon?”
The children looked at him and then
back at Maralee.
“I know,” Carsha said, jumping up and
down. “We’ll play ogre.”
“Ogre?” Nash questioned.
“She’ll be the ogre,” Carsha said,
pointing at Maralee with a theatrical flair.
“She’ll capture us and put us in the
dungeon so she can eat us. The dungeon
will be Uncle Nash’s porch, and you’ll be
the hero, Uncle Nash. You have to rescue
us and take us to your castle at the hickory
stump.” She pointed to the stump across a
small clearing in front of Nash’s cabin.
“I like being the hero,” Nash said,
grinning. “You’re the ugly ogre,” he said
to Maralee, glancing down at her with a
teasing smile.
Maralee felt awkward, and decided
Carsha had made her the ogre for a
reason, but she hated that the children
were so leery of her. Maybe if she played
their game admirably, they would trust
her, maybe even like her the way they so
obviously liked Nash.
“If I capture you, you have to stay in
the dungeon,” Maralee told them, hopping
off the step to her feet. “I need someone to
guard my dungeon and keep the hero from
rescuing my dinner.”
The children glanced around at each
other, and then one of the older boys, an
adolescent in his gangly years, said, “I’ll
be the guard.”
“Your name?” Maralee asked.
He glanced at Nash nervously, and
then whispered, “Dart.”
“Okay, Dart’s my guard. Don’t let
Nash take my prisoners.”
“I won’t,” Dart vowed, holding
Maralee’s gaze for a scant second before
taking his place in front of the porch
dungeon.
“Who shall I eat first?” Maralee
yelled.
Screaming children scattered in all
directions.
Maralee grabbed the nearest child, and
the small boy cried, “Help! Help! The
ogre’s got me.”
She set the boy on Nash’s porch and
went after another child while Dart tried
to keep Nash from saving her first victim.
It didn’t take long for Maralee to get into
their game.
“I’m going to eat you!” she shouted in
her most monstrous voice as she chased
the children around the cabin, catching
them with maximal effort and hauling them
back to the porch. They were fast little
buggers.
Nash put on quite a show as he
rescued each child, sometimes allowing
Dart to tackle him to the ground to
increase the suspense. The captured
children were jumping up and down on the
porch chorusing, “Save me, Nash! Save
me!”
When Maralee captured the last child,
most of the children were huddled around
the hickory stump, cheering on the hero.
She was exhausted when she heaved
Carsha up on the porch. Dart was
sprawled on the ground, gasping for air.
Nash had taken to stealing her prisoners
two at a time.
“Hey!” Maralee called to him.
“How’s an ogre supposed to get anything
to eat around here?”
He laughed, setting two children down
by the stump and turning to retrieve the
last few still on the porch. “There will be
no children for your supper as long as the
heroic knight of the castle is here.”
“So you’ve knighted yourself, have
you?” Maralee challenged.
He made a go for the porch and she
tackled him around the waist, bringing him
down easily as he gave very little
resistance. “Help!” he called, stifling his
laughter as Maralee pinned him to the
ground. “The big, ugly…smelly, foul…
vile, disgusting, grotesque, old ogre has
got me.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe
I’ll have hero for supper tonight.”
“Get the ogre! Save Uncle Nash!”
Carsha yelled and all thirteen of the
children rushed forward, piling on top of
them, squashing Nash flat on the bottom
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