Hammond snickered again, and Robert lifted one corner of the old gray blanket that was stretched over the top of the box. He jumped back into my Samuel’s lap, and both of the Hammonds guffawed in unison.
“Don’t you worry, boy,” George laughed. “It’s deader’n a doornail!” He hooted some more, and I leaned forward to take a peek.
No wonder the wagon smelled like hog. In that box was a Yorky pig’s head, the biggest one I’d ever seen.
“We saw the widow Hicks to church Sunday ’fore last,” George was saying. “She told me she’d been hankerin’ for some good headcheese, just like her mama used to make down in Tennessee. So when old Charlie there come up lame, I figured to put him to good use. She’s givin’ me a lamb. Gonna let the kids raise it up for me.”
“You got other kids?” Robert asked, still looking a little green.
“Comin’ out of the rafters, boy,” George laughed again. “Nine of ’em. And one more on the way.”
Robert leaned over to Sarah and nudged her. “There’s a pig in the box,” he whispered. “Wanna see?”
“Robert John,” I scolded. “Just sit and be still.”
“I don’t wanna see no pig,” Sarah told her brother. “Pigs is ugly.”
“Pretty good eatin’, though, little miss,” Mr. Hammond said.
Dearing was about seven miles from the farmhouse, we discovered. It was quite a trip, with Mr. Hammond talking almost the whole time about his family, the economy, and a lot of people we’d never heard of before. He let us out on the main road, right in front of the grocer, saying he wanted to go on and get rid of old Charlie before he made his other stops. We thanked him for the ride, and he pointed to a tidy little house half a block down, its big yard separating Dearing’s only bank from the rest of the businesses on the street.
“That’s where you’ll find Hazel Sharpe,” he said. “She can tell you ’bout Emma Graham. Sure hope she ain’t ailin’.”
We thanked him again, and he shook his head. “My pleasure. Say hello to Emma if you speak to her, will you? We sure do miss havin’ her ’round. Won’t seem right, someone else being on the place—no offense, you understand.”
He drove away, and we all just stood there for a moment, looking down the street. Compared to Harrisburg or Evansville, Dearing was hardly any town at all. You could easily see to the railroad tracks at the edge of town, and its little peak-roofed station.
There weren’t many businesses in the town. A barber. A dry-goods store with room for only one dress in the window. A hatter, of all things, and across from the bank, the Seed and Feed. Over a rooftop I thought I could see a church tower, and it looked as if the church was the biggest building in town.
The grocery building was nice enough, although for some reason it was painted bright blue. But it was the smallest grocery I’d ever seen. Hardly bigger than our bedroom in our house in Harrisburg. Beside the grocery sat a much bigger building with a sign shaped like a chair. O’Toole’s, the sign said. Kerosene lamps for sale, dirt cheap.
Robert and Sarah were already on the first of the grocery store’s three steps.
“Pretty hungry by now?” I asked them.
“I could eat anything they got,” Sarah said.
“Anything but pig,” Robert added.
We bought a loaf of bread, a sack of flour, and a bag of beans. The proprietor took a look at our traveling bags and gave each of the kids a hard candy.
“Thank you, mister,” Sarah said with the candy already in her mouth. “Now we’re looking for the library.”
Her words caught me by surprise. I’d forgotten that I’d promised them that. And here I was, anxious to meet Hazel Sharpe in the little house down the street.
“Can’t say that she’s open today,” the grocer replied. “At least not till school’s out. That’s the way it usually works. You go two blocks west. Easy to see. Right next to the undertaker.”
I thanked the grocer and
“Don’t you worry, boy,” George laughed. “It’s deader’n a doornail!” He hooted some more, and I leaned forward to take a peek.
No wonder the wagon smelled like hog. In that box was a Yorky pig’s head, the biggest one I’d ever seen.
“We saw the widow Hicks to church Sunday ’fore last,” George was saying. “She told me she’d been hankerin’ for some good headcheese, just like her mama used to make down in Tennessee. So when old Charlie there come up lame, I figured to put him to good use. She’s givin’ me a lamb. Gonna let the kids raise it up for me.”
“You got other kids?” Robert asked, still looking a little green.
“Comin’ out of the rafters, boy,” George laughed again. “Nine of ’em. And one more on the way.”
Robert leaned over to Sarah and nudged her. “There’s a pig in the box,” he whispered. “Wanna see?”
“Robert John,” I scolded. “Just sit and be still.”
“I don’t wanna see no pig,” Sarah told her brother. “Pigs is ugly.”
“Pretty good eatin’, though, little miss,” Mr. Hammond said.
Dearing was about seven miles from the farmhouse, we discovered. It was quite a trip, with Mr. Hammond talking almost the whole time about his family, the economy, and a lot of people we’d never heard of before. He let us out on the main road, right in front of the grocer, saying he wanted to go on and get rid of old Charlie before he made his other stops. We thanked him for the ride, and he pointed to a tidy little house half a block down, its big yard separating Dearing’s only bank from the rest of the businesses on the street.
“That’s where you’ll find Hazel Sharpe,” he said. “She can tell you ’bout Emma Graham. Sure hope she ain’t ailin’.”
We thanked him again, and he shook his head. “My pleasure. Say hello to Emma if you speak to her, will you? We sure do miss havin’ her ’round. Won’t seem right, someone else being on the place—no offense, you understand.”
He drove away, and we all just stood there for a moment, looking down the street. Compared to Harrisburg or Evansville, Dearing was hardly any town at all. You could easily see to the railroad tracks at the edge of town, and its little peak-roofed station.
There weren’t many businesses in the town. A barber. A dry-goods store with room for only one dress in the window. A hatter, of all things, and across from the bank, the Seed and Feed. Over a rooftop I thought I could see a church tower, and it looked as if the church was the biggest building in town.
The grocery building was nice enough, although for some reason it was painted bright blue. But it was the smallest grocery I’d ever seen. Hardly bigger than our bedroom in our house in Harrisburg. Beside the grocery sat a much bigger building with a sign shaped like a chair. O’Toole’s, the sign said. Kerosene lamps for sale, dirt cheap.
Robert and Sarah were already on the first of the grocery store’s three steps.
“Pretty hungry by now?” I asked them.
“I could eat anything they got,” Sarah said.
“Anything but pig,” Robert added.
We bought a loaf of bread, a sack of flour, and a bag of beans. The proprietor took a look at our traveling bags and gave each of the kids a hard candy.
“Thank you, mister,” Sarah said with the candy already in her mouth. “Now we’re looking for the library.”
Her words caught me by surprise. I’d forgotten that I’d promised them that. And here I was, anxious to meet Hazel Sharpe in the little house down the street.
“Can’t say that she’s open today,” the grocer replied. “At least not till school’s out. That’s the way it usually works. You go two blocks west. Easy to see. Right next to the undertaker.”
I thanked the grocer and
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