collarbone.
“Aagghh!” I screamed as Pirate leaped out of the woods, meowing like a fire-singed demon, and tore back across the path we had just come.
“That’s Pirate!” Josie barked, coming to her feet and pointing to where Pirate disappeared through the underbrush.
“Hell’s tarnation, what’s the cat doin’ out in the middle of the woods!” Nan roared, hauling me back down as I made to run after Pirate.
“That’s Pirate! That’s Pirate!” Josie kept yelling, stomping back towards Nan, still pointing after the cat.
“I knows it’s Pirate, Jose,” Nan cried out, slinging the gun back over her shoulder and shoving herself back up on her feet. “I can tell a cat from a bleedin’ partridge, now get on ahead, else there’ll be no time to pick berries on this day. My gawd,” she muttered, picking up her bucket as Josie started back through the woods again, with me following, looking over my shoulder after Pirate. “You’d think I killed him, the way you’s are all gettin’ on. What in hell’s flames is a cat doin’ out here, anyway?”
“He follows me,” I said.
“Heh, he won’t be followin’ you much after this,” Nan said. “It’s like I said now; timin’s everything, but sometimes, ’tis only the hand of God that can save ye.”
Another half-hour walk and we broke onto the barrens, a rolling land that began with the edge of the cliffs looking out over the bay and rolled inland as far as the eye could see. Bereft of trees from a fire near on twenty years ago, it was wide open to the wind and fog, and a hunter’s nightmare on snow-drifted days or fog-blanketed evenings, with not even a stump to mark a path or point to the edge of the cliffs. And there were stories aplenty about berrypickers getting lost or near falling over the cliffs on bright, sun-lit days from being hunched over, picking berries and not watching where they were wandering. Nan’s partridgeberry patch was another half-hour’s walk over the barrens, along the cliff, and spreading down over a grade that dipped about halfways down to the sea. With a bit of skill and a good pair of boots, it was possible to climb the rest of the way down the cliff and come out onto the beach.
“Your grandfather and me use to climb down to the beach and build a fire for our cup of tea, years ago when he was alive, God bless him,” Nan said after we had picked the firm, red berries for a while and was taking a rest, leaning our backs against a matted mound of rocks. “We use to bring her with us,” Nan murmured, gazing after Josie as she wandered around the back of a knoll, her hair as red as the moss that capped it. “Like the goat, she was, climbin’ over them cliffs.” Nan turned her face to the wind, listening as the gulls screamed out over the surf. I watched as she closed her eyes and her jaw slackened. It was what she liked doing best, she’d often say, sitting on the sun-splotched barrens with the moss crusty beneath her feet and wild with purple, reds and browns. And on sunny days like today, she once said, up here on the cliffs and with no trees breaking the sight, the air was so blue that it felt like she was living amongst sky.
“Nan,” I said after she had dozed for a bit and was snorting herself awake again, “do you think they’ll try and put me in the orphanage, agin?”
Nan sat up straight.
“Be the Jesus, Kit, is they startin’ on you in school, agin?”
“No, Nan.”
“Tell me, now … ”
“Noo, Nan.”
“Is you worryin’?”
I shrugged and plucked a handful of berries from a bush nearby.
“Now, you listen to me, Kittens,” Nan said, resting her hands on her knees and leaning sideways to see into my face. “As long as I walks the face of this earth, no one got the guts to come after you, agin. I met ’em at the door, I did. And it wouldn’t everyone, just May Eveleigh and Jimmy Randall, and the reverend and his wife. I bade ’em to come in, I did, and pointed out to ’em where to
“Aagghh!” I screamed as Pirate leaped out of the woods, meowing like a fire-singed demon, and tore back across the path we had just come.
“That’s Pirate!” Josie barked, coming to her feet and pointing to where Pirate disappeared through the underbrush.
“Hell’s tarnation, what’s the cat doin’ out in the middle of the woods!” Nan roared, hauling me back down as I made to run after Pirate.
“That’s Pirate! That’s Pirate!” Josie kept yelling, stomping back towards Nan, still pointing after the cat.
“I knows it’s Pirate, Jose,” Nan cried out, slinging the gun back over her shoulder and shoving herself back up on her feet. “I can tell a cat from a bleedin’ partridge, now get on ahead, else there’ll be no time to pick berries on this day. My gawd,” she muttered, picking up her bucket as Josie started back through the woods again, with me following, looking over my shoulder after Pirate. “You’d think I killed him, the way you’s are all gettin’ on. What in hell’s flames is a cat doin’ out here, anyway?”
“He follows me,” I said.
“Heh, he won’t be followin’ you much after this,” Nan said. “It’s like I said now; timin’s everything, but sometimes, ’tis only the hand of God that can save ye.”
Another half-hour walk and we broke onto the barrens, a rolling land that began with the edge of the cliffs looking out over the bay and rolled inland as far as the eye could see. Bereft of trees from a fire near on twenty years ago, it was wide open to the wind and fog, and a hunter’s nightmare on snow-drifted days or fog-blanketed evenings, with not even a stump to mark a path or point to the edge of the cliffs. And there were stories aplenty about berrypickers getting lost or near falling over the cliffs on bright, sun-lit days from being hunched over, picking berries and not watching where they were wandering. Nan’s partridgeberry patch was another half-hour’s walk over the barrens, along the cliff, and spreading down over a grade that dipped about halfways down to the sea. With a bit of skill and a good pair of boots, it was possible to climb the rest of the way down the cliff and come out onto the beach.
“Your grandfather and me use to climb down to the beach and build a fire for our cup of tea, years ago when he was alive, God bless him,” Nan said after we had picked the firm, red berries for a while and was taking a rest, leaning our backs against a matted mound of rocks. “We use to bring her with us,” Nan murmured, gazing after Josie as she wandered around the back of a knoll, her hair as red as the moss that capped it. “Like the goat, she was, climbin’ over them cliffs.” Nan turned her face to the wind, listening as the gulls screamed out over the surf. I watched as she closed her eyes and her jaw slackened. It was what she liked doing best, she’d often say, sitting on the sun-splotched barrens with the moss crusty beneath her feet and wild with purple, reds and browns. And on sunny days like today, she once said, up here on the cliffs and with no trees breaking the sight, the air was so blue that it felt like she was living amongst sky.
“Nan,” I said after she had dozed for a bit and was snorting herself awake again, “do you think they’ll try and put me in the orphanage, agin?”
Nan sat up straight.
“Be the Jesus, Kit, is they startin’ on you in school, agin?”
“No, Nan.”
“Tell me, now … ”
“Noo, Nan.”
“Is you worryin’?”
I shrugged and plucked a handful of berries from a bush nearby.
“Now, you listen to me, Kittens,” Nan said, resting her hands on her knees and leaning sideways to see into my face. “As long as I walks the face of this earth, no one got the guts to come after you, agin. I met ’em at the door, I did. And it wouldn’t everyone, just May Eveleigh and Jimmy Randall, and the reverend and his wife. I bade ’em to come in, I did, and pointed out to ’em where to
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