to walk. He could catch up. And he did. My boots trampled
the frozen ground beneath my feet. It must have rained while we were in the diner. Ice seemed to be
covering everything. Every few steps I would feel my boots slip, but then I would steady myself
before falling down. We walked like this side by side for a while, our breaths exploding into
miniature clouds in front of our faces as we went along.
“You know Mrs. Anderson, don’t you?” I asked him.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Anderson is a … nice lady.”
He said it strangely. I wasn’t sure what he meant about it. Buck seemed to say everyone’s name in a
weird way though. It’s like he held grudges or something, knew something about everyone.
“She’s always calling my father for one thing or the other. Usually it’s her son that calls though.”
“It’s not like she’s that old,” Buck commented as if I had meant she were elderly or incapable of
taking care of herself.
“No, she’s not.” I hadn’t really thought much about it before. Mrs. Anderson had always seemed
older to me because her kids were at least a good ten to fifteen years older than myself, but really, she
was around the same age as my parents. She had just had her kids at a young age. I wondered why I
had never really thought about that before. “She’s been through a lot though.”
“You mean with her husband’s death and then Ernie’s?” Buck asked. “It’s actually been a long time
since both of them passed.” He said it without a hint of sympathy.
I slipped on the ice again, but this time I felt Buck grab hold of the back of my arm, steadying me.
“Thanks.” He didn’t release his grasp but continued to keep a firm hold on me to make sure that I
wouldn’t be able to slip again.
Mrs. Anderson had had some troublesome hardships to deal with in the last decade or so. Her
husband had suddenly killed himself. Mrs. Anderson was the one who found him hanging by a rope in
their bedroom. No one knew why he had done it, and nobody liked to mention that it had happened
either. Suicide was a very difficult thing to deal with. Not only had that loved one died, but we
believed that his soul would be damned as well. That’s what we were taught in the church. I couldn’t
really ever remember seeing Mrs. Anderson’s husband. I couldn’t picture his face in my head.
And then around five or six years later, Mrs. Anderson’s middle child, Ernie, died in a fishing
accident. He had been at the lake by himself and campers found him face down in the water, drowned.
I didn’t know her well, but she was probably an emotional wreck, devastated by the loss of those
around her, and rightfully so. She never came to church, but she seemed to need extra guidance from
my father, and if she was really depressed, her son, Lauren, would call my father to try to help her.
Lately, it seemed like a regular occurrence. Mrs. Anderson, the unstable widow of Seneca. She had
turned into ‘the creepy lady’ to the little kids who wanted nothing to do with her and would double
dare each other, especially around Halloween, to walk down her long driveway and catch a glimpse
of her in her house, as if she were a witch or something, like her house was now haunted by the ghost
of her dead husband.
“She just needs a little more spiritual help than others,” I finally said, trying to defend the poor
lady. “It may have been awhile, but who knows how long it takes to get over some of the things she’s
been through.”
“You’re right.” Buck sounded sympathetic now, more towards me catching him being heartless
rather than judging Mrs. Anderson.
The field was coming to an end as I could see trees directly ahead and then the opening that was the
entrance of her long, narrow driveway. The fog seemed to have lifted a little in this area, and I looked
around me and really saw that everything was truly covered in ice.
“Must’ve rained.” Buck was having the exact same thoughts. “Hey, hold on for a sec.” He
the frozen ground beneath my feet. It must have rained while we were in the diner. Ice seemed to be
covering everything. Every few steps I would feel my boots slip, but then I would steady myself
before falling down. We walked like this side by side for a while, our breaths exploding into
miniature clouds in front of our faces as we went along.
“You know Mrs. Anderson, don’t you?” I asked him.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Anderson is a … nice lady.”
He said it strangely. I wasn’t sure what he meant about it. Buck seemed to say everyone’s name in a
weird way though. It’s like he held grudges or something, knew something about everyone.
“She’s always calling my father for one thing or the other. Usually it’s her son that calls though.”
“It’s not like she’s that old,” Buck commented as if I had meant she were elderly or incapable of
taking care of herself.
“No, she’s not.” I hadn’t really thought much about it before. Mrs. Anderson had always seemed
older to me because her kids were at least a good ten to fifteen years older than myself, but really, she
was around the same age as my parents. She had just had her kids at a young age. I wondered why I
had never really thought about that before. “She’s been through a lot though.”
“You mean with her husband’s death and then Ernie’s?” Buck asked. “It’s actually been a long time
since both of them passed.” He said it without a hint of sympathy.
I slipped on the ice again, but this time I felt Buck grab hold of the back of my arm, steadying me.
“Thanks.” He didn’t release his grasp but continued to keep a firm hold on me to make sure that I
wouldn’t be able to slip again.
Mrs. Anderson had had some troublesome hardships to deal with in the last decade or so. Her
husband had suddenly killed himself. Mrs. Anderson was the one who found him hanging by a rope in
their bedroom. No one knew why he had done it, and nobody liked to mention that it had happened
either. Suicide was a very difficult thing to deal with. Not only had that loved one died, but we
believed that his soul would be damned as well. That’s what we were taught in the church. I couldn’t
really ever remember seeing Mrs. Anderson’s husband. I couldn’t picture his face in my head.
And then around five or six years later, Mrs. Anderson’s middle child, Ernie, died in a fishing
accident. He had been at the lake by himself and campers found him face down in the water, drowned.
I didn’t know her well, but she was probably an emotional wreck, devastated by the loss of those
around her, and rightfully so. She never came to church, but she seemed to need extra guidance from
my father, and if she was really depressed, her son, Lauren, would call my father to try to help her.
Lately, it seemed like a regular occurrence. Mrs. Anderson, the unstable widow of Seneca. She had
turned into ‘the creepy lady’ to the little kids who wanted nothing to do with her and would double
dare each other, especially around Halloween, to walk down her long driveway and catch a glimpse
of her in her house, as if she were a witch or something, like her house was now haunted by the ghost
of her dead husband.
“She just needs a little more spiritual help than others,” I finally said, trying to defend the poor
lady. “It may have been awhile, but who knows how long it takes to get over some of the things she’s
been through.”
“You’re right.” Buck sounded sympathetic now, more towards me catching him being heartless
rather than judging Mrs. Anderson.
The field was coming to an end as I could see trees directly ahead and then the opening that was the
entrance of her long, narrow driveway. The fog seemed to have lifted a little in this area, and I looked
around me and really saw that everything was truly covered in ice.
“Must’ve rained.” Buck was having the exact same thoughts. “Hey, hold on for a sec.” He
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