side to side because she didn’t like lying; it gave her a headache. “Nothing I can’t handle, but you have to promise me no more antics. This feud between you and Kitty needs to end.”
“As soon as Kitty fesses up to being a liar and a cheat.” Her voice was so melodic she sounded as though she was giving one of her famous Sunday school lessons. Only the moral of this story was an eye for an eye.
“Grams,” Glory said softly, looking at the photo that hung above the sink showing a very young Jelly Lou sitting atop the Pitter while kissing her Ned. “I know how important the Sugar Pull is to you, and what that tractor means. If Ms. Kitty wins, then the Prowler will be tied with Grandpa’s tractor for most wins on record. But I don’t think Grandpa would have wanted you to steal her tractor. Or that he’d be comfortable with you racing. I bet Dr. Moore wouldn’t be thrilled either.”
“Why do you think I’ve been going to PT? To get ready.” Jelly Lou narrowed her eyes. “And I’m doing it because I promised Ned I would.”
Oh boy. Jelly Lou might be the only woman in history crazy enough to petition that Road Kill should be a certified therapy companion so he could eat in restaurants, and she had been known, on occasion, to play forgetful when caught pushing her ’67 Camaro over eighty in a sixty zone, but she was as sharp as her quilting needle. Downright poky if riled. And sure, Glory had been working a lot lately, and with the condensed summer school schedule, she hadn’t been around as much as she’d like. But had she been too busy that she overlooked that her grandma’s mental state was slipping?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jelly Lou chided. “I haven’t gone and lost my mind. Although I do admit that from time to time I talk to Ned. And sometimes, when I really need him, it feels as though he’s right there holding my hand and talking back.”
“Me, too.” Glory had never met Ned. He’d passed before she was born, but she’d heard enough to know that she would have loved him. And Jelly Lou swore that he would have loved Glory right back. Most days Glory believed her.
She thought of returning the tractor and smiled because today happened to be one of those days. Then again, Jelly Lou also swore that she was just going to play poker with the girls last night.
“When I lost use of my legs, it was like I’d lost all my usefulness. I couldn’t cook or do simple housework, or stroll down Maple Street with Ned on my arm. I couldn’t even help him in the orchard and he always had a problem telling which ones were ready for picking.” She gazed out the window to the orchard, which was now leased to a tenant farmer. “One day he came in and tossed his hat on the table, the straw one hanging above the fireplace, and said, “Lou-Lu, picking peaches without your harping is about as exciting as whoopee with the lights off.” Then he picked me up right out of my chair and carried me outside. And there, sitting in the barn, looking as new as the day I got her, was the Pitter.”
Glory sighed and felt it from her heart straight down to her toes. And like every other time she’d heard this story, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be loved like that. To be so ingrained in someone’s heart that you need the other person to live.
“Secretive old coot.” Jelly shook her head, a crop of silver curls bouncing as she chuckled. “Your granddaddy spent every spare minute that year rebuilding the Pitter in secret, from the brakes up. New engine, new seat with a special harness, even crafted hand-powered paddles for the accelerator and brakes. He said that I didn’t need legs to drive the tractor, but he needed his wife to tell him which peaches were ready for picking.”
Jelly Lou’s face went soft, the way it always did when she talked about Ned. “Took me two years until I could operate it by myself, another three until I felt free again, but I worked that land
“As soon as Kitty fesses up to being a liar and a cheat.” Her voice was so melodic she sounded as though she was giving one of her famous Sunday school lessons. Only the moral of this story was an eye for an eye.
“Grams,” Glory said softly, looking at the photo that hung above the sink showing a very young Jelly Lou sitting atop the Pitter while kissing her Ned. “I know how important the Sugar Pull is to you, and what that tractor means. If Ms. Kitty wins, then the Prowler will be tied with Grandpa’s tractor for most wins on record. But I don’t think Grandpa would have wanted you to steal her tractor. Or that he’d be comfortable with you racing. I bet Dr. Moore wouldn’t be thrilled either.”
“Why do you think I’ve been going to PT? To get ready.” Jelly Lou narrowed her eyes. “And I’m doing it because I promised Ned I would.”
Oh boy. Jelly Lou might be the only woman in history crazy enough to petition that Road Kill should be a certified therapy companion so he could eat in restaurants, and she had been known, on occasion, to play forgetful when caught pushing her ’67 Camaro over eighty in a sixty zone, but she was as sharp as her quilting needle. Downright poky if riled. And sure, Glory had been working a lot lately, and with the condensed summer school schedule, she hadn’t been around as much as she’d like. But had she been too busy that she overlooked that her grandma’s mental state was slipping?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jelly Lou chided. “I haven’t gone and lost my mind. Although I do admit that from time to time I talk to Ned. And sometimes, when I really need him, it feels as though he’s right there holding my hand and talking back.”
“Me, too.” Glory had never met Ned. He’d passed before she was born, but she’d heard enough to know that she would have loved him. And Jelly Lou swore that he would have loved Glory right back. Most days Glory believed her.
She thought of returning the tractor and smiled because today happened to be one of those days. Then again, Jelly Lou also swore that she was just going to play poker with the girls last night.
“When I lost use of my legs, it was like I’d lost all my usefulness. I couldn’t cook or do simple housework, or stroll down Maple Street with Ned on my arm. I couldn’t even help him in the orchard and he always had a problem telling which ones were ready for picking.” She gazed out the window to the orchard, which was now leased to a tenant farmer. “One day he came in and tossed his hat on the table, the straw one hanging above the fireplace, and said, “Lou-Lu, picking peaches without your harping is about as exciting as whoopee with the lights off.” Then he picked me up right out of my chair and carried me outside. And there, sitting in the barn, looking as new as the day I got her, was the Pitter.”
Glory sighed and felt it from her heart straight down to her toes. And like every other time she’d heard this story, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be loved like that. To be so ingrained in someone’s heart that you need the other person to live.
“Secretive old coot.” Jelly shook her head, a crop of silver curls bouncing as she chuckled. “Your granddaddy spent every spare minute that year rebuilding the Pitter in secret, from the brakes up. New engine, new seat with a special harness, even crafted hand-powered paddles for the accelerator and brakes. He said that I didn’t need legs to drive the tractor, but he needed his wife to tell him which peaches were ready for picking.”
Jelly Lou’s face went soft, the way it always did when she talked about Ned. “Took me two years until I could operate it by myself, another three until I felt free again, but I worked that land
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