him to swim. Pretend. He got some water in his mouth.”
“It’ll be fun when him and Carson get old enough to play together.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Later Caroline begged Aunt Ruth to let her spend that night with Henry. She sort of wanted to keep an eye on him. Drowning might could go ahead and happen anyway — a few hours after somebody got saved. Aunt Ruth said fine, as long as it was all right with Aunt Dorie. And it was.
After her bedtime, Caroline, almost asleep, lay on the cot against the bedroom wall, still afraid for Henry, listening for talk and movement.
“Let’s get you a fresh diaper,” said Aunt Dorie to Henry.
“Look,” said Uncle Jack. “He’s got a woody.”
“Jack. You shouldn’t be talking that way. Caroline might be awake.”
“She’s asleep. He’d rather play with that thing than win money.”
“Jack! Be quiet.”
Caroline wondered if a woody was something caused by Henry almost drowning. What was he playing with? She saw a small piece of wood stuck to his side somehow. She thought about the big plank that killed her daddy, and the man who drove the truck.
1933
H enry, in Aunt Dorie’s lap, wore the blue pajamas that Santa Claus had brought him. Aunt Dorie sat up in bed. He listened as she finished the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors from
The Children’s Book of Bible Stories
, and then as she read aloud to him from a thin, blue book: “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.”
Jack, propped up on the other side of the bed, read the newspaper, folded so he could hold it in one hand. A cigarillo and a kitchen match hung between his lips.
“Why couldn’t they put him together?” Henry asked Dorie.
“He was broke.”
“Why was he bloke?”
“He fell off a wall.”
“Why?”
“He just did.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t say, sweetie.”
“Read it again.”
Dorie read the nursery rhyme.
“Who was the king?”
“He was the head man in England.”
“Did he know Moses?”
“I don’t think he did.”
“Did God know the king?”
“I guess he did. Yes, he did. God knows everybody.”
“Did Jesus know the king?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was at a different time.”
Later, after Henry was asleep on his thick pallet, Jack looked over. “I just think you should read him nursery rhymes and comic books. That Bible-story book . . .”
“What?”
“Where’s it at?”
“What?”
“That book of Bible stories.”
“Right here on the table.”
“Hand it here. Which one were you on?”
“Joseph. It’s from the Bible, Jack. Let’s don’t do this again now,” said Dorie.
“I’ll just open it. Okay. So here we go. Adam and Eve. Poor them.”
“Let’s don’t do this in front of Henry.”
“He’s asleep.”
“You read to him if you don’t like what I read.”
“I’ll tell him some stories. And you show me a man that won’t eat a apple hanging in his own yard and I’ll show you a . . . wimpy man.”
The next night, in bed, Dorie rested her head back with her eyes closed. Henry sat in Uncle Jack’s lap, facing him.
“Now,” said Uncle Jack. “Once upon a time there was this old woman lived way out in the woods by herself, and every night she cooked biscuits and gravy for supper, and while she was cooking she’d go to the door and say, ‘Who’s a-coming to eat biscuits and gravy with me tonight?’ And nobody ever answered, except one night this voice from way off says, ‘I’m a-coming.’ So she went back inside and started fixing biscuits and gravy, then in a little bit went back to the door and said, ‘Who’s a-coming to eat biscuits and gravy with me tonight?’ And not that far off a voice says, ‘I’m a-coming.’ So she went back in and finished up with the biscuits and gravy and then came back to the door and said, ‘Who’s a-coming to eat biscuits and gravy with me tonight?’ and right around the corner of the
“It’ll be fun when him and Carson get old enough to play together.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Later Caroline begged Aunt Ruth to let her spend that night with Henry. She sort of wanted to keep an eye on him. Drowning might could go ahead and happen anyway — a few hours after somebody got saved. Aunt Ruth said fine, as long as it was all right with Aunt Dorie. And it was.
After her bedtime, Caroline, almost asleep, lay on the cot against the bedroom wall, still afraid for Henry, listening for talk and movement.
“Let’s get you a fresh diaper,” said Aunt Dorie to Henry.
“Look,” said Uncle Jack. “He’s got a woody.”
“Jack. You shouldn’t be talking that way. Caroline might be awake.”
“She’s asleep. He’d rather play with that thing than win money.”
“Jack! Be quiet.”
Caroline wondered if a woody was something caused by Henry almost drowning. What was he playing with? She saw a small piece of wood stuck to his side somehow. She thought about the big plank that killed her daddy, and the man who drove the truck.
1933
H enry, in Aunt Dorie’s lap, wore the blue pajamas that Santa Claus had brought him. Aunt Dorie sat up in bed. He listened as she finished the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors from
The Children’s Book of Bible Stories
, and then as she read aloud to him from a thin, blue book: “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.”
Jack, propped up on the other side of the bed, read the newspaper, folded so he could hold it in one hand. A cigarillo and a kitchen match hung between his lips.
“Why couldn’t they put him together?” Henry asked Dorie.
“He was broke.”
“Why was he bloke?”
“He fell off a wall.”
“Why?”
“He just did.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t say, sweetie.”
“Read it again.”
Dorie read the nursery rhyme.
“Who was the king?”
“He was the head man in England.”
“Did he know Moses?”
“I don’t think he did.”
“Did God know the king?”
“I guess he did. Yes, he did. God knows everybody.”
“Did Jesus know the king?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was at a different time.”
Later, after Henry was asleep on his thick pallet, Jack looked over. “I just think you should read him nursery rhymes and comic books. That Bible-story book . . .”
“What?”
“Where’s it at?”
“What?”
“That book of Bible stories.”
“Right here on the table.”
“Hand it here. Which one were you on?”
“Joseph. It’s from the Bible, Jack. Let’s don’t do this again now,” said Dorie.
“I’ll just open it. Okay. So here we go. Adam and Eve. Poor them.”
“Let’s don’t do this in front of Henry.”
“He’s asleep.”
“You read to him if you don’t like what I read.”
“I’ll tell him some stories. And you show me a man that won’t eat a apple hanging in his own yard and I’ll show you a . . . wimpy man.”
The next night, in bed, Dorie rested her head back with her eyes closed. Henry sat in Uncle Jack’s lap, facing him.
“Now,” said Uncle Jack. “Once upon a time there was this old woman lived way out in the woods by herself, and every night she cooked biscuits and gravy for supper, and while she was cooking she’d go to the door and say, ‘Who’s a-coming to eat biscuits and gravy with me tonight?’ And nobody ever answered, except one night this voice from way off says, ‘I’m a-coming.’ So she went back inside and started fixing biscuits and gravy, then in a little bit went back to the door and said, ‘Who’s a-coming to eat biscuits and gravy with me tonight?’ And not that far off a voice says, ‘I’m a-coming.’ So she went back in and finished up with the biscuits and gravy and then came back to the door and said, ‘Who’s a-coming to eat biscuits and gravy with me tonight?’ and right around the corner of the
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