expect me to believe that you don’t have a telephone?” the nurse said.
“Don’t have that electricity thing neither, but I hear they right fine. Thank you agin, and you have a good trip back.” She placed three worn dollar bills in the nurse’s hand. “I wish it was more, honey, but it all the egg money I got.”
The nurse stared down at the cash for a moment and said, “I’m staying until I’m satisfied that my patient—”
Louisa Mae once more gripped her elbow and led her to the front door. “Most folk here got rules ’bout trespassing. Warning shot’s fired right close to the head. Get they’s attention. Next shot gets a lot more personal. Now, I’m too old to waste time firing a warning shot, and I ain’t never once used salt in my gun. And now I can’t give it no straighter’n that.”
When the Hudson pulled up, the ambulance was still parked in front of the farmhouse, which had a deep, cool porch and shadows elongating across it as the sun rose higher. Lou and Oz got out of the car and confronted their new home. It was smaller than it had appeared from a distance. And Lou noted several sets of uneven add-ons to the sides and back, all of which were set on a crumbling fieldstone base with stepstone rock leading from ground to porch. The unshingled roof had what looked to be black tar paper across it. A picket-fence railing ran along the porch, which also sagged in places. The chimney was made of hand-formed brick, and the mortar had leached over parts of it. The clapboard was in need of painting, heat pops were fairly numerous, and wood had buckled and warped in places where moisture had crawled inside.
Lou accepted it for what it clearly was: an old house, having gone through various reincarnations and situated in a place of unforgiving elements. But the front-yard grass was neatly cut, the steps, windows, and porch floor were clean, and she tallied the early bloom of flowers in glass jars and wooden buckets set along the porch rail and in window boxes. Climbing rose vines ran up the porch columns, a screen of dormant maypops covered part of the porch, and a husky vine of sleeping honeysuckle spread against one wall. There was a rough-hewn workbench on the porch with tools scattered across its surface and a split-bottom hickory chair next to it.
Brown hens started singing around their feet, and a couple of mean-looking geese came calling, sending the hens off screeching for their lives. And then a yellow-footed rooster stomped by and scared the geese off, cocked its head at Lou and Oz, gave a crow, and stomped back from whence it had come. The mare whinnied a greeting from its corral, while the pair of mules just stared at nothing. Their hairy skin was cave black, their ears and snout not quite balanced with each other. Oz took a step toward them for a better look and then retreated when one of the mules made a noise Oz had never heard before yet which clearly sounded threatening.
Lou’s and Oz’s attention shifted to the front door when it was thrown open with far more thrust than was necessary. Their mother’s nurse came clomping out. She stalked past them, her long arms and legs cocking and firing off rounds of silent fury.
“Never in all my life,” she wailed to the Appalachians. Without another word or grimace, flap of arm or kick of leg, she climbed into the ambulance, closed the doors, which made two modest thunks as metal hit metal, and the volunteer brigade beat a timid retreat. Beyond perplexed, Lou and Oz turned back to the house for answers and found themselves staring at her.
Standing in the doorway was Louisa Mae Cardinal. She was very tall, and though also very lean, she looked strong enough to strangle a bear, and determined enough to do so. Her face was leathern, the lines creasing it the etch of wood grain. Although she was approaching her eightieth year, the balls of her cheeks still rode high. The jaw was also strong, though her mouth drooped some. Her silver hair
“Don’t have that electricity thing neither, but I hear they right fine. Thank you agin, and you have a good trip back.” She placed three worn dollar bills in the nurse’s hand. “I wish it was more, honey, but it all the egg money I got.”
The nurse stared down at the cash for a moment and said, “I’m staying until I’m satisfied that my patient—”
Louisa Mae once more gripped her elbow and led her to the front door. “Most folk here got rules ’bout trespassing. Warning shot’s fired right close to the head. Get they’s attention. Next shot gets a lot more personal. Now, I’m too old to waste time firing a warning shot, and I ain’t never once used salt in my gun. And now I can’t give it no straighter’n that.”
When the Hudson pulled up, the ambulance was still parked in front of the farmhouse, which had a deep, cool porch and shadows elongating across it as the sun rose higher. Lou and Oz got out of the car and confronted their new home. It was smaller than it had appeared from a distance. And Lou noted several sets of uneven add-ons to the sides and back, all of which were set on a crumbling fieldstone base with stepstone rock leading from ground to porch. The unshingled roof had what looked to be black tar paper across it. A picket-fence railing ran along the porch, which also sagged in places. The chimney was made of hand-formed brick, and the mortar had leached over parts of it. The clapboard was in need of painting, heat pops were fairly numerous, and wood had buckled and warped in places where moisture had crawled inside.
Lou accepted it for what it clearly was: an old house, having gone through various reincarnations and situated in a place of unforgiving elements. But the front-yard grass was neatly cut, the steps, windows, and porch floor were clean, and she tallied the early bloom of flowers in glass jars and wooden buckets set along the porch rail and in window boxes. Climbing rose vines ran up the porch columns, a screen of dormant maypops covered part of the porch, and a husky vine of sleeping honeysuckle spread against one wall. There was a rough-hewn workbench on the porch with tools scattered across its surface and a split-bottom hickory chair next to it.
Brown hens started singing around their feet, and a couple of mean-looking geese came calling, sending the hens off screeching for their lives. And then a yellow-footed rooster stomped by and scared the geese off, cocked its head at Lou and Oz, gave a crow, and stomped back from whence it had come. The mare whinnied a greeting from its corral, while the pair of mules just stared at nothing. Their hairy skin was cave black, their ears and snout not quite balanced with each other. Oz took a step toward them for a better look and then retreated when one of the mules made a noise Oz had never heard before yet which clearly sounded threatening.
Lou’s and Oz’s attention shifted to the front door when it was thrown open with far more thrust than was necessary. Their mother’s nurse came clomping out. She stalked past them, her long arms and legs cocking and firing off rounds of silent fury.
“Never in all my life,” she wailed to the Appalachians. Without another word or grimace, flap of arm or kick of leg, she climbed into the ambulance, closed the doors, which made two modest thunks as metal hit metal, and the volunteer brigade beat a timid retreat. Beyond perplexed, Lou and Oz turned back to the house for answers and found themselves staring at her.
Standing in the doorway was Louisa Mae Cardinal. She was very tall, and though also very lean, she looked strong enough to strangle a bear, and determined enough to do so. Her face was leathern, the lines creasing it the etch of wood grain. Although she was approaching her eightieth year, the balls of her cheeks still rode high. The jaw was also strong, though her mouth drooped some. Her silver hair
Similar Books
