Mrs. Vida Leigh, the school librarian, came to a dead stop at the magazine rack. She snatched off a “Newsweek”. She knew good and well she hadn’t approved yet and began ripping out pages and pictures she deemed offensive. Once the entertainment section and anything about Democrats was in a ball in her pocket, she smiled and slipped it back on the rack.
It was the first day of the new school year, and the library was already full of seniors. She hated that the school board insisted they use her library for a homeroom. What made her even more unhappy was that the assistant football coach was the homeroom teacher.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Coach Wren, although she didn’t, she was convinced that school wasn’t any place for sports. She deemed anything that caused people to sweat or push others down was sinful, unless of course you were doing it for the Lord.
She took a seat behind the book check out, the high stool so she could look down over everyone, and gazed at this year’s crop of seniors. There was Garland Pitts, 22 and finally a senior. He was stupid as all get out, but at least he wasn’t a quitter, she thought.
Well, it wasn’t too bad a crop. There were six other senior homerooms. If she and the Home Ec teacher couldn’t get a few of them expelled or to quit there would be 99 graduating, tying with the most ever to graduate in a single year. Face it, there weren’t ninety-nine people in this county that deserved a good education.
In walked that nasty Broderick Moretz. Mrs. Leigh squinted her eyes as he took a seat at one of the tables. He was in for a surprise. He wasn’t going to get away with anything this year. She couldn’t prove that he taped the faces of Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich on that picture of the couple copulating she’d found in the boy’s locker room, but she just knew he’d done it. He was going to pay and she was gonna make him.
She slipped off her stool and stomped right over to him. “What do you think you’re doing, young man?”
Brod looked up at her. “Reading.”
“And who gave you permission?” She put her hands on her hips.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Leigh.” He closed his book and looked up at her. “This is the library, I just assumed…”
“You know what assuming does Broderick Moretz? It makes a you know what out of you and me.” She harped and looked down out the cover. “And we do not allow THAT kind of trash to be read in this school!”
Brod’s cousin, Modene, leaned over, looked at the book and back up at Mrs. Leigh. “The Bible?”
Mrs. Leigh pointed at it. “That is NOT a King James! Filthy filthy trash…”
Modene cleared her throat. “Mrs. Leigh weren’t you suspended last year for forcing your unsolicited religious views on a student?”
“I was helping that young lady!” She snapped.
“You were trying to perform an exorcism on Marcella Tater.” Modene reminded her flatly. “She still can’t walk past a water fountain without having a flashback.”
“I don’t know how that rumor got started.” Mrs. Leigh decided she’d better calm down and walked away.
“You shouldn’t mess with her like that, Modene.” Brod chided his cousin. “Copperheads always strike a second time.”
“Pooh!” Modene waved her hand at him. “The only reason that woman’s still here is cause Arzella Tater didn’t want any proof what a slut Marcella is brought up in court.”
“Still.” Brod shook is head and put his New King James Bible back in his backpack. “And thank you. How you holding up?”
Modene took a deep breath. “Fine.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “How ‘bout you?”
Brod smiled. “Oh just fine. I’m trying to look at it as a big adventure. It ain’t ever day that a big ol’ murder investigation lands in yer family tree. Who knows, maybe we’ll end up a Lifetime movie. That’d make Maw Maw happy.”
Modene laughed. “That’d be fun. I bet they’d get Valerie Bertinelli to play Maw Maw. She’s a good actress.”
“I was thinkin’ maybe Colin Farrell or that Mohawk guy from Glee could play Ronnie.”
“Mind of I sit here?” A new face asked.
“Not’all.” Modene smiled at the boy and shoved a chair from under the table with her foot. “Sit a spell. I’m Modene and this here’s m’cousin Brod.”
The new boy put his stuff on the table and nodded his head as he sat down. “I’m Jeff Neff. I just moved here from Maryland.”
“Nice t’meet cha Jeff Neff from Maryland.” Modene batted her eyes.
“You!” Came the squall from across the room.
Jeff bolted up straight. “Me?”
Mrs. Leigh came strutting over with her hands on her hips. “New kid, I would be more careful of my choice in friends if you wanna survive this school.”
“Oh, Mizz Leigh, it ain’t like we got cooties.” Modene looked at her. “Besides there’s only two empty chairs left, he took one and the other’s beside him.”
“Well…” The librarian grinned. “Maybe that should tell the two of you somethin’. I’ve got my eye on all three of ya…now…” She smirked and sashayed back to whatever rock she crawled out from under.
Brod leaned over. “Don’t pay any ‘tention ta her.” He pointed to his temple and made circular motions. “S’what brings ya here from Maryland?”
Jeff looked down at his stack of notebooks. “Well, my mother passed away last winter and my Stepdad and I decided to start over.”
“Ya stayed with yer Stepdad?” Brod asked.
Jeff nodded his head. “Never really met my real father, and my Stepdad practically raised me. He’s cool, kind of a best buddy and a father all in one.”
“That’s cool.” Brod smiled. He shot a glance over at Modene and then took her hand. “You okay, Modene?”
She smiled and nodded her head.
“Did I say something wrong?” Jeff asked.
“Naw, honey.” Modene looked at him. “My Daddy died a couple a weeks ago. Still hurts.”
“I understand.” Jeff tried to comfort her. “My Mama hasn’t been gone a year, and there’s still a big ache sometimes. But you’ve got to go on, Modene. Your Daddy wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Thank you.” She looked up, waved and pointed. “Deanna, over here.”
The trio looked in the direction of Modene’s shouting. Deanna Morely waddled toward them dressed in over sized overhauls and a flannel shirt. She puffed as she slammed the books she carried in front of her down on the table and had a seat.
“Is it jus’ me, or is it hot in h’yere?” She grunted.
“Probably jus’ you, girl.” Modene said. “It’s the dog days a summer. What’cha got a long sleeve flannel shirt on fer?”
“M’ kids is all got sick an’ it’s all I could find clean.” Deanna leaned back in her chair. “I thought about jus’ quittin’ but I figger I got this far might as well finish up. 'Sides I don' wanna be like my mama and not get her diplomer afore her oldest started school.”
“Kids?” Jeff was dumbfounded. “You’ve got kids?”
“Yup. Ever one looks like m’husband only with more boogers and less poop.” She ripped a page out of her notebook and made a fan.
“I haint seen Eubie lately.” Brod said. “He still at the muffler shop?”
“I reckon.” Deanna start waving herself with the paper fan. “We done split up.”
“Oh, honey.” Modene frowned. “I’m sa sorry.”
“I shoulda listened to my paw. He wanted us ta wait ta get married til I started High School, but I was thur’teen and in love.” She blew out some air and rubbed her belly. “I larned my lesson. My daughter ain’t even gonna be allowed ta date until she’s eleven.”
“You got married at thirteen?” Jeff couldn’t believe it.
“Yes’sir.” Deanna looked at him. “I was smart though. Eubie was twenny one and had a good job, so’s I could stay in school er at least I thought it was smart at the time.”
“I don’ mean to be nosy, Deanna.” Modene leaned in. “Why’d ja break up?”
“Aw.” Deanna slammed the fan on the table. “I dint ask and he dint tell, but that weatherman from channel 39 sure did.”
“That’s a Fox station.” Modene nodded her head. “They’s pretty liberal.”
“I shoulda known somethin’ was wrong.” Deanna sniffed. “Eubie got ta whar he was only frisky after watchin’ Dancin’ With the Stars".
“That Dereck Hough is a hottie.” Modene told her.
“Reckon Eubie thought so.” Deanna picked her fan back up.
Modene turned her head to look at Jeff with a big smile on her face. “So how ya likin’ Johnson County so far?”
“Just got here yesterday. M’Dad has been here a couple of days, so I haven’t seen much but the school.”
“Ain’t a whole lot here.” Brod told him. “Me an’ Modene can show ya round the county after school if ya got ten seconds ta spare.”
“That would be nice.” Jeff smiled. “I can’t get over the fact that the school’s round.”
“Don’t know why.” Modene said. “Unless they gots the plans mixed up with a Tetley tea bag.”
Jeff got a strange look on his face. “My feet are wet.”
“Huh?” Brod said.
“All of a sudden my feet are wet.”
Modene cocked her head. “Mine, too.”
“Dayam.” Deanna cursed.
“Whatsa matter with you?” Brod asked her.
“My water done broke.” She moaned.
“Yer water?” Modene piped up.
“Ohhhh.” Deanna grabbed her belly and put her head on the table. “The baby’s comin’’.
“Baby?” Jeff stood up knocking his chair over.
“Thought you said you an’ Eubie split up?” Brod leaned back in his chair and asked her.
Deanna lifted her forehead off the table and glared at him. “He left me a little partin’ gift.” She moaned and put her head back down.
“Somebody do something!” Jeff began to panic.
“Mizz Leigh!” A kid at the next table yelled not bothering to look up from his card game. “Morely’s in labor agin!”
“Call a paramedic!” Jeff rushed to Deanna and tried to help her lay down on the floor.
“Calm down, Jeff.” Modene nonchalantly reached for her purse, looking for her cell phone. “Happens all the time.”
Mrs. Leigh sauntered over to Deanna, Jeff having stretched her out on the floor. “Deanna Morely!” She scolded, bending over to look down at her. “You know you ain’t allowed to be pregnant an’ come ta school.”
Deanna grabbed her belly and looked at her. “Gimme five minutes an’ I won’t be.”
“I’m gonna tell yer mama!” The librarian warned.
“Why?” Deanna groaned. “Accordin’ ta you, she cain’t come ta school neither.” Deanna groaned and curled up in a ball.
“Oh God!” Jeff got on his knees and tried to figure out what to do. He looked up at Mrs. Leigh. “Get a book on child birth or something!”
Mrs. Leigh put her hands on her hips and raised her over plucked eyebrows. “We don’t got any books with dirty pictures in 'em young man. You just git those sinful thoughts right outta yer head.”
Modene put her cell phone away. “Just hold it in a little while longer, Deanna. I called the Rescue Squad.”
“Oh, thank ya, Modene.” Deanna groaned in appreciation. “If it’s a girl, I’ll name it after you.”
“Great, two little girls named after a toilet cake.” She mumbled.
The class bell rang. Suddenly the library came to life with students standing, scooting chairs under the tables and stepping over Deanna to get to class.
Brod stood and gathered his books. “Deanna, you be okay?”
“Oh sure, honey, ya’ll run along. I done this afore.” She shooed Jeff away. “Onect the rescue squad gits here, I’ll spit this kid out like a paint ball.”
“I can’t just leave you here like this.” Jeff protested.
“That’s so sweet. But I’ll be fine.” Deanna told him.
Modene handed Jeff his stack of books, “Com’mon Jeff. She’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” He asked.
Brod nodded then looked at Deanna. “I’ll tell Mr. Dyer you’ll be late for science.”
“Thanks, Brod. ‘Bout fifteen er twenny minutes if ain’t twins..agin.” Deanna smiled.
As they walked off, Mrs. Leigh nudged Deanna with the toe of her high heel. "You're a cleaning up this mess. I sure ain't."
Brod put his arm around Jeff’s shoulders and ushered him out into the hall. Modene following right behind. “So Jeff, you gonna try out fer football?”
“I doubt it.” Jeff turned back to look at the library. “Do you think I should tell my Stepdad about this?”
“He a doctor?” Brod stopped and asked.
“No.” Jeff looked at him. “He’s the new principal of the high school, Mac Moretz.”
Brod took his arm from around Jeff’s shoulders. “Dude. Stay away from me!” He stomped down the hall and out of sight.
“Did I say something wrong?” Jeff asked Modene.
“Mac Moretz is Brod’s daddy.” Modene smiled broadly. “Welcome to the family.”
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Episode #5: Armadillo In A Box
Vista looked out the truck window as they drove by the old Quisenberry place with a sigh. “There’s a big movin’ van in the front yard.”
Maw patted her on the thigh. “Better’n than the old cars up on cinder block that used ta be there.”
“Depends on how ya look at it, I guess.” Vista said as it passed out of her vision.
“Irna Quisenberry used ta knock the windows out a them ol' wrecks and grow flowers. They was always the prettiest petunias.”
“I remember that.” Brod smiled behind the wheel. “The flowers always matched what was left a the paint jobs.”
“Ol’ Irna always had a eye fer high art.” Maw smiled. “God rest her soul.”
“Whatever happened to her boys, Mama?” Vista asked, hoping the conversation would take her mind off the fact that her ex was unloading furniture less than a mile from the house.
“Well, let’see” Maw thought a minute. “Rusty’s lives over in Sprucey Pine I hear’d…”
“He still married to Gunilla Fetter?” Vista inquired as the old truck came to a stop in the gravel drive.
“Law, honey, Gunilla died about ten year ago.” Maw eased her self out across the truck seat and stepped out. “Cow kicked her in the head.”
“Ouch.” Brod raced around to the passenger’s side and helped his Grandmother get down.
“Hear tell she lived a while, but had one eye a pointin’ east and one a pointin’ west. Course she weren’t much ta look at to begin with.” Maw brushed off her house dress and wondered toward the porch. “Other boy tuck up with a Amish girl and moved to Florida.”
“Mama?” Brod interrupted. “I’m gonna run out back and check on m’trap. See if we finally caught whatevers rippin’ up the cucumbers.”
“Take yer time, Brod.” Vista smiled. “We’ll start some supper soon, though.” She watched her boy double check the doors on the truck and meander off toward the old barn.
“If ya ketch the varmint, Brod, knock it silly and hang it’s carcass on a stick in the garden.” Maw yelled after him.
“Will do, Maw Maw.” He yelled back before he disappeared completely.
“That’ll teach those critters to mess with m’cucumbers.” Maw mumbled as she took a seat on the front porch rocker. “Lan’sakes, this day done wore me out.”
“Feels like one of them days God spits out and ever body walks around hoping someone else’ll clean up.” Vista agreed as she sat on the porch swing. “Just a nasty mess…a nasty mess.”
“Aw, Vista Kay,” Her mother moaned, “Tain’t pretty but ever one’ll be jes fine.”
“Poor Ronnie.” Vista couldn’t help but say. “I cain’t believe they think he delibertly runned that girl over with the hay bailer.”
Maw nodded her head. “Ronnie’s sure got a temper, but that’s just mean.”
“You don’t think he did it.” Vista couldn’t help but ask. “Do you?”
“Well, I can see it bein’ a accident.” Her mother rocked and looked up at the waning late summer sun. “But that police man with the fine tushy made it sound like someone gunned the tractor and kept a backing the thing over that poor girl until she was a alfalfa meatloaf.”
“Ronnie’s high strung.” Vista Kay swung a little. “But, I cain’t believe he did that.”
“Me, neither.”
“Law mercy! Law mercy!” Brod came running from the barn and headed straight for the truck.
Vista and Maw stopped in mid swing and snapped to attention. “What is it, Brod?”
Brod slammed the truck door open and grabbed the shotgun from the rack. “I caught it. Law mercy, I caught it!”
“The critter eatin’ m’cucumbers?” Maw said.
Brod dropped the gun shells he’d pulled from the glove compartment in the gravel. “Yes’m.” He excitedly squatted to pick them up and shove some in his pockets.
“Calm down, honey.” Vista Kay stepped off the porch toward her boy. “What is it that’s gotcha so excited?”
“Mama, I don’t know what it is.” Brod popped two casings in the shotgun chambers and snapped it shut. “I ain’t never seed nothin’ like it. It’s big an’ its mean and it’s uglier than Marcella Tater without ten pounds a makeup!”
“Probably just a ol’ raccoon.” Maw said.
Brod looked up at her. “Not unless someone shaved it, covered it in plastic and pissed it off. Come look at this thang.”
The ladies had trouble following him, as he was determined to take down whatever monster was in the trap. Brod was so excited he didn’t even care he was tromping down the cabbage as they made their way to the end of the garden nearest the barn.
“Look at that thang.” He pointed as they arrived at the trap.
Sure enough, there was something none of them had ever seen inside the metal trap, throwing himself against it making the heavy contraption move a few inches away from the cucumber vines with every toss. It was larger than a rabbit, with a long pointy nose and tail, and not happy at all.
“Law!” Maw whipped her hand to her collar button and squeezed it shut. “What is that thang? A alien?”
“None like I ever seed.” Brod said.
“Don’t be foolish, ya’ll.” Vista scolded them. “It’s some kinda animal.” She took a step toward the box trap.
The creature locked eyes with Vista and stopped throwing itself against the cage. A strange growl came deep within it’s throat. Vista took a step closer and squatted down.
“Why…” Vista thought a minute. “I think it’s one a them things.”
“One a them things what?” The old lady asked her.
“A armadiller. You know one of them things that eats bugs.” Vista looked over her shoulder.
“That thang ain’t eatin’, bugs.” Maw pointed her finger at it. “It’s a eatin’ m’cucumbers! Kill it!”
“Armadiller?” Brod dropped the shotgun from firing stance. “This ain’t Texas. Makes more sense it’d be a alien.”
“No.” Vista looked a little closer as the animal began to calm down a little. “Don’t know how in the world it got here, but I’m sure that’s a armadiller, and it’s scared.”
“It’d better be scared. It’s been a eatin’ m’cucumbers.” Maw snorted. “Kill it!”
“Mebbe we should call somebody.” Brod said. “Mebbe it escaped from a zoo or sumpthin.”
“Nearest zoo’s in Knoxville, Brod.” Maw said. “Unless you see some luggage or a bus ticket near by, shoot it. Shoot it now!”
“It’s kinda sweet.” Vista said reaching out a hand to it.
“Don’t touch it, Mama!” Brod warned. “Just in case it is a alien. Its death ray eyes might melt yer fingers off!”
“Aw, it ain’t gonna…” Vista’s sentence was interrupted by the animal spitting and slicing a claw at the cage.
Vista jumped back. “Kill the damn thang!”
Brod aimed his gun as the animal jumped and rattled the metal cage box.
“Wait!” Maw cried out.
“What?” Brod asked.
“Better not use yer shotgun, Brod honey.” Maw decided. “With all that’s been a goin’ on in this family, if the neighbor’s hear a gunshot they’ll all come a running with Anderson Cooper not fer behind.”
“I hate ta say it, but she’s right”. Vista agreed. “Wouldn't mind Andy Cooper droppin in fer a look see, but all them others'd just be annoyin'. Run to the kitchen cupboard and get my nine millimeter.”
“Good idea.” Brod handed his grandmother the shotgun and bolted toward the house.
“And get that big cardboard box from the pantry, too.” Maw Maw called back.
“What for?” Vista asked after seeing her son nod and dash the rest of the way out of sight.
“We kin put that over the cage ta muffle the shot.” Maw Maw said.
Vista smiled. “I keep forgetting you was alive during the ol’ moonshine wars.”
“Ya learn a trick or two.” Maw took a step toward the cage. “Law that thang is ugly. A armadeiller, you say?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Vista said. “We’ll look it up on the computer after we shoot it.”
“Wonder if the meat’s any good?” Maw asked.
“Mama…” Vista scolded. “You wanna spike it in the garden or ya wanna cook it?”
She thought a moment. “Well if we find out it’s one a them endangered species we’ll freeze it.”
Brod came puffing with the nine-millimeter in one hand and a big cardboard box in the other. “It ain’t melted nothin’ yet has it?”
“Naw.” Vista said.
Maw took the box. “Ya’ll stand back. I’m gonna slip this over the one end of the trap and one a yous trip the latch.”
Maw put the box on one end and Vista took Brod’s shotgun barrel and tripped the spring. They heard the door fly open and the armadillo raced from the cage into the box. Maw sat up the box, so it hopefully couldn’t get out. She and Vista jumped back to Brod, already aiming, as the box started shakin’.
“Good Lord!” Maw huffed. “It’s like Tasmanian Devil thing on them cartoons.”
“Well, shoot it afore it gets back in the garden.” Vista ordered.
The boy aimed and fired. The box went still. The trio leaned on their tippy toes and tried to look in the box. Suddenly the box started shaking and jumping. Blood spattering a little from the top.
“Boy…” Maw said. “You shoot like a girl.” With that she whipped a pistol from her shoulder bag, aimed and fired three quick shots into the side of the box. They heard a plop, and the box stilled.
She smiled. “Got it.”
They took a step toward the box and then all hell broke loose. That armadillo began to rip the box apart with it’s claws from the inside, blood and cardboard spraying everywhere.
The trio aimed their guns and fired everything they had. Finally, after everyone reloaded at least once, the armadillo huffed and fell over. Just in case, Vista reloaded the shotgun and every one else kept aim.
The armadillo, now laying on shredded cardboard and looking like Swiss cheese twitched one more time and then went limp.
Maw took a deep breath and put her pistol back in her purse. “Well…that was fun.” She reached for the other two weapons. “I’ll take these back to the kitchen an’ clean ‘em afore supper. Green beans ‘n’ cornbread sound good?”
“Sounds good ta me.” Brod said not taking his eyes off the body.
His grandmother nodded, opened the chamber to the shotgun and laid it over her shoulder as she trotted back toward the house, nine-millimeter dangling from her free hand.
“Mama, you be careful slicin’ the fatback. Don’t cut yerself.” Vista called to her. She turned to her son. “Want some help to spike it up in the garden?”
“Naw.” Brod said. “I’m gonna make sure it don’t have ninth life and then I’ll shove a couple a sticks in it.”
“Okay, call if ya need help.” She said. “Gimme the cartridges an’ I’ll put ‘em back in the truck.”
Brod handed her a few from his pocket, not taking his eyes off the dead armadillo. Vista walked back to the truck and slipped them back in the box on the truck seat. She’d just put the box back in the glove compartment when she saw a car turn in the lane and makes its way toward her.
She shook her head and she shut the truck door. “Hope someone ain’t called the law.” She took a quick step to the front porch, shielding her eyes in the sun to see if she could tell who the car belonged to.
It was a nice car, one she didn’t recognize. It came to a stop just on the other side of the truck. The driver’s door opened and a man got out and shut the door.
Vista leaned on the post by the porch steps. “Mac.”
The man heard her say his name and stopped in the dirt just before it turned to grass. “Vista Kay.”
“I heard you was comin’ back ta town.”
“I’m here earlier than I planned, but my brother passed away.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Yes, I heard.” Vista put her hands behind her back and leaned heavily on the post. “How is poor Flourene holdin’ up?”
“You know, that woman.” He shook his head and drew in the dirt with his foot. “I changed my plans and came early. Figured maybe her and the kids could use my help.”
Vista smiled. “’Course they could. It’s not like you got a wife and son a your own you ain’t never seed.”
Mac balled his fists up. “Now Vista Kay…”
“His name is Broderick, Mac. I named him after yer Daddy and Ray fer mine. You wouldn’t know that cause ya packed yer backs and tuck off before they slapped his butt and he could cry out “Where’s my Daddy”.”
“Now I told you…” Mac shook off the red in his face. “I ain’t gonna say I’m sorry, Vista Kay. I know that’s what you wanna hear, but I ain’t gonna say it.”
“Don’t expect ya too, Mac.” Vista quietly said. “Didn’t expect ya ta even drop by.”
“I supported you and the boy.” He said. “You can’t say I didn’t.”
She smiled. “Oh yes. Yes ya did, Mac.” She stood up and walked to the other side of the porch post. “That check came right on the dot ever month, with a little raise ever year, too. That was exactly the kinda support he needed.”
She could tell Mac was squinting at her. Vista put an arm around the post. “That was the kinda support yer son needed when he broke his arm in the fifth grade. It was the kinda support when his Granddaddy died a few years ago, the only man he had in his life.”
Mac looked back down at the ground. Vista sighed.
“He’s a good boy, Mac. Be a senior this year. He’ll be a fine man, like I thought you was.”
He snapped his head back up. “I am a good man.”
"I used ta think so, but ya taught me so much differn't." Vista wasn’t angry she was just being honest. "I used to pine fer ya, Mac. I used ta dream about the day you’d come pulling back in that driveway in a shiny new car. Didn’t know how I’d feel, but I dreamed of the day. Now here it is.”
“How do you feel?” He dared ask.
Vista smiled and leaned her head on the post. “I don’t feel nothin’”. She looked at the man who used to be her husband standing in the dirt. “What’cha here for Mac?”
“Well…” Mac looked up into Vista’s face and tried to smile. “I thought…I thought maybe we could be friends.”
“Bein’ neighbors an’ all?”
He smiled and let out a deep breath. “Yes.”
“I’ll think about it.” Vista put her hands in her pockets and took a step toward the top step. “When I make up my mind. I’ll send you a letter…at the first a’ the month.”
“Mama?”
Vista and Mac both turned to see the boy standing at the end of the car by the truck.
Brod looked up at his mother. “Mama? Who’s this?”
Vista looked at the steps, then to her ex-husband and then to her son. “Broderick, honey, this is MacDonald Gene Moretz. He’s yer daddy.”
“My daddy?” Brod stared at his mother with a strange look, one that Vista had never seen and then to the man standing in the dirt.
“Yes, son.” Mac cleared his throat. “I’m your father.”
Mac put out his hand. Brod wiped the armadillo blood on his shirt and looked at him. He took a tentative step and stopped; first looking up at his mother and then back to the man who had his hand stretched towards him for a manly shake.
“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?” Mac asked.
Brod smiled. “Of course. Hello.” He took two steps toward Mac Moretz and hit him with a quick right hook. Mac Moretz fell to the ground in pain and surprise.
Brod stepped until he was towering over the man. “Ever come near my mama again, an’ I’ll kill you.”
Brod stuck his hands in his pockets and quietly walked up the porch steps to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m gonna wash up fer supper.”
Vista patted her son on the shoulder. “Tell Mama, I’ll be right there.” He watched Brod disappear behind the screen door slam. She turned to look at her ex-husband still shocked on the ground.
“I’d invite in fer some supper, but you can see how that might be a li’l awkward.”
She turned around and walked into the house, the screen door echoing in the ears of the man on the ground wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip.
Maw patted her on the thigh. “Better’n than the old cars up on cinder block that used ta be there.”
“Depends on how ya look at it, I guess.” Vista said as it passed out of her vision.
“Irna Quisenberry used ta knock the windows out a them ol' wrecks and grow flowers. They was always the prettiest petunias.”
“I remember that.” Brod smiled behind the wheel. “The flowers always matched what was left a the paint jobs.”
“Ol’ Irna always had a eye fer high art.” Maw smiled. “God rest her soul.”
“Whatever happened to her boys, Mama?” Vista asked, hoping the conversation would take her mind off the fact that her ex was unloading furniture less than a mile from the house.
“Well, let’see” Maw thought a minute. “Rusty’s lives over in Sprucey Pine I hear’d…”
“He still married to Gunilla Fetter?” Vista inquired as the old truck came to a stop in the gravel drive.
“Law, honey, Gunilla died about ten year ago.” Maw eased her self out across the truck seat and stepped out. “Cow kicked her in the head.”
“Ouch.” Brod raced around to the passenger’s side and helped his Grandmother get down.
“Hear tell she lived a while, but had one eye a pointin’ east and one a pointin’ west. Course she weren’t much ta look at to begin with.” Maw brushed off her house dress and wondered toward the porch. “Other boy tuck up with a Amish girl and moved to Florida.”
“Mama?” Brod interrupted. “I’m gonna run out back and check on m’trap. See if we finally caught whatevers rippin’ up the cucumbers.”
“Take yer time, Brod.” Vista smiled. “We’ll start some supper soon, though.” She watched her boy double check the doors on the truck and meander off toward the old barn.
“If ya ketch the varmint, Brod, knock it silly and hang it’s carcass on a stick in the garden.” Maw yelled after him.
“Will do, Maw Maw.” He yelled back before he disappeared completely.
“That’ll teach those critters to mess with m’cucumbers.” Maw mumbled as she took a seat on the front porch rocker. “Lan’sakes, this day done wore me out.”
“Feels like one of them days God spits out and ever body walks around hoping someone else’ll clean up.” Vista agreed as she sat on the porch swing. “Just a nasty mess…a nasty mess.”
“Aw, Vista Kay,” Her mother moaned, “Tain’t pretty but ever one’ll be jes fine.”
“Poor Ronnie.” Vista couldn’t help but say. “I cain’t believe they think he delibertly runned that girl over with the hay bailer.”
Maw nodded her head. “Ronnie’s sure got a temper, but that’s just mean.”
“You don’t think he did it.” Vista couldn’t help but ask. “Do you?”
“Well, I can see it bein’ a accident.” Her mother rocked and looked up at the waning late summer sun. “But that police man with the fine tushy made it sound like someone gunned the tractor and kept a backing the thing over that poor girl until she was a alfalfa meatloaf.”
“Ronnie’s high strung.” Vista Kay swung a little. “But, I cain’t believe he did that.”
“Me, neither.”
“Law mercy! Law mercy!” Brod came running from the barn and headed straight for the truck.
Vista and Maw stopped in mid swing and snapped to attention. “What is it, Brod?”
Brod slammed the truck door open and grabbed the shotgun from the rack. “I caught it. Law mercy, I caught it!”
“The critter eatin’ m’cucumbers?” Maw said.
Brod dropped the gun shells he’d pulled from the glove compartment in the gravel. “Yes’m.” He excitedly squatted to pick them up and shove some in his pockets.
“Calm down, honey.” Vista Kay stepped off the porch toward her boy. “What is it that’s gotcha so excited?”
“Mama, I don’t know what it is.” Brod popped two casings in the shotgun chambers and snapped it shut. “I ain’t never seed nothin’ like it. It’s big an’ its mean and it’s uglier than Marcella Tater without ten pounds a makeup!”
“Probably just a ol’ raccoon.” Maw said.
Brod looked up at her. “Not unless someone shaved it, covered it in plastic and pissed it off. Come look at this thang.”
The ladies had trouble following him, as he was determined to take down whatever monster was in the trap. Brod was so excited he didn’t even care he was tromping down the cabbage as they made their way to the end of the garden nearest the barn.
“Look at that thang.” He pointed as they arrived at the trap.
Sure enough, there was something none of them had ever seen inside the metal trap, throwing himself against it making the heavy contraption move a few inches away from the cucumber vines with every toss. It was larger than a rabbit, with a long pointy nose and tail, and not happy at all.
“Law!” Maw whipped her hand to her collar button and squeezed it shut. “What is that thang? A alien?”
“None like I ever seed.” Brod said.
“Don’t be foolish, ya’ll.” Vista scolded them. “It’s some kinda animal.” She took a step toward the box trap.
The creature locked eyes with Vista and stopped throwing itself against the cage. A strange growl came deep within it’s throat. Vista took a step closer and squatted down.
“Why…” Vista thought a minute. “I think it’s one a them things.”
“One a them things what?” The old lady asked her.
“A armadiller. You know one of them things that eats bugs.” Vista looked over her shoulder.
“That thang ain’t eatin’, bugs.” Maw pointed her finger at it. “It’s a eatin’ m’cucumbers! Kill it!”
“Armadiller?” Brod dropped the shotgun from firing stance. “This ain’t Texas. Makes more sense it’d be a alien.”
“No.” Vista looked a little closer as the animal began to calm down a little. “Don’t know how in the world it got here, but I’m sure that’s a armadiller, and it’s scared.”
“It’d better be scared. It’s been a eatin’ m’cucumbers.” Maw snorted. “Kill it!”
“Mebbe we should call somebody.” Brod said. “Mebbe it escaped from a zoo or sumpthin.”
“Nearest zoo’s in Knoxville, Brod.” Maw said. “Unless you see some luggage or a bus ticket near by, shoot it. Shoot it now!”
“It’s kinda sweet.” Vista said reaching out a hand to it.
“Don’t touch it, Mama!” Brod warned. “Just in case it is a alien. Its death ray eyes might melt yer fingers off!”
“Aw, it ain’t gonna…” Vista’s sentence was interrupted by the animal spitting and slicing a claw at the cage.
Vista jumped back. “Kill the damn thang!”
Brod aimed his gun as the animal jumped and rattled the metal cage box.
“Wait!” Maw cried out.
“What?” Brod asked.
“Better not use yer shotgun, Brod honey.” Maw decided. “With all that’s been a goin’ on in this family, if the neighbor’s hear a gunshot they’ll all come a running with Anderson Cooper not fer behind.”
“I hate ta say it, but she’s right”. Vista agreed. “Wouldn't mind Andy Cooper droppin in fer a look see, but all them others'd just be annoyin'. Run to the kitchen cupboard and get my nine millimeter.”
“Good idea.” Brod handed his grandmother the shotgun and bolted toward the house.
“And get that big cardboard box from the pantry, too.” Maw Maw called back.
“What for?” Vista asked after seeing her son nod and dash the rest of the way out of sight.
“We kin put that over the cage ta muffle the shot.” Maw Maw said.
Vista smiled. “I keep forgetting you was alive during the ol’ moonshine wars.”
“Ya learn a trick or two.” Maw took a step toward the cage. “Law that thang is ugly. A armadeiller, you say?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Vista said. “We’ll look it up on the computer after we shoot it.”
“Wonder if the meat’s any good?” Maw asked.
“Mama…” Vista scolded. “You wanna spike it in the garden or ya wanna cook it?”
She thought a moment. “Well if we find out it’s one a them endangered species we’ll freeze it.”
Brod came puffing with the nine-millimeter in one hand and a big cardboard box in the other. “It ain’t melted nothin’ yet has it?”
“Naw.” Vista said.
Maw took the box. “Ya’ll stand back. I’m gonna slip this over the one end of the trap and one a yous trip the latch.”
Maw put the box on one end and Vista took Brod’s shotgun barrel and tripped the spring. They heard the door fly open and the armadillo raced from the cage into the box. Maw sat up the box, so it hopefully couldn’t get out. She and Vista jumped back to Brod, already aiming, as the box started shakin’.
“Good Lord!” Maw huffed. “It’s like Tasmanian Devil thing on them cartoons.”
“Well, shoot it afore it gets back in the garden.” Vista ordered.
The boy aimed and fired. The box went still. The trio leaned on their tippy toes and tried to look in the box. Suddenly the box started shaking and jumping. Blood spattering a little from the top.
“Boy…” Maw said. “You shoot like a girl.” With that she whipped a pistol from her shoulder bag, aimed and fired three quick shots into the side of the box. They heard a plop, and the box stilled.
She smiled. “Got it.”
They took a step toward the box and then all hell broke loose. That armadillo began to rip the box apart with it’s claws from the inside, blood and cardboard spraying everywhere.
The trio aimed their guns and fired everything they had. Finally, after everyone reloaded at least once, the armadillo huffed and fell over. Just in case, Vista reloaded the shotgun and every one else kept aim.
The armadillo, now laying on shredded cardboard and looking like Swiss cheese twitched one more time and then went limp.
Maw took a deep breath and put her pistol back in her purse. “Well…that was fun.” She reached for the other two weapons. “I’ll take these back to the kitchen an’ clean ‘em afore supper. Green beans ‘n’ cornbread sound good?”
“Sounds good ta me.” Brod said not taking his eyes off the body.
His grandmother nodded, opened the chamber to the shotgun and laid it over her shoulder as she trotted back toward the house, nine-millimeter dangling from her free hand.
“Mama, you be careful slicin’ the fatback. Don’t cut yerself.” Vista called to her. She turned to her son. “Want some help to spike it up in the garden?”
“Naw.” Brod said. “I’m gonna make sure it don’t have ninth life and then I’ll shove a couple a sticks in it.”
“Okay, call if ya need help.” She said. “Gimme the cartridges an’ I’ll put ‘em back in the truck.”
Brod handed her a few from his pocket, not taking his eyes off the dead armadillo. Vista walked back to the truck and slipped them back in the box on the truck seat. She’d just put the box back in the glove compartment when she saw a car turn in the lane and makes its way toward her.
She shook her head and she shut the truck door. “Hope someone ain’t called the law.” She took a quick step to the front porch, shielding her eyes in the sun to see if she could tell who the car belonged to.
It was a nice car, one she didn’t recognize. It came to a stop just on the other side of the truck. The driver’s door opened and a man got out and shut the door.
Vista leaned on the post by the porch steps. “Mac.”
The man heard her say his name and stopped in the dirt just before it turned to grass. “Vista Kay.”
“I heard you was comin’ back ta town.”
“I’m here earlier than I planned, but my brother passed away.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Yes, I heard.” Vista put her hands behind her back and leaned heavily on the post. “How is poor Flourene holdin’ up?”
“You know, that woman.” He shook his head and drew in the dirt with his foot. “I changed my plans and came early. Figured maybe her and the kids could use my help.”
Vista smiled. “’Course they could. It’s not like you got a wife and son a your own you ain’t never seed.”
Mac balled his fists up. “Now Vista Kay…”
“His name is Broderick, Mac. I named him after yer Daddy and Ray fer mine. You wouldn’t know that cause ya packed yer backs and tuck off before they slapped his butt and he could cry out “Where’s my Daddy”.”
“Now I told you…” Mac shook off the red in his face. “I ain’t gonna say I’m sorry, Vista Kay. I know that’s what you wanna hear, but I ain’t gonna say it.”
“Don’t expect ya too, Mac.” Vista quietly said. “Didn’t expect ya ta even drop by.”
“I supported you and the boy.” He said. “You can’t say I didn’t.”
She smiled. “Oh yes. Yes ya did, Mac.” She stood up and walked to the other side of the porch post. “That check came right on the dot ever month, with a little raise ever year, too. That was exactly the kinda support he needed.”
She could tell Mac was squinting at her. Vista put an arm around the post. “That was the kinda support yer son needed when he broke his arm in the fifth grade. It was the kinda support when his Granddaddy died a few years ago, the only man he had in his life.”
Mac looked back down at the ground. Vista sighed.
“He’s a good boy, Mac. Be a senior this year. He’ll be a fine man, like I thought you was.”
He snapped his head back up. “I am a good man.”
"I used ta think so, but ya taught me so much differn't." Vista wasn’t angry she was just being honest. "I used to pine fer ya, Mac. I used ta dream about the day you’d come pulling back in that driveway in a shiny new car. Didn’t know how I’d feel, but I dreamed of the day. Now here it is.”
“How do you feel?” He dared ask.
Vista smiled and leaned her head on the post. “I don’t feel nothin’”. She looked at the man who used to be her husband standing in the dirt. “What’cha here for Mac?”
“Well…” Mac looked up into Vista’s face and tried to smile. “I thought…I thought maybe we could be friends.”
“Bein’ neighbors an’ all?”
He smiled and let out a deep breath. “Yes.”
“I’ll think about it.” Vista put her hands in her pockets and took a step toward the top step. “When I make up my mind. I’ll send you a letter…at the first a’ the month.”
“Mama?”
Vista and Mac both turned to see the boy standing at the end of the car by the truck.
Brod looked up at his mother. “Mama? Who’s this?”
Vista looked at the steps, then to her ex-husband and then to her son. “Broderick, honey, this is MacDonald Gene Moretz. He’s yer daddy.”
“My daddy?” Brod stared at his mother with a strange look, one that Vista had never seen and then to the man standing in the dirt.
“Yes, son.” Mac cleared his throat. “I’m your father.”
Mac put out his hand. Brod wiped the armadillo blood on his shirt and looked at him. He took a tentative step and stopped; first looking up at his mother and then back to the man who had his hand stretched towards him for a manly shake.
“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?” Mac asked.
Brod smiled. “Of course. Hello.” He took two steps toward Mac Moretz and hit him with a quick right hook. Mac Moretz fell to the ground in pain and surprise.
Brod stepped until he was towering over the man. “Ever come near my mama again, an’ I’ll kill you.”
Brod stuck his hands in his pockets and quietly walked up the porch steps to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m gonna wash up fer supper.”
Vista patted her son on the shoulder. “Tell Mama, I’ll be right there.” He watched Brod disappear behind the screen door slam. She turned to look at her ex-husband still shocked on the ground.
“I’d invite in fer some supper, but you can see how that might be a li’l awkward.”
She turned around and walked into the house, the screen door echoing in the ears of the man on the ground wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Episode #4: A Batch of Cookies
It hadn’t been a very good day for Vonda Kay. She’d sold a farm to her sister’s ex-husband and forgot to tell her. Her nephew, whom she’d raised as a son, was in jail for running her neighbor’s daughter over with a columbine and she needed groceries. It was a good thing she had some International Coffees and Valium left.
People had been trampsing in and out of her house all afternoon long. She could probably have handled that, but they’d been out in the field where they found the body in the hay bails so her clean carpet was now covered in mud, blood, straw and cow poop. She thought to write “Resolve” down on her grocery list.
Her twin sister, Vista, the one whose ex-husband was coming back to town, was laying down on one of her own twin’s bed. Vonda thought a moment. She just assumed Mac Moretz was her sister’s ex. She didn’t really know if they’d actually gotten a divorce or not. She did know for sure that Mac told Vista he didn’t want kids and took off the moment her water broke.
Other than the checks that came like clockwork, no one had heard from him since. Vonda could have just died when he called her out of the blue and offered her market value of the old Quisenberry place. She’d been trying to unload that monstrosity for two years. It wasn’t like she could say no. Not with the market the way it was. Well, she could have but she wasn’t stupid.
Vonda peeped out her kitchen curtains, the ones with the gold thread and the dancing chickens she’d special ordered. Those men with the rubber gloves and plastic bags were all still out there. She hoped they didn’t expect her to feed them. She’d already cooked everything in the house and sent it over to the neighbors. She certainly wasn’t going to run to Food Country to fix them dinner, even if it was triple coupon day.
As much as she tried, she couldn’t help but notice what a fine looking man that was giving all the other little men orders. Trey came running in, after he and Brod came back from the neighbors delivering the food, and said the barnyard and hay field looked just like an episode of “CSI” only redneck. It would be exciting if it weren’t for the fact that it was her nephew they were gathering evidence against, and that they didn’t seem to know how to wipe their feet.
Vonda’s mother appeared behind her and looked over her shoulder into the yard. “That man has the finest butt I’ve seed in a long time!”
“Mama!” Shocked, Vonda dropped the curtain and turned around the face her mother.
“What? Just cause I don’t use m’girl parts no more, don’t mean I don’t remember what made um work.” she said.
“You just scared me that’s all.” She reached for the Febreeze and started squirting the air. “With all the detective work goin’ on, you shouldn’t be sneakin’ up on a body.”
“You don’t fool me, Vonda Kay. You was a starin’ at that man, too.”
“I am a married woman, Mama, a happily married woman.”
“Honey, don’t make a difference where ya git ya appetite as long as ya eat at home.”
“Is Vista still laying down?” She changed the subject.
“You’d think after almos' eighteen years that man wouldn’t have such a hold on her.”
“Mama, he’s the father of her baby boy and then he just took off. Left her ta raise Brod all by her lonesome.Then suddenly he’s back in town. I hope Mac don’t think he can just pick right back up where he left off.” She put the Febreeze back on the windowsill where it belonged. “You don’t think she’ll take back up with him do ya?”
“Hard ta tell, Vonda Kay. I don’t reckon she ever got over ‘im. She ain't even looked at another man twice.”
“She dated that Vernell Hawthorne for a while.” Vonda reminded her mother.
“Honey, they went to plays together. That twernt no date. It was a girl’s night out.”
“Shame on you. Just because a man knows how to dress and likes the thee-ay-ter don’t mean he’s…you know.”
“Honey chil’, Vernell lives with the football coach and dresses up like Britney Spears ats a bar in Knoxville ever other Saturday. Follow that recipe and tell me it don’t make a batch a cookies!”
“Fine, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“Didn’t say they was.” The old woman leaned in close. “They’s one a them places in Johnson City ya know. Me an’ Dreama Holmes went in one time. Jus' ta see what it was like.”
“Mamma! You didn’t.”
“Sure did. Let me tell you, them queens know how to make a ol’ lady feel like a queen. Had s’much fun I’d go back agin, but Dreama won’t take me an’ I don’ like to drive after dark n’more.”
“Why won’t she take ya?”
“Aw, some little black boy thought she was one a them transgenders and she got mad. I tried to explain she was jus' ugly but Dreama refused ta prove it.” She pointed to two loaves of bread on the counter. “What’s this?”
“My apple bread.” Vonda shook her head. “Brod said the neighbors didn’t want it. Claim the last time they ate it it give ‘em diarrhea.”
“Knock! Knock!” Vonda and her mother turned to see Arzella Tater waltzing right into the kitchen uninvited. “My, my, Vonda Kay Shephard, all this fuss!”
“Arzella!” Maw smiled broadly. “Want some fresh baked apple bread?”
“Oh, no thank you, dear. I just dropped by to see if there was anything I could do for ya.”
Vonda smiled even broader. “You kin scrub the cow poop off m’ carpet.”
“I haven’t got that much time, dear.” Arzella whisked a finger across the kitchen counter, looked at the pad and scrunched up her nose. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry we all are.”
“Well, thank you, Miz Tater. I appreciate it.” Vonda smiled and was torn between reaching for a clean sponge and the baseball bat she kept under the sink.
Arzella prissed to the screen door and looked out at the man signing some papers on a clipboard in the driveway. “I just wanted to assure you that none of this is yer fault. Some people are jus’ born to be cold blooded serial killers and others ain’t.”
“Arzella Tater, Ronnie ain’t no serial killer!” Maw bellowed.
“Ruby Acres get yer head outta the milk bucket. Ronnie done kilt twice. You gotta admit there’s just a little bit of a personality flaw there.” Arzella lifted her nose,both faces and all three chins in the air.
“Did I march over ta yer house after Homecomin', an’ say I was sorry about yer girl’s personality flaws?” Maw took a mean step toward Arzella.
Arzella’s nostril’s flared and her back arched. “The football team was helpin’ Marcella write a paper on the proper placement of protective cups!”
“I bet!”
Arzella took a step toward Maw, her fists balled at her sides. “An’ I bet nobody liked that first guy Ronnie kilt!”
Maw smiled. “Marcella did. He had a real big protective cup!”
Vonda Kay stepped in the middle. “Ladies! The only way I know ta stop two cats a fightin’ is ta turn the hose on ‘em. As much as I’d like m’ carpets cleaned I suggest ya both back off.”
The women each took a step back. Vonda whipped her head to her mother. “Mamma go check on Vista.”
The old lady held her ground.
“Now!” Vonda bellowed. Maw dropped her head and headed down the hall. “Arzella, thank you for dropping by. I’ll be sure and send a thank you card.”
Arzella smoothed her skirt. “Always willin’ to be a shoulder ta those in need.”
“And please…” Vonda shoved the baked goods in her arms. “Take these to Ervel. I didn’t have any pie when he came by earlier, so I baked this apple bread just fer him.”
“Why that is so sweet.” The woman smiled as Vonda walked her to the door. “Wait, my Ervel was here?”
Vonda smiled as she shoved her on the porch and shut the screen door. “Why yes. Ervel pops by ever once an’ a while, just to say hello. Give him m’ love.” She leaned up against the door she quickly shut in the woman’s face.
She was still leaned against it counting to ten when there was another knock at the door. Vonda rolled her eyes and reached for the baseball bat.
“I’ll show Arzella Tater a serial killer.” She mumbled to herself swinging the bat to her shoulder and opening the door.
“Mrs. Shephard?” The good-looking man on the porch smiled.
“Uh…yes. May I help you?” She tried not to drool, happily married woman or not.
“I’m Detective Thatcher Tate, the state investigator assigned to your…nephew’s case.” He stepped aside and motioned to the goofy looking beanpole in uniform beside him. “You know Norvel Barton?”
“Yes, Norvel. How’s the wife and kids?” Vonda leaned nonchalantly against the door and thanked the Lord she was wearing a tight hoodie and then quickly for being a happily married woman.
“Oh Zelma’s in a mood. The kid’s is all got the bug an’ pukin all over the new linoleum we just put down in the bathroom. You should come over an’ see it sometime.” He sniffed and scratched his chin.
“I bet it’s nice.”
“Yeah, once there ain’t vomit on it, it’s real purdy.” He said.
“Mrs. Shephard…” the other man interrupted, “May we come in? I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” The door was probably making red marks on her back any way. “Why don’t we retire to the living room? I bet you could use a comfortable seat after spending all day on your feet.”
“That would be very nice.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
Vonda took his arm and lead him inside. When the screen door slammed she yelled over her shoulder. “You, too, Norvel.”
Detective Tate sat in the center of the sofa, as Vonda nonchalantly seated herself on the footstool her Aunt Fay had made from an orange crate and old car seats in front of him. Norvel Barton stood in the archway, hat in hand, fresh buzz cut making his eyes bug out more.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“First of all, I need to make clear exactly why the state has become involved it what seemed to be a very tragic accident.”
“Of course.”
“The John Deere people just want to be sure, and make clear that their equipment wasn’t at fault, so the state stepped in.”
Vonda couldn’t wipe the dumbfounded look off her face. “John Deere?”
“Them tractor people?” Norvel himself was shocked.
“My assumption is that with the economy the way it is, they want to make sure that everything is done properly with no poor reflection on their product.”
“Wh’that’s jes stupid.” Norvel couldn’t help but say. "I’d think this whole thing would be good fer um.”
“Norvel, how on earth could having someone chopped up by one of their columbines be a good thing?” Vonda put her hands under her boobs and shoved them up just a bit before silently thanking the Lord she was a happily married woman.
“Why that thang chopped that woman up jes as purdy as you please, and them bails was still all square and tight. Ever one of 'em jest the purdiest bails you ever seed even with fingers an' toes 'n' chucks a hair stickin' out.” He explained.
Vonda turned back to the Detective. “I truly understand now why it was takin’ so long to get this accident all cleared up.”
“Do not misunderstand.” Thatcher Tate shifted forward. “This has nothing to do with publicity, Mrs. Shephard. The company requested the state look into the case, because of what seemed to them to be miscalculations in the original investigation.”
“I don’t understand.” Vonda said, suddenly not sure the detective was so sexy after all. “What do you mean miscalculations?”
“That’s what I need to ask you about…” Tate tried to make sure Vonda understood. “…just to confirm our suspicions.”
“This was an accident.” Vonda pouted. “Ronnie said he didn’t realize that Myrtle was even in the field. You shoulda saw the look on his face when he come runnin’ back to the house.”
“Hold on, hold on…” Tate tried to calm her down. “Let’s start at the beginning. Ronnie came here to report the incident and you called the police?”
“Yes, sir, well I called that 911.” Vonda said.
“Let’s go back just a bit.” He said and Vonda nodded her head. “He went out to the hayfield in the morning and you didn’t see him until he came back telling you what happened, correct?”
“Well no, not at all.” Vonda said. “We had a early lunch, and he went out there about 11:30 worked about ninety minutes and we got that awful rainstorm.”
“Rainstorm?”
“Lawdy.” Norvel chimed in. “That was awful. I’d hafa mind to start gatherin some gopher wood and start a buildin’ on the ark, that was such a nasty storm.”
“Wasn’t it though?” Vonda agreed.
“Wait. He came back from the field during the rainstorm and then he went back out?”
“That’s right.” Vonda told him. “Ronnie come in soaked to the skin, and changed inta some dry clothes. It rained so hard it nearly knocked cable out twice while we was a watchin’ “Days of Our Lives”.
“I love that show. Zelma’s TiVos it fer me.”
“Ya’ll got the TiVo?” Vonda asked.
“Yes’m you should get one. It will change yer life.” Norvel took a step in. “Are you a EJAMI er a SAFE?”
“I go back ‘n’ forth, but ya know I think Elvis and that Hernandez girl would be a cute couple, don’t you?” Vonda asked Norvel.
Norvel sat down on the footstool beside Vonda. “I thought that’s what they was a leading up to, but I heard theys a killin’ her off.”
“No!”
“Truth! An’ I think Brady a pullin’ the switch on that ol’ Vivian is a hoot!”
“Excuse me,” Detective Thatcher cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt the editors of Soap Opera Digest, but could we get back to Ronnie and the hay field?”
“Oh…” Vonda turned red. “I’m sorry, it’s just our story is getting’ so good.”
“Ain’t it though?” Norvel nodded his head.
“For the record, it’s Samantha and E.J. all the way, but I need to know when Ronnie went into the hayfield the second time and how long he was there.” Tate insisted.
“Well…” Vonda thought a moment. “We watched ‘Days’ by the time E.J. told Stefano…”
Norvel put his hands over his ears. “Don’t tell me! I don’t git to watch it til the kids is in bed.”
“Sorry, Norvel.” Vonda leaned over. “But it’ll knock your socks off! Anyway, the storm had ended by the end of the show, so we turned off the TV and went outside to pick up sticks and stuff. That wind was somethin’ awful.”
“So Ronnie went back out to the hay field about two, two thirty?”
“Well of course not. The last thing you want to do is bail wet hay. We both walked out there about three and it was still soppy, but the sun was hot, so after Trey and the girls got home from school, Ronnie wondered out there to see if maybe it would be dry enough to finish up after dinner.”
“So you went out there about three?”
“Yes, sir, around that time.”
“And you didn’t notice anything?”
“Not at all. Just looked like a tractor, a few bails and wet alfalfa ta me.” Vonda said.
“He left the tractor out there?” Tate made a note in his notebook. “He didn’t bring it in when the rain started and then take it back out?”
“’Course not Mr. Tate. Ronnie heard that first clap a thunder and high tailed his behind to the house.”
“So he went out to the field alone about…?”
“I’d say four thirty, maybe closer to five.”
“And how many hours was he out there before he came to the house and you called 911?”
“Not hours, detective, minutes. He wasn’t gone more’n five minutes, just as long as it took to walk out there and run screamin’ back at the top of his lungs.”
Detective Tate closed his notebook and stood. “Mrs. Shephard. I thank you for your time. I will need you to come to the station and sign a statement.”
“Sign a statement?” Vonda stood and asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What for?”
“Mrs. Shephard, you confirmed what the state has believed from the beginning, this wasn’t a tragic accident.”
“It had to be” Vonda insisted.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shephard. This was definitely a murder.”
People had been trampsing in and out of her house all afternoon long. She could probably have handled that, but they’d been out in the field where they found the body in the hay bails so her clean carpet was now covered in mud, blood, straw and cow poop. She thought to write “Resolve” down on her grocery list.
Her twin sister, Vista, the one whose ex-husband was coming back to town, was laying down on one of her own twin’s bed. Vonda thought a moment. She just assumed Mac Moretz was her sister’s ex. She didn’t really know if they’d actually gotten a divorce or not. She did know for sure that Mac told Vista he didn’t want kids and took off the moment her water broke.
Other than the checks that came like clockwork, no one had heard from him since. Vonda could have just died when he called her out of the blue and offered her market value of the old Quisenberry place. She’d been trying to unload that monstrosity for two years. It wasn’t like she could say no. Not with the market the way it was. Well, she could have but she wasn’t stupid.
Vonda peeped out her kitchen curtains, the ones with the gold thread and the dancing chickens she’d special ordered. Those men with the rubber gloves and plastic bags were all still out there. She hoped they didn’t expect her to feed them. She’d already cooked everything in the house and sent it over to the neighbors. She certainly wasn’t going to run to Food Country to fix them dinner, even if it was triple coupon day.
As much as she tried, she couldn’t help but notice what a fine looking man that was giving all the other little men orders. Trey came running in, after he and Brod came back from the neighbors delivering the food, and said the barnyard and hay field looked just like an episode of “CSI” only redneck. It would be exciting if it weren’t for the fact that it was her nephew they were gathering evidence against, and that they didn’t seem to know how to wipe their feet.
Vonda’s mother appeared behind her and looked over her shoulder into the yard. “That man has the finest butt I’ve seed in a long time!”
“Mama!” Shocked, Vonda dropped the curtain and turned around the face her mother.
“What? Just cause I don’t use m’girl parts no more, don’t mean I don’t remember what made um work.” she said.
“You just scared me that’s all.” She reached for the Febreeze and started squirting the air. “With all the detective work goin’ on, you shouldn’t be sneakin’ up on a body.”
“You don’t fool me, Vonda Kay. You was a starin’ at that man, too.”
“I am a married woman, Mama, a happily married woman.”
“Honey, don’t make a difference where ya git ya appetite as long as ya eat at home.”
“Is Vista still laying down?” She changed the subject.
“You’d think after almos' eighteen years that man wouldn’t have such a hold on her.”
“Mama, he’s the father of her baby boy and then he just took off. Left her ta raise Brod all by her lonesome.Then suddenly he’s back in town. I hope Mac don’t think he can just pick right back up where he left off.” She put the Febreeze back on the windowsill where it belonged. “You don’t think she’ll take back up with him do ya?”
“Hard ta tell, Vonda Kay. I don’t reckon she ever got over ‘im. She ain't even looked at another man twice.”
“She dated that Vernell Hawthorne for a while.” Vonda reminded her mother.
“Honey, they went to plays together. That twernt no date. It was a girl’s night out.”
“Shame on you. Just because a man knows how to dress and likes the thee-ay-ter don’t mean he’s…you know.”
“Honey chil’, Vernell lives with the football coach and dresses up like Britney Spears ats a bar in Knoxville ever other Saturday. Follow that recipe and tell me it don’t make a batch a cookies!”
“Fine, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“Didn’t say they was.” The old woman leaned in close. “They’s one a them places in Johnson City ya know. Me an’ Dreama Holmes went in one time. Jus' ta see what it was like.”
“Mamma! You didn’t.”
“Sure did. Let me tell you, them queens know how to make a ol’ lady feel like a queen. Had s’much fun I’d go back agin, but Dreama won’t take me an’ I don’ like to drive after dark n’more.”
“Why won’t she take ya?”
“Aw, some little black boy thought she was one a them transgenders and she got mad. I tried to explain she was jus' ugly but Dreama refused ta prove it.” She pointed to two loaves of bread on the counter. “What’s this?”
“My apple bread.” Vonda shook her head. “Brod said the neighbors didn’t want it. Claim the last time they ate it it give ‘em diarrhea.”
“Knock! Knock!” Vonda and her mother turned to see Arzella Tater waltzing right into the kitchen uninvited. “My, my, Vonda Kay Shephard, all this fuss!”
“Arzella!” Maw smiled broadly. “Want some fresh baked apple bread?”
“Oh, no thank you, dear. I just dropped by to see if there was anything I could do for ya.”
Vonda smiled even broader. “You kin scrub the cow poop off m’ carpet.”
“I haven’t got that much time, dear.” Arzella whisked a finger across the kitchen counter, looked at the pad and scrunched up her nose. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry we all are.”
“Well, thank you, Miz Tater. I appreciate it.” Vonda smiled and was torn between reaching for a clean sponge and the baseball bat she kept under the sink.
Arzella prissed to the screen door and looked out at the man signing some papers on a clipboard in the driveway. “I just wanted to assure you that none of this is yer fault. Some people are jus’ born to be cold blooded serial killers and others ain’t.”
“Arzella Tater, Ronnie ain’t no serial killer!” Maw bellowed.
“Ruby Acres get yer head outta the milk bucket. Ronnie done kilt twice. You gotta admit there’s just a little bit of a personality flaw there.” Arzella lifted her nose,both faces and all three chins in the air.
“Did I march over ta yer house after Homecomin', an’ say I was sorry about yer girl’s personality flaws?” Maw took a mean step toward Arzella.
Arzella’s nostril’s flared and her back arched. “The football team was helpin’ Marcella write a paper on the proper placement of protective cups!”
“I bet!”
Arzella took a step toward Maw, her fists balled at her sides. “An’ I bet nobody liked that first guy Ronnie kilt!”
Maw smiled. “Marcella did. He had a real big protective cup!”
Vonda Kay stepped in the middle. “Ladies! The only way I know ta stop two cats a fightin’ is ta turn the hose on ‘em. As much as I’d like m’ carpets cleaned I suggest ya both back off.”
The women each took a step back. Vonda whipped her head to her mother. “Mamma go check on Vista.”
The old lady held her ground.
“Now!” Vonda bellowed. Maw dropped her head and headed down the hall. “Arzella, thank you for dropping by. I’ll be sure and send a thank you card.”
Arzella smoothed her skirt. “Always willin’ to be a shoulder ta those in need.”
“And please…” Vonda shoved the baked goods in her arms. “Take these to Ervel. I didn’t have any pie when he came by earlier, so I baked this apple bread just fer him.”
“Why that is so sweet.” The woman smiled as Vonda walked her to the door. “Wait, my Ervel was here?”
Vonda smiled as she shoved her on the porch and shut the screen door. “Why yes. Ervel pops by ever once an’ a while, just to say hello. Give him m’ love.” She leaned up against the door she quickly shut in the woman’s face.
She was still leaned against it counting to ten when there was another knock at the door. Vonda rolled her eyes and reached for the baseball bat.
“I’ll show Arzella Tater a serial killer.” She mumbled to herself swinging the bat to her shoulder and opening the door.
“Mrs. Shephard?” The good-looking man on the porch smiled.
“Uh…yes. May I help you?” She tried not to drool, happily married woman or not.
“I’m Detective Thatcher Tate, the state investigator assigned to your…nephew’s case.” He stepped aside and motioned to the goofy looking beanpole in uniform beside him. “You know Norvel Barton?”
“Yes, Norvel. How’s the wife and kids?” Vonda leaned nonchalantly against the door and thanked the Lord she was wearing a tight hoodie and then quickly for being a happily married woman.
“Oh Zelma’s in a mood. The kid’s is all got the bug an’ pukin all over the new linoleum we just put down in the bathroom. You should come over an’ see it sometime.” He sniffed and scratched his chin.
“I bet it’s nice.”
“Yeah, once there ain’t vomit on it, it’s real purdy.” He said.
“Mrs. Shephard…” the other man interrupted, “May we come in? I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” The door was probably making red marks on her back any way. “Why don’t we retire to the living room? I bet you could use a comfortable seat after spending all day on your feet.”
“That would be very nice.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
Vonda took his arm and lead him inside. When the screen door slammed she yelled over her shoulder. “You, too, Norvel.”
Detective Tate sat in the center of the sofa, as Vonda nonchalantly seated herself on the footstool her Aunt Fay had made from an orange crate and old car seats in front of him. Norvel Barton stood in the archway, hat in hand, fresh buzz cut making his eyes bug out more.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“First of all, I need to make clear exactly why the state has become involved it what seemed to be a very tragic accident.”
“Of course.”
“The John Deere people just want to be sure, and make clear that their equipment wasn’t at fault, so the state stepped in.”
Vonda couldn’t wipe the dumbfounded look off her face. “John Deere?”
“Them tractor people?” Norvel himself was shocked.
“My assumption is that with the economy the way it is, they want to make sure that everything is done properly with no poor reflection on their product.”
“Wh’that’s jes stupid.” Norvel couldn’t help but say. "I’d think this whole thing would be good fer um.”
“Norvel, how on earth could having someone chopped up by one of their columbines be a good thing?” Vonda put her hands under her boobs and shoved them up just a bit before silently thanking the Lord she was a happily married woman.
“Why that thang chopped that woman up jes as purdy as you please, and them bails was still all square and tight. Ever one of 'em jest the purdiest bails you ever seed even with fingers an' toes 'n' chucks a hair stickin' out.” He explained.
Vonda turned back to the Detective. “I truly understand now why it was takin’ so long to get this accident all cleared up.”
“Do not misunderstand.” Thatcher Tate shifted forward. “This has nothing to do with publicity, Mrs. Shephard. The company requested the state look into the case, because of what seemed to them to be miscalculations in the original investigation.”
“I don’t understand.” Vonda said, suddenly not sure the detective was so sexy after all. “What do you mean miscalculations?”
“That’s what I need to ask you about…” Tate tried to make sure Vonda understood. “…just to confirm our suspicions.”
“This was an accident.” Vonda pouted. “Ronnie said he didn’t realize that Myrtle was even in the field. You shoulda saw the look on his face when he come runnin’ back to the house.”
“Hold on, hold on…” Tate tried to calm her down. “Let’s start at the beginning. Ronnie came here to report the incident and you called the police?”
“Yes, sir, well I called that 911.” Vonda said.
“Let’s go back just a bit.” He said and Vonda nodded her head. “He went out to the hayfield in the morning and you didn’t see him until he came back telling you what happened, correct?”
“Well no, not at all.” Vonda said. “We had a early lunch, and he went out there about 11:30 worked about ninety minutes and we got that awful rainstorm.”
“Rainstorm?”
“Lawdy.” Norvel chimed in. “That was awful. I’d hafa mind to start gatherin some gopher wood and start a buildin’ on the ark, that was such a nasty storm.”
“Wasn’t it though?” Vonda agreed.
“Wait. He came back from the field during the rainstorm and then he went back out?”
“That’s right.” Vonda told him. “Ronnie come in soaked to the skin, and changed inta some dry clothes. It rained so hard it nearly knocked cable out twice while we was a watchin’ “Days of Our Lives”.
“I love that show. Zelma’s TiVos it fer me.”
“Ya’ll got the TiVo?” Vonda asked.
“Yes’m you should get one. It will change yer life.” Norvel took a step in. “Are you a EJAMI er a SAFE?”
“I go back ‘n’ forth, but ya know I think Elvis and that Hernandez girl would be a cute couple, don’t you?” Vonda asked Norvel.
Norvel sat down on the footstool beside Vonda. “I thought that’s what they was a leading up to, but I heard theys a killin’ her off.”
“No!”
“Truth! An’ I think Brady a pullin’ the switch on that ol’ Vivian is a hoot!”
“Excuse me,” Detective Thatcher cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt the editors of Soap Opera Digest, but could we get back to Ronnie and the hay field?”
“Oh…” Vonda turned red. “I’m sorry, it’s just our story is getting’ so good.”
“Ain’t it though?” Norvel nodded his head.
“For the record, it’s Samantha and E.J. all the way, but I need to know when Ronnie went into the hayfield the second time and how long he was there.” Tate insisted.
“Well…” Vonda thought a moment. “We watched ‘Days’ by the time E.J. told Stefano…”
Norvel put his hands over his ears. “Don’t tell me! I don’t git to watch it til the kids is in bed.”
“Sorry, Norvel.” Vonda leaned over. “But it’ll knock your socks off! Anyway, the storm had ended by the end of the show, so we turned off the TV and went outside to pick up sticks and stuff. That wind was somethin’ awful.”
“So Ronnie went back out to the hay field about two, two thirty?”
“Well of course not. The last thing you want to do is bail wet hay. We both walked out there about three and it was still soppy, but the sun was hot, so after Trey and the girls got home from school, Ronnie wondered out there to see if maybe it would be dry enough to finish up after dinner.”
“So you went out there about three?”
“Yes, sir, around that time.”
“And you didn’t notice anything?”
“Not at all. Just looked like a tractor, a few bails and wet alfalfa ta me.” Vonda said.
“He left the tractor out there?” Tate made a note in his notebook. “He didn’t bring it in when the rain started and then take it back out?”
“’Course not Mr. Tate. Ronnie heard that first clap a thunder and high tailed his behind to the house.”
“So he went out to the field alone about…?”
“I’d say four thirty, maybe closer to five.”
“And how many hours was he out there before he came to the house and you called 911?”
“Not hours, detective, minutes. He wasn’t gone more’n five minutes, just as long as it took to walk out there and run screamin’ back at the top of his lungs.”
Detective Tate closed his notebook and stood. “Mrs. Shephard. I thank you for your time. I will need you to come to the station and sign a statement.”
“Sign a statement?” Vonda stood and asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What for?”
“Mrs. Shephard, you confirmed what the state has believed from the beginning, this wasn’t a tragic accident.”
“It had to be” Vonda insisted.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shephard. This was definitely a murder.”
Friday, September 24, 2010
Episode #3: Fluerene's Letter to the World
My husband is dead, and quite frankly, I couldn’t be happier. The thought of having to waste my golden years with that man was almost more than I could bear. Fortunately, I got the call telling me about Harmon and I’ve been dancing a little jig ever since, but only on the inside.
One has to keep up appearances, you know. As far as anyone else knows, I am the distraught Fleurene Moretz, the beautiful, still young and now woeful widow woman. My eyes are perfectly red and puffy. I break down in silent distress at just the right moment for comfort, and I am wearing a snazzy little black number I bought at Smithy’s and saved for just the right occasion.
Harmon’s life may be over, but mine is now damn near perfect. Shoot, I don’t even know what he died of, but I’ve been hinting to everyone that it was the cancer. That sounds good, and gives people the notion that we both suffered in silence for a long while.
Hopefully, some of the local churches and charity organizations will take up some collections to help this poor woman to cover the ungodly hospital bills and keep her and her poor children from being tossed out on the street. I may not even paint the porch this year, just to make the neighbors think we’ve fallen on hard times.
The hard times is over, honey. Now don’t get me wrong, Harmon was a good provider and lived up to the bargain right up to his dying day, whatever day that was. We never loved each other, but we made a deal and got married. I had decided that it was time for me to wed, and he wanted to stay out of the army so it was a match made in, well, Forge Creek.
That’s where we live, born and raised in on the Forge, a pretty little mountain town in East Tennessee. We used to be part of Virginia, but then got included in that proposed state of Franklin that never got ratified. I don’t remember just why, but even in death Ben Franklin must have really pissed someone off, because one still mad as a wet hornet senator said “No” and that was all it took for the land to be split back up, but this time we got gived to Tennessee.
They say that that’s why this area is so different from the rest of the state, cause we never really belonged to begin with. It’s all fine by me. It happened way before I was born, and it gives me something interesting to talk about that sounds intelligent over tea.
Intelligence and style, that’s my calling in life, anybody who wants to know how to do anything proper knows that I am the expert. Arzella Tater can think she’s the one all she wants, but just cause she has the fanciest house in the county don’t mean squat.
And it’s not that my house ain’t fancy mind you; it just ain’t as big as the one that uppity witch lives in. In fact, I think its fancier and I don’t lock my kids out of the house and make ‘em pee in the bushes like she does. (Of course, you didn’t hear that from me!)
My children are all well mannered, well behaved and all have fancy names like me. My name is Fleurene, born Pelletier. It’s French, so it’s pronounced Flurr—een Pell—teer. I am constantly having to correct the inbreds around here on how to pronounce it. They all want to call me Floor-een, and that’s just disgusting. It makes me sound like I’d give ya healthy gums or something.
Harmon was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, and I never once had to correct him on how to say my name. He was the perfect match in almost every way. I told him, all I wanted was a husband, a nice house and lots of kids. I didn’t even care if he was faithful, as long as I didn’t find out about it; cause then I’d have to kill him. He gave me everything I wanted and more. Yes indeed he was a fine husband and I praise God Almighty that he’s finally dead.
It was just fortunate for me that the Lord has always looked out for me. As a young girl I fell head over tails in love with Wilbur Joe Farmer, and he with me. Wilbur Joe was nothing like Harmon at all, although they was best friends. Harmon was beautiful and smart. Wilbur Joe was a half wit and butt ugly, and I don’t know why but I loved him so much it still hurts to this day.
Wilbur Joe and I was all set to get married just as soon as he finished basic training. I was busy planning my dream wedding, knowing the whole time we’d end up being penniless tobacco farmers, but I didn’t care. I was having the perfect wedding to the man I loved.
Fortunately God stepped in and on Wilbur Joe’s first day of boot camp. He tripped in the bathroom and drowned face down in a US Military toilet. I told you he was stupid!
Of course, I was nearly destroyed but like the strong woman I am just focused on what was important in life and carried on. I had the wedding all planned. I just needed the groom. At the funeral, Harmon was blubbering away about how he was scarred to go in the Army. That’s when God stepped in and showed me the light.
Five months later, my Daddy was escorting me down the aisle of Hammons Chapel Christian Church as planned, with only two different details. I was saying “I do” to Harmon, and I was wearing a much nicer gown, thanks to the insurance policy that Wilbur Joe had been bright enough to leave me and his fat cow of a mamma didn’t dare protest.
It wasn’t long after we married that Harmon got a really good paying job somewhere out of town. He wanted to move, but I refused. I was born on Forge Creek for a reason and I wasn’t leaving.
Harmon took the job anyways; built me a nice house on Meemaw’s old farm and spent most of his time doing whatever he did that brought me such good money. I think it had something to do with trucking, but I figured as long as them fat paychecks came in regular and didn’t bounce it wasn’t none of my business.
Harmon would come home for a couple of weeks every couple of months, always with a nice gift and hung around long enough to get me pregnant. It was a husband’s job.
Obviously, I didn’t care much for him, but I did love the life he provided and the fact that he left me alone to live it the way I wanted.
My oldest got the best of both of us. Harmon Sinclair, Jr. has his father’s looks and my class and intelligence. I called him Sinclair, because it sounded so nice and exotic. Mamma insisted on calling him “Junie” when he was born and I just hated it. I started back handing her every time she did it, so she soon got the hint and stopped. Sinclair it was, is and always will be.
I’d love to say that all my kids are beautiful, but I am a totally honest woman. The simple truth is the more I turned out, the plainer they got right down to my youngest. Actually my youngest are a set of twins, a boy and a girl. I named him Abingdon, after the nice little town in Virginia where Harmon took me to a real live professional theatre with dinner across the street at the Martha Washington Inn.
The girl I named Modene, after a company I read on something somewhere. I can’t remember what it was, but when I read it I just knew it was the perfect strong name for a perfect strong little girl. Modene did come out last, so I always call her my youngest.
What Sinclair is to beauty, poor sweet Modene is not. I swear I look at her sometimes and think that I didn’t really have twins at all, that she’s just the afterbirth that lived. Of course, I would never tell her that.
As far as she knows she is the most darling young lady in the world. Notice how I use the word darling and not beautiful? Remember I am a woman of truth, and she is darling, just nothing even remotely close to attractive. Shoot I had an albino Chihuahua as a child with a better complexion than Modene.
But she’s sweet and adorable and just dotes on me something awful. She has been so concerned for me these last few days, so concerned that I might, oh I don’t know, throw myself onto Harmon’s burning body like one of them Indian women. I’m sorry, but that’s just stupid.
Jimmy Dean said die young and leave a good lookin’ corpse. He is so right, that Jimmy Dean. How on earth are you supposed to be a good lookin’ corpse with singed hair? Gracious!
Of course, as far as Modene and all my kids is concerned I am the distraught widow woman with nothing left to live for. My Harmon did die young and will be a darn great looking corpse. He also left behind a heck of a lot of cash that’s all mine and I will moan and wail like I’m in a Lifetime movie until the day that will goes probate. Then I am kicking up my heels and really living.
Until then, I am mustering all my acting ability and being “courageous and strong” for my kids. I ran around the house all morning making sure they was ready to go to the funeral. Obviously, I was too upset (tee hee) to handle it and Sinclair took care of everything.
All I have to do is round up my brood, stuff ‘em in the limo and head to Tester’s Funeral Home, at least that’s where we better be heading. I did let Sinclair know that if he even dared to bury his father at that other place in town, whom I can’t even let cross my lips, we’d be burying him next in a couple of Ziplock snack bags.
I even thought about cooking this morning. I haven’t done that in years. As soon as the twins started at the high school I stopped. I made a general announcement that if it couldn’t be micro waved or delivered it wasn’t being eaten at my house anymore.
To make my point, I took the heating elements out of the oven and keep my sweaters there. I even got some of them stove eye covers down at Iron Mountain Stoneware and super glued them in place. Besides, I figure people will be bringing by casseroles and turkeys for awhile anyway, and Sinclair is having the wake catered.
I do hesitate to let Modene be seen in public today. Her plain, fat little face is so puffy and red you’d think God smacked her around with her tears. Her eyes are almost bruised from crying.
Poor thing, she is so emotional and I’m sure she didn’t care for her daddy much. He was around so rarely. Once when she was six and Harmon was home for breakfast she turned to me and said, “Mommy, who’s that man?”
I was afraid for a minute that would guilt Harmon in to coming home more often. Fortunately it didn’t faze him. I lived in fear that whole week.
I tried so hard to get her to wear some make up or something, but she refused. She said she didn’t want to waste plastering on something that was just gonna get cried off. I guess she’s right. She looks scary enough without having black streaks smeared all over those swollen hamster cheeks.
I did at least get her to wear a little jewelry, told her that Harmon always thought she looked so nice in jewelry. I picked out the gaudiest stuff I could find for her and told her they were his favorites. I actually am just hoping it will distract people’s eyes from her face.
The boys, of course, all look so dapper. My boys know how to dress. The girls, now that’s another story. Except for Diana Jean, my girls wouldn’t know a designer dress from a burlap sack. Scarlet is still into that all black Goth stuff, which does kind of make her wardrobe today a little easier and Ruby tries to stuff a little too much into too little. We’ve already discussed Modene.
Then again, at least the older three have figures; Modene is a senior in high school and is still waiting on a visit from the boob fairy. Actually, I think Ruby may have gotten Modene’s helping. I swear I thought about buying that child her first bra before she was potty trained. She was practically birthed a C cup!
Ruby’s my Miss America. She was first runner up in the Miss Johnson County Pageant two years in a row, I’m not sure how that happens but you can bet it wasn’t pretty. And you can bet it won’t happen again. She’s done with those cheesy third rate pageants. It’s on to Miss Lonesome Pine and Miss Watauga Valley from here on out.
Now Diana Jean, along with her inheriting her mama’s flair for fashion, is the smart one in the family. I think she’ll make a doctor or something pretty, you can stake good money on that.
And Miss Scarlet, as soon as she gets through this depressed and angry phase, she’ll make a good wife. After all, wives and mothers don’t have to be chipper, just organized, and that she is.
My boys are my pride and joy. I never really cared too much for girls, so I admit there is a special place in my heart for each one of my sons. As I’ve said Sinclair has both beauty and brains and the world is his for the taking. If I play my cards right, I’ve got a built in ticket to more money and an even better life.
He’s finished up with college now, graduated with honors from somewhere and has a degree in something impressive. I was a little disappointed when he told me he was gonna go off and work with his daddy for a while, but I guess first sons just expect that they are expected to follow in the family business. So as long as he provides for me, whatever is just fine.
Dear sweet Abingdon, is just a precious little idiot, all football and tractors. I expect he’ll be plowing up some of the old farmland around the house and letting cows poop in the backyard before too long. But it will give him something to do, and as long as he takes his boots off before he comes in the house I won’t complain.
I’m a little surprised that I have a card carrying member of the FFA in my brood, but I guess there are worse future “F’s” than farmers. Now don’t get me wrong. Farmers are people, too. Some of my best acquaintances are farmers. I just never imagined that agriculture would ever be more than a conversation around my dinner table. Oh well, I reckon as long as Abingdon, doesn’t go as far as to let dead animals drip out in the old smoke house and expect me to cook ‘em, I’ll make do.
Then again, if I’m lucky, like Scarlet’s Goth mood, Bing’s desire for dirty fingernails is just a phase. I secretly hope that he’s just doing it long enough to make Arzella Tater’s boys that he tends to pal around with all get into farming while secretly prepares for Congress. Now wouldn’t that be a hoot.
Of course, I got two more boys; Silas and Joe Cooper, eighteen months apart and like two peas in a very odd pod. Silas is tall and looks like that man who used to be Dr. Gannon on “Medical Center”. Joe Cooper on the other hand is short, beefy and looks like somebody’s sidekick.
They seem to share one personality. It’s kind of scary. If the other one ain’t in the room there just seems to be this vacuum to the right or left of them. They even went to the same college and all they talk about is opening a practice together. I’m not sure what they plan to practice together, but they are good boys so I’m sure it won’t be anything harmful, or earth shaking for that matter.
Oh there, I go, boasting about my wonderful kids and completely off the subject. What was I talking about to begin with? Do you remember and was it that all fired important? It was something to do with the color black and the color of money.
Oh yes, my husband is dead and I’ve got to get all these kids stuffed in a limo and down to the funeral home! I’d better watch my p’s and q’s or someone’s gonna figure out just how down right happy I am about the whole situation.
One has to keep up appearances, you know. As far as anyone else knows, I am the distraught Fleurene Moretz, the beautiful, still young and now woeful widow woman. My eyes are perfectly red and puffy. I break down in silent distress at just the right moment for comfort, and I am wearing a snazzy little black number I bought at Smithy’s and saved for just the right occasion.
Harmon’s life may be over, but mine is now damn near perfect. Shoot, I don’t even know what he died of, but I’ve been hinting to everyone that it was the cancer. That sounds good, and gives people the notion that we both suffered in silence for a long while.
Hopefully, some of the local churches and charity organizations will take up some collections to help this poor woman to cover the ungodly hospital bills and keep her and her poor children from being tossed out on the street. I may not even paint the porch this year, just to make the neighbors think we’ve fallen on hard times.
The hard times is over, honey. Now don’t get me wrong, Harmon was a good provider and lived up to the bargain right up to his dying day, whatever day that was. We never loved each other, but we made a deal and got married. I had decided that it was time for me to wed, and he wanted to stay out of the army so it was a match made in, well, Forge Creek.
That’s where we live, born and raised in on the Forge, a pretty little mountain town in East Tennessee. We used to be part of Virginia, but then got included in that proposed state of Franklin that never got ratified. I don’t remember just why, but even in death Ben Franklin must have really pissed someone off, because one still mad as a wet hornet senator said “No” and that was all it took for the land to be split back up, but this time we got gived to Tennessee.
They say that that’s why this area is so different from the rest of the state, cause we never really belonged to begin with. It’s all fine by me. It happened way before I was born, and it gives me something interesting to talk about that sounds intelligent over tea.
Intelligence and style, that’s my calling in life, anybody who wants to know how to do anything proper knows that I am the expert. Arzella Tater can think she’s the one all she wants, but just cause she has the fanciest house in the county don’t mean squat.
And it’s not that my house ain’t fancy mind you; it just ain’t as big as the one that uppity witch lives in. In fact, I think its fancier and I don’t lock my kids out of the house and make ‘em pee in the bushes like she does. (Of course, you didn’t hear that from me!)
My children are all well mannered, well behaved and all have fancy names like me. My name is Fleurene, born Pelletier. It’s French, so it’s pronounced Flurr—een Pell—teer. I am constantly having to correct the inbreds around here on how to pronounce it. They all want to call me Floor-een, and that’s just disgusting. It makes me sound like I’d give ya healthy gums or something.
Harmon was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, and I never once had to correct him on how to say my name. He was the perfect match in almost every way. I told him, all I wanted was a husband, a nice house and lots of kids. I didn’t even care if he was faithful, as long as I didn’t find out about it; cause then I’d have to kill him. He gave me everything I wanted and more. Yes indeed he was a fine husband and I praise God Almighty that he’s finally dead.
It was just fortunate for me that the Lord has always looked out for me. As a young girl I fell head over tails in love with Wilbur Joe Farmer, and he with me. Wilbur Joe was nothing like Harmon at all, although they was best friends. Harmon was beautiful and smart. Wilbur Joe was a half wit and butt ugly, and I don’t know why but I loved him so much it still hurts to this day.
Wilbur Joe and I was all set to get married just as soon as he finished basic training. I was busy planning my dream wedding, knowing the whole time we’d end up being penniless tobacco farmers, but I didn’t care. I was having the perfect wedding to the man I loved.
Fortunately God stepped in and on Wilbur Joe’s first day of boot camp. He tripped in the bathroom and drowned face down in a US Military toilet. I told you he was stupid!
Of course, I was nearly destroyed but like the strong woman I am just focused on what was important in life and carried on. I had the wedding all planned. I just needed the groom. At the funeral, Harmon was blubbering away about how he was scarred to go in the Army. That’s when God stepped in and showed me the light.
Five months later, my Daddy was escorting me down the aisle of Hammons Chapel Christian Church as planned, with only two different details. I was saying “I do” to Harmon, and I was wearing a much nicer gown, thanks to the insurance policy that Wilbur Joe had been bright enough to leave me and his fat cow of a mamma didn’t dare protest.
It wasn’t long after we married that Harmon got a really good paying job somewhere out of town. He wanted to move, but I refused. I was born on Forge Creek for a reason and I wasn’t leaving.
Harmon took the job anyways; built me a nice house on Meemaw’s old farm and spent most of his time doing whatever he did that brought me such good money. I think it had something to do with trucking, but I figured as long as them fat paychecks came in regular and didn’t bounce it wasn’t none of my business.
Harmon would come home for a couple of weeks every couple of months, always with a nice gift and hung around long enough to get me pregnant. It was a husband’s job.
Obviously, I didn’t care much for him, but I did love the life he provided and the fact that he left me alone to live it the way I wanted.
My oldest got the best of both of us. Harmon Sinclair, Jr. has his father’s looks and my class and intelligence. I called him Sinclair, because it sounded so nice and exotic. Mamma insisted on calling him “Junie” when he was born and I just hated it. I started back handing her every time she did it, so she soon got the hint and stopped. Sinclair it was, is and always will be.
I’d love to say that all my kids are beautiful, but I am a totally honest woman. The simple truth is the more I turned out, the plainer they got right down to my youngest. Actually my youngest are a set of twins, a boy and a girl. I named him Abingdon, after the nice little town in Virginia where Harmon took me to a real live professional theatre with dinner across the street at the Martha Washington Inn.
The girl I named Modene, after a company I read on something somewhere. I can’t remember what it was, but when I read it I just knew it was the perfect strong name for a perfect strong little girl. Modene did come out last, so I always call her my youngest.
What Sinclair is to beauty, poor sweet Modene is not. I swear I look at her sometimes and think that I didn’t really have twins at all, that she’s just the afterbirth that lived. Of course, I would never tell her that.
As far as she knows she is the most darling young lady in the world. Notice how I use the word darling and not beautiful? Remember I am a woman of truth, and she is darling, just nothing even remotely close to attractive. Shoot I had an albino Chihuahua as a child with a better complexion than Modene.
But she’s sweet and adorable and just dotes on me something awful. She has been so concerned for me these last few days, so concerned that I might, oh I don’t know, throw myself onto Harmon’s burning body like one of them Indian women. I’m sorry, but that’s just stupid.
Jimmy Dean said die young and leave a good lookin’ corpse. He is so right, that Jimmy Dean. How on earth are you supposed to be a good lookin’ corpse with singed hair? Gracious!
Of course, as far as Modene and all my kids is concerned I am the distraught widow woman with nothing left to live for. My Harmon did die young and will be a darn great looking corpse. He also left behind a heck of a lot of cash that’s all mine and I will moan and wail like I’m in a Lifetime movie until the day that will goes probate. Then I am kicking up my heels and really living.
Until then, I am mustering all my acting ability and being “courageous and strong” for my kids. I ran around the house all morning making sure they was ready to go to the funeral. Obviously, I was too upset (tee hee) to handle it and Sinclair took care of everything.
All I have to do is round up my brood, stuff ‘em in the limo and head to Tester’s Funeral Home, at least that’s where we better be heading. I did let Sinclair know that if he even dared to bury his father at that other place in town, whom I can’t even let cross my lips, we’d be burying him next in a couple of Ziplock snack bags.
I even thought about cooking this morning. I haven’t done that in years. As soon as the twins started at the high school I stopped. I made a general announcement that if it couldn’t be micro waved or delivered it wasn’t being eaten at my house anymore.
To make my point, I took the heating elements out of the oven and keep my sweaters there. I even got some of them stove eye covers down at Iron Mountain Stoneware and super glued them in place. Besides, I figure people will be bringing by casseroles and turkeys for awhile anyway, and Sinclair is having the wake catered.
I do hesitate to let Modene be seen in public today. Her plain, fat little face is so puffy and red you’d think God smacked her around with her tears. Her eyes are almost bruised from crying.
Poor thing, she is so emotional and I’m sure she didn’t care for her daddy much. He was around so rarely. Once when she was six and Harmon was home for breakfast she turned to me and said, “Mommy, who’s that man?”
I was afraid for a minute that would guilt Harmon in to coming home more often. Fortunately it didn’t faze him. I lived in fear that whole week.
I tried so hard to get her to wear some make up or something, but she refused. She said she didn’t want to waste plastering on something that was just gonna get cried off. I guess she’s right. She looks scary enough without having black streaks smeared all over those swollen hamster cheeks.
I did at least get her to wear a little jewelry, told her that Harmon always thought she looked so nice in jewelry. I picked out the gaudiest stuff I could find for her and told her they were his favorites. I actually am just hoping it will distract people’s eyes from her face.
The boys, of course, all look so dapper. My boys know how to dress. The girls, now that’s another story. Except for Diana Jean, my girls wouldn’t know a designer dress from a burlap sack. Scarlet is still into that all black Goth stuff, which does kind of make her wardrobe today a little easier and Ruby tries to stuff a little too much into too little. We’ve already discussed Modene.
Then again, at least the older three have figures; Modene is a senior in high school and is still waiting on a visit from the boob fairy. Actually, I think Ruby may have gotten Modene’s helping. I swear I thought about buying that child her first bra before she was potty trained. She was practically birthed a C cup!
Ruby’s my Miss America. She was first runner up in the Miss Johnson County Pageant two years in a row, I’m not sure how that happens but you can bet it wasn’t pretty. And you can bet it won’t happen again. She’s done with those cheesy third rate pageants. It’s on to Miss Lonesome Pine and Miss Watauga Valley from here on out.
Now Diana Jean, along with her inheriting her mama’s flair for fashion, is the smart one in the family. I think she’ll make a doctor or something pretty, you can stake good money on that.
And Miss Scarlet, as soon as she gets through this depressed and angry phase, she’ll make a good wife. After all, wives and mothers don’t have to be chipper, just organized, and that she is.
My boys are my pride and joy. I never really cared too much for girls, so I admit there is a special place in my heart for each one of my sons. As I’ve said Sinclair has both beauty and brains and the world is his for the taking. If I play my cards right, I’ve got a built in ticket to more money and an even better life.
He’s finished up with college now, graduated with honors from somewhere and has a degree in something impressive. I was a little disappointed when he told me he was gonna go off and work with his daddy for a while, but I guess first sons just expect that they are expected to follow in the family business. So as long as he provides for me, whatever is just fine.
Dear sweet Abingdon, is just a precious little idiot, all football and tractors. I expect he’ll be plowing up some of the old farmland around the house and letting cows poop in the backyard before too long. But it will give him something to do, and as long as he takes his boots off before he comes in the house I won’t complain.
I’m a little surprised that I have a card carrying member of the FFA in my brood, but I guess there are worse future “F’s” than farmers. Now don’t get me wrong. Farmers are people, too. Some of my best acquaintances are farmers. I just never imagined that agriculture would ever be more than a conversation around my dinner table. Oh well, I reckon as long as Abingdon, doesn’t go as far as to let dead animals drip out in the old smoke house and expect me to cook ‘em, I’ll make do.
Then again, if I’m lucky, like Scarlet’s Goth mood, Bing’s desire for dirty fingernails is just a phase. I secretly hope that he’s just doing it long enough to make Arzella Tater’s boys that he tends to pal around with all get into farming while secretly prepares for Congress. Now wouldn’t that be a hoot.
Of course, I got two more boys; Silas and Joe Cooper, eighteen months apart and like two peas in a very odd pod. Silas is tall and looks like that man who used to be Dr. Gannon on “Medical Center”. Joe Cooper on the other hand is short, beefy and looks like somebody’s sidekick.
They seem to share one personality. It’s kind of scary. If the other one ain’t in the room there just seems to be this vacuum to the right or left of them. They even went to the same college and all they talk about is opening a practice together. I’m not sure what they plan to practice together, but they are good boys so I’m sure it won’t be anything harmful, or earth shaking for that matter.
Oh there, I go, boasting about my wonderful kids and completely off the subject. What was I talking about to begin with? Do you remember and was it that all fired important? It was something to do with the color black and the color of money.
Oh yes, my husband is dead and I’ve got to get all these kids stuffed in a limo and down to the funeral home! I’d better watch my p’s and q’s or someone’s gonna figure out just how down right happy I am about the whole situation.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Episode #2: Rethinking the Ziploc Bag
Some people cleaned, some people ate, and some people drank. When Vonda Kay Shephard got upset, she cooked. She’d been up since the crack of dawn cooking everything in the house.
It started out with hotcakes and sausage for her husband’s breakfast. Then she made breakfast for her son and twin girls and packed their lunches for school. When she’d snapped the lid closed on the last lunch pail, she remembered it was still summer and the kids weren’t in school.
That set off the next wave of frustration so she made a ham casserole, then a recipe called spaghetti pie she copied down from that Mr. Food guy on the TV. From there it was a simple step to frying some potatoes. Before she knew it the fridge was empty, the cupboards bare and every surface in the kitchen and dining room was covered in casseroles, cakes, cookies and chopped, steamed or creamed vegetables.
She sniffed the cherry yum yum she’d just taken out of the oven. “Well, that don’t look too bad.” She placed it on the cozies her Great Aunt Fay had crocheted for her and looked around to see if there was anything left to whip together, heat up or slice. She wiped off the oven timer shaped like a chicken and put it back in the cabinet over the stove.
“Mama!” She heard one of the girls wail from the back of the house. “Ruth Ann has been usin’ my lipstick again!”
“Ruth Ann! Don’t use your sister’s lipstick!" She yelled back and proceeded to wipe down whatever counter space that wasn't occupied. "You know how it upsets her and I just can’t handle all the bickerin today!”
“I didn’t touch her nasty lipstick!” Ruth Ann yelled back. “I don’t use Hoochie Whore Red!”
“Mama!” The other daughter whined.
“Girls!” Vonda screamed so angry she almost knocked a plate of Raspberry Chip Cookies in the floor. “If I have to come back there, I will knock the snot outta both of you! Mercy girls, there are other things to worry about than who’s smeared Avon all over their face.”
“Sorry, Mama!” They yelled back.
“Is anybody hungry?” She asked as loud as she could.
“No, Mama.” Ruth Ann called back.
“I’m on a diet!” Ann Bliss announced. “I wanna look good in m’ swimsuit for Miss Mountain Electric.”
“Well, good for you…” Vonda heard Ruth Ann say. “Watcha gonna do about yer face?”
Vonda rolled her eyes and started putting some veggies she’d chopped in little heart and star shapes into a Ziplock. “Trey, honey? You wanna come and get somethin’ to eat? Mama’s made all your favorites.”
She got no answer.
“Trey, honey?” Vonda wiped her hands on a tea towel and started to the hall. “Bubba?”
She knocked on his closed bedroom door and then opened it. Her nine year old was sitting in the corner of his bedroom cross-legged in the floor. She smiled at him as he looked up to her. “Hey there, Bedbug. Whatcha doin’?”
“I’m just a sittin’ here a thinkin’.”
“Didn’t cha hear me? I was a callin’ your name.”
“No, ma’am. I was a thinkin’ purdy hard.”
“You wanna talk about it?” She sat down on the edge of his bed. Trey adored his big cousin Ronnie, and she knew this had to be hard on him.
“Ya think they’ll put Ronnie away forever?”
“Aw Sweet Baby, I don’t know. He says he didn’t do it on purpose. It was a accident, but we’ve just gotta leave all that in the hands a the Lord.”
Trey sighed. “I know Mama, but that’s sa’ hard ta do. Ya cain’t see the Lords big ol’ hands and some days it’s just hard to tell whether they’s really there ‘er not.”
“I know, Baby Boy. I know.” She brushed the top of his head with her hand. “Are ya hungry? I’ve cooked everything in the house.”
“Maybe later. I think I’ll jus’ sit here and think a while longer.”
“Okay, honey, but don’t stay cooped up here all day. The sun’s a shinin’ and there’s June Bugs to catch.”
“Why do they call ‘em June Bugs when it’s August?”
“Well, they take after your Daddy’s side of the family and couldn’t be on time if ya nailed their feet to an alarm clock.”
Vonda kissed the top of her son’s head and quietly shut his door back. She said a little silent prayer. She had barely whispered amen when she heard the commotion from the girl’s room.
“Mama!” One of them yelled.
“What on Earth now?” Vonda stood at their doorway with her hands on her hips.
“You tell Ruth Ann that I’m the pretty one!” Ann Bliss wailed.
“Just ‘cause you got watermelons and I got grape fruits don’t mean you’re the pretty one!” Ruth Ann snorted. “It just means they ain’t never gonna mix up our bras!”
“Girls!” Vonda Kaye put her foot down. “You’re twins. You’re both pretty!”
“We ain’t identical!” One said.
“’Specially round the boobs!” The other added.
“You’re not draggin’ me into that argument again. I’ve had enough. Ruth Ann the house needs to be vacuumed and dusted. Ann Bliss run the bathtub full a water and take all the blinds down and soak ‘em in vinegar.”
“Mama! I jus’ put ma’ lipstick on!” Ann Bliss protested.
“Then don’t get it on m’ blinds.” Vonda looked sternly at her daughters. “An’ I don’t want either one of you to look at the other until this house is spotless. Now, move!” She clapped her hands together and watched her fifteen year old twins roll their eyes but head to their posts.
“Knock! Knock! Anybody home?” She heard from the front of the house.
Vonda slipped back down the hall to the kitchen to find her mother standing there open mouthed looking at the food spread all over creation, her sister and nephew not far behind in similar states.
“Land sakes, Vonda Kaye.” Her mother said. “You havin’ a Baptist fellowship today?”
“Can’t be Baptist.” Brod said dunking his finger in something that looked like whip cream and chocolate pudding. “They ain’t no chicken.”
“Aw, honey…” Vonda’s own twin Vista handed her a bowl and hugged her neck. “How you holdin’ up?”
Vonda put her hands in her hair and moaned. “I just don’t know what to do. I tried and tried but every time a turn around poor Ronnie just slops right into trouble.”
“That poor boy.” Vista shook her head. “He just doesn’t seem to have a chance, does he?”
“I feel so bad.” Vonda pulled out chairs from the food covered dinette set. “Ya’ll set down.”
“Can I have some of this?” Brod asked holding up a casserole.
“Help yourself, honey. Whatever you want.” Vonda replied plopping herself between her mother and sister. “I just don’t understand this whole thing. It was an accident, Ronnie says he didn’t know he’d done it.”
“Prob’ly has something to do with his record.” Maw half said inspecting everything on the table. “You use Velvetta in this?”
“Sharp Colby. Try some.” Vonda told her. “And I worry how this is gonna effect everything…the kids…Dewey’s business…my business…it’s just a mess!”
“It’ll all straighten itself out.” Vista put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “If it was an accident, I don’t see how they can hold him. They’s just got to go through what they call dude process of the law.”
“Shouldn’t hurt the business none.” Maw said stealing a crispy from a pan of battered steak fingers.
“Maw, you know the people in this town.” Vonda got up and found some plates and silverware, handing them to her mother. “Get your fingers out of the food and eat like a human, mama.”
“I ain’t hungry child. I just wanted to try the crispy part. Yours is always better’n mine.”
“I use bread flour and not self risin’…that’s the trick” Vonda said putting the fingered finger on a plate and handing it to Maw.
“Times are hard, and I keep thinkin’ the last thing a realtor needs is something like this to keep folks from buyin’ houses.” Vonda spooned some of the deep dish broccoli on the plate as well. “And then I feel so guilty thinking ‘bout how this is gonna effect me.”
“I don’t think it’ll be a problem, Vonda Kay.” Vista assured her.
“Didn’t business boom for ya’ last time Ronnie got put in jail for murder?” Brod asked filling a plate with more goodies.
“Well, yes…but nobody liked that last guy he killed.”
“And Myrtle Lewis sure was popular.” Maw chomped down on the steak finger she didn’t want. “’Specially with the men.”
Vonda sighed. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with all this food. I just got started and couldn’t stop.” She looked up at her sister. “Is it bad taste to take all this to the grieving family of the girl your nephew just chopped up in a hay bailer?”
“I think it’d be right sweet.” Vista said.
“I’d rethink anything in a Ziploc bag though.” Maw added reaching for another bite. “We brought ya a mess a pole beans. Vista Kay picked ‘em this mornin’”.
“Thank you, honey.” Vonda got up and started attending to the bowl she had been given. “This’ll give me something else to do for a few minutes…oh you done snapped ‘em already.”
“Just need to be cooked.” Vonda told her. “Want me to find your pressure cooker?”
“No. I think I’ll bake ‘em.” She turned her oven back on and grabbed a cookie sheet from the dish drainer. “I saw Rachel Ray do it this and we just loved ‘em. They been washed?”
Vonda nodded and walked over to watch her twin. “Lemme see what yer doin’. I’m always up for somethin’ new.”
“You just spread on the cookie sheet and pour some olive oil on ‘em like this.” Vista liked having an audience when she cooked. “Then sprinkle some salt and pepper, we like the sea salt grinders, and pop ‘em in the oven for about twenny minutes.”
“Well that’s simple.” Vista said. “Sorta like a baked tater only green an' pointy.” She turned to her son. “Brod, when you get through feedin’ yer tape worm, why don’t you find little Trey and get him to help you load all this in the truck and run it over to the Lewis’s.”
“Sure Mama. Is that real apple pie?” He pointed.
“Of course.” Vista said, “What else would ya make an apple pie out of?”
“Arzella Tater makes her’s outta Ritz crackers.” Maw said reaching for another steak finger. “Leave these here.” She whispered to Brod.
“That’s just nasty.” Vonda wrinkled her nose.
“Try eatin’ it.” Vista giggled.
The doorbell rang. “Who on Earth could that be?” Vonda said as she got up and headed for the front door, Vista following behind.
“Oh Lord, it’s the sheriff.” She whispered as her sister reached to open the door.
“Sheriff Tater, what brings you by?” Vonda swallowed her fear.
“Vonda, I’ve arrested yer nephew enough ta where we can be on a first name basis. You kin call me Ervil.” He stuffed his doughy frame through the door into the living room.
Vonda nodded her head and smiled. She didn’t want that man in her house, let alone sitting on her expensive furniture. It wasn’t that she just didn’t like him, he was so fat she feared the sofa would collapse, but she motioned for him to sit anyway. “What can I do for you…Ervil?”
“Well…” The Sheriff moaned as he eased himself down in the center of the couch covering the groan of the fine furniture. “I got a call orderin’ me to turn this case ova to a state investigat’r.”
“The state?” Vonda’s hand went to her chest in shock.
“That ain’t good.” Maw appeared at the living room door, chewing on a second steak finger.
“Why would the state investigator’s get involved? This was a accident, just a tragic accident.” Vista sat in the arm of her sister’s chair and put her hand on her back.
“All I know’s is it’s all outta my hands. A man arrived this mornin’ with all kinda legal papers an’ a barkin’ orders.” Ervil sniffed the air. “Do I smell pie?”
“No.” Came three every quick voices.
“They’s a man talkin’ with Ronnie right now. I reckon he’ll be ova here soon, with more legal stuff.”
“Why would he come here?” Vonda asked.
“He’s a gatherin evidence, has a paper sayin’ he can come in here and search ya house ‘n’ prop’ty.”
“Law.” Maw said wiping crunchy crumbs from her mouth.
“This is big, Vonda Kay. This is gonna get uglier than a hog’s butt on slaughter day.” The sheriff leaned back on the couch.
“I wonder if this’ll make ‘Americer’s Most Wanted?’” Maw asked. “I love that show.”
“That’s just fer criminals that got away.” Brod said from the kitchen.
“And Ronnie did it. He said so himself.” Vista added.
“That’s what I don’t understand.” Vonda worried. “It was a accident. Why all the fuss with the state gettin’ involved?”
“Don’t rightly know.” Ervil leaned forward. “Are you sure I don’t smell pie?”
“Yes.” Came three quick responses.
“Alright then.” Ervel nodded his head. “I just thought I’d warn ya. If I was you, I wouldn’t touch ner clean nothing’ til this man shows up and says it’s alright.” The sheriff put his hands on his knees and groaned his way to a standing position. “Norvel Burcham, ya’ll know my dep’ty Norvel, he’ll be with the man. I reckon he’ll be here shortly.”
“Well, thank you Sheriff Tater.” Vonda stood and put out her hand to shake.
The sheriff took it. “Don’t get too worried up Vonda Kay. Like ya said, Ronnie said he did it. It’s purdy open and shut.”
“I’ll try, but you know me, I don’t like family touchin’ my stuff, let alone strangers.”
“They’ll wear rubber gloves, child.” Maw said matter of factly. “I seed ‘Law and Order’. Ya don’t has ta worry about stranger cooties in yer drawers.”
“That’s so comfortin’ Maw.” Vonda shot her mother a dirty look. “Thank you.”
“Well, unless you got pie…” the Sherrif said.
“We don’t.” Came three quick responses.
He nodded his head, “I’ll be off now.” He stuffed himself out the front door as the three women watched him waddle off the groaning front porch.
“Mercy.” Vista said.
“Aw, shoot!” Vonda said. “Girls! Girls! Stop the cleanin!” She yelled down the hall.
“And we was havin’ so much fun!” Ann Bliss yelled back as the vacuum went off.
Vonda put her hands to her temples. “This just couldn’t get any worse!”
“Well, I’d say you won’t be sellin’ any houses for a while.” Maw rubbed her daughter’s back. “Good thing ya sold the Quisenberry Place.”
“Ya did?” Vista tried to encourage her sister. “That’s good. Who’d ya sell it to?”
“Oh God…Mac.” Vonda sat back down in the chair. “Mac Moretz bought it, Vista Kay. He’s movin’ back to town.”
“Mac?” Vista Kay sat hard on the indentation still visible in the sofa. “My husband’s comin’ back?”
It started out with hotcakes and sausage for her husband’s breakfast. Then she made breakfast for her son and twin girls and packed their lunches for school. When she’d snapped the lid closed on the last lunch pail, she remembered it was still summer and the kids weren’t in school.
That set off the next wave of frustration so she made a ham casserole, then a recipe called spaghetti pie she copied down from that Mr. Food guy on the TV. From there it was a simple step to frying some potatoes. Before she knew it the fridge was empty, the cupboards bare and every surface in the kitchen and dining room was covered in casseroles, cakes, cookies and chopped, steamed or creamed vegetables.
She sniffed the cherry yum yum she’d just taken out of the oven. “Well, that don’t look too bad.” She placed it on the cozies her Great Aunt Fay had crocheted for her and looked around to see if there was anything left to whip together, heat up or slice. She wiped off the oven timer shaped like a chicken and put it back in the cabinet over the stove.
“Mama!” She heard one of the girls wail from the back of the house. “Ruth Ann has been usin’ my lipstick again!”
“Ruth Ann! Don’t use your sister’s lipstick!" She yelled back and proceeded to wipe down whatever counter space that wasn't occupied. "You know how it upsets her and I just can’t handle all the bickerin today!”
“I didn’t touch her nasty lipstick!” Ruth Ann yelled back. “I don’t use Hoochie Whore Red!”
“Mama!” The other daughter whined.
“Girls!” Vonda screamed so angry she almost knocked a plate of Raspberry Chip Cookies in the floor. “If I have to come back there, I will knock the snot outta both of you! Mercy girls, there are other things to worry about than who’s smeared Avon all over their face.”
“Sorry, Mama!” They yelled back.
“Is anybody hungry?” She asked as loud as she could.
“No, Mama.” Ruth Ann called back.
“I’m on a diet!” Ann Bliss announced. “I wanna look good in m’ swimsuit for Miss Mountain Electric.”
“Well, good for you…” Vonda heard Ruth Ann say. “Watcha gonna do about yer face?”
Vonda rolled her eyes and started putting some veggies she’d chopped in little heart and star shapes into a Ziplock. “Trey, honey? You wanna come and get somethin’ to eat? Mama’s made all your favorites.”
She got no answer.
“Trey, honey?” Vonda wiped her hands on a tea towel and started to the hall. “Bubba?”
She knocked on his closed bedroom door and then opened it. Her nine year old was sitting in the corner of his bedroom cross-legged in the floor. She smiled at him as he looked up to her. “Hey there, Bedbug. Whatcha doin’?”
“I’m just a sittin’ here a thinkin’.”
“Didn’t cha hear me? I was a callin’ your name.”
“No, ma’am. I was a thinkin’ purdy hard.”
“You wanna talk about it?” She sat down on the edge of his bed. Trey adored his big cousin Ronnie, and she knew this had to be hard on him.
“Ya think they’ll put Ronnie away forever?”
“Aw Sweet Baby, I don’t know. He says he didn’t do it on purpose. It was a accident, but we’ve just gotta leave all that in the hands a the Lord.”
Trey sighed. “I know Mama, but that’s sa’ hard ta do. Ya cain’t see the Lords big ol’ hands and some days it’s just hard to tell whether they’s really there ‘er not.”
“I know, Baby Boy. I know.” She brushed the top of his head with her hand. “Are ya hungry? I’ve cooked everything in the house.”
“Maybe later. I think I’ll jus’ sit here and think a while longer.”
“Okay, honey, but don’t stay cooped up here all day. The sun’s a shinin’ and there’s June Bugs to catch.”
“Why do they call ‘em June Bugs when it’s August?”
“Well, they take after your Daddy’s side of the family and couldn’t be on time if ya nailed their feet to an alarm clock.”
Vonda kissed the top of her son’s head and quietly shut his door back. She said a little silent prayer. She had barely whispered amen when she heard the commotion from the girl’s room.
“Mama!” One of them yelled.
“What on Earth now?” Vonda stood at their doorway with her hands on her hips.
“You tell Ruth Ann that I’m the pretty one!” Ann Bliss wailed.
“Just ‘cause you got watermelons and I got grape fruits don’t mean you’re the pretty one!” Ruth Ann snorted. “It just means they ain’t never gonna mix up our bras!”
“Girls!” Vonda Kaye put her foot down. “You’re twins. You’re both pretty!”
“We ain’t identical!” One said.
“’Specially round the boobs!” The other added.
“You’re not draggin’ me into that argument again. I’ve had enough. Ruth Ann the house needs to be vacuumed and dusted. Ann Bliss run the bathtub full a water and take all the blinds down and soak ‘em in vinegar.”
“Mama! I jus’ put ma’ lipstick on!” Ann Bliss protested.
“Then don’t get it on m’ blinds.” Vonda looked sternly at her daughters. “An’ I don’t want either one of you to look at the other until this house is spotless. Now, move!” She clapped her hands together and watched her fifteen year old twins roll their eyes but head to their posts.
“Knock! Knock! Anybody home?” She heard from the front of the house.
Vonda slipped back down the hall to the kitchen to find her mother standing there open mouthed looking at the food spread all over creation, her sister and nephew not far behind in similar states.
“Land sakes, Vonda Kaye.” Her mother said. “You havin’ a Baptist fellowship today?”
“Can’t be Baptist.” Brod said dunking his finger in something that looked like whip cream and chocolate pudding. “They ain’t no chicken.”
“Aw, honey…” Vonda’s own twin Vista handed her a bowl and hugged her neck. “How you holdin’ up?”
Vonda put her hands in her hair and moaned. “I just don’t know what to do. I tried and tried but every time a turn around poor Ronnie just slops right into trouble.”
“That poor boy.” Vista shook her head. “He just doesn’t seem to have a chance, does he?”
“I feel so bad.” Vonda pulled out chairs from the food covered dinette set. “Ya’ll set down.”
“Can I have some of this?” Brod asked holding up a casserole.
“Help yourself, honey. Whatever you want.” Vonda replied plopping herself between her mother and sister. “I just don’t understand this whole thing. It was an accident, Ronnie says he didn’t know he’d done it.”
“Prob’ly has something to do with his record.” Maw half said inspecting everything on the table. “You use Velvetta in this?”
“Sharp Colby. Try some.” Vonda told her. “And I worry how this is gonna effect everything…the kids…Dewey’s business…my business…it’s just a mess!”
“It’ll all straighten itself out.” Vista put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “If it was an accident, I don’t see how they can hold him. They’s just got to go through what they call dude process of the law.”
“Shouldn’t hurt the business none.” Maw said stealing a crispy from a pan of battered steak fingers.
“Maw, you know the people in this town.” Vonda got up and found some plates and silverware, handing them to her mother. “Get your fingers out of the food and eat like a human, mama.”
“I ain’t hungry child. I just wanted to try the crispy part. Yours is always better’n mine.”
“I use bread flour and not self risin’…that’s the trick” Vonda said putting the fingered finger on a plate and handing it to Maw.
“Times are hard, and I keep thinkin’ the last thing a realtor needs is something like this to keep folks from buyin’ houses.” Vonda spooned some of the deep dish broccoli on the plate as well. “And then I feel so guilty thinking ‘bout how this is gonna effect me.”
“I don’t think it’ll be a problem, Vonda Kay.” Vista assured her.
“Didn’t business boom for ya’ last time Ronnie got put in jail for murder?” Brod asked filling a plate with more goodies.
“Well, yes…but nobody liked that last guy he killed.”
“And Myrtle Lewis sure was popular.” Maw chomped down on the steak finger she didn’t want. “’Specially with the men.”
Vonda sighed. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with all this food. I just got started and couldn’t stop.” She looked up at her sister. “Is it bad taste to take all this to the grieving family of the girl your nephew just chopped up in a hay bailer?”
“I think it’d be right sweet.” Vista said.
“I’d rethink anything in a Ziploc bag though.” Maw added reaching for another bite. “We brought ya a mess a pole beans. Vista Kay picked ‘em this mornin’”.
“Thank you, honey.” Vonda got up and started attending to the bowl she had been given. “This’ll give me something else to do for a few minutes…oh you done snapped ‘em already.”
“Just need to be cooked.” Vonda told her. “Want me to find your pressure cooker?”
“No. I think I’ll bake ‘em.” She turned her oven back on and grabbed a cookie sheet from the dish drainer. “I saw Rachel Ray do it this and we just loved ‘em. They been washed?”
Vonda nodded and walked over to watch her twin. “Lemme see what yer doin’. I’m always up for somethin’ new.”
“You just spread on the cookie sheet and pour some olive oil on ‘em like this.” Vista liked having an audience when she cooked. “Then sprinkle some salt and pepper, we like the sea salt grinders, and pop ‘em in the oven for about twenny minutes.”
“Well that’s simple.” Vista said. “Sorta like a baked tater only green an' pointy.” She turned to her son. “Brod, when you get through feedin’ yer tape worm, why don’t you find little Trey and get him to help you load all this in the truck and run it over to the Lewis’s.”
“Sure Mama. Is that real apple pie?” He pointed.
“Of course.” Vista said, “What else would ya make an apple pie out of?”
“Arzella Tater makes her’s outta Ritz crackers.” Maw said reaching for another steak finger. “Leave these here.” She whispered to Brod.
“That’s just nasty.” Vonda wrinkled her nose.
“Try eatin’ it.” Vista giggled.
The doorbell rang. “Who on Earth could that be?” Vonda said as she got up and headed for the front door, Vista following behind.
“Oh Lord, it’s the sheriff.” She whispered as her sister reached to open the door.
“Sheriff Tater, what brings you by?” Vonda swallowed her fear.
“Vonda, I’ve arrested yer nephew enough ta where we can be on a first name basis. You kin call me Ervil.” He stuffed his doughy frame through the door into the living room.
Vonda nodded her head and smiled. She didn’t want that man in her house, let alone sitting on her expensive furniture. It wasn’t that she just didn’t like him, he was so fat she feared the sofa would collapse, but she motioned for him to sit anyway. “What can I do for you…Ervil?”
“Well…” The Sheriff moaned as he eased himself down in the center of the couch covering the groan of the fine furniture. “I got a call orderin’ me to turn this case ova to a state investigat’r.”
“The state?” Vonda’s hand went to her chest in shock.
“That ain’t good.” Maw appeared at the living room door, chewing on a second steak finger.
“Why would the state investigator’s get involved? This was a accident, just a tragic accident.” Vista sat in the arm of her sister’s chair and put her hand on her back.
“All I know’s is it’s all outta my hands. A man arrived this mornin’ with all kinda legal papers an’ a barkin’ orders.” Ervil sniffed the air. “Do I smell pie?”
“No.” Came three every quick voices.
“They’s a man talkin’ with Ronnie right now. I reckon he’ll be ova here soon, with more legal stuff.”
“Why would he come here?” Vonda asked.
“He’s a gatherin evidence, has a paper sayin’ he can come in here and search ya house ‘n’ prop’ty.”
“Law.” Maw said wiping crunchy crumbs from her mouth.
“This is big, Vonda Kay. This is gonna get uglier than a hog’s butt on slaughter day.” The sheriff leaned back on the couch.
“I wonder if this’ll make ‘Americer’s Most Wanted?’” Maw asked. “I love that show.”
“That’s just fer criminals that got away.” Brod said from the kitchen.
“And Ronnie did it. He said so himself.” Vista added.
“That’s what I don’t understand.” Vonda worried. “It was a accident. Why all the fuss with the state gettin’ involved?”
“Don’t rightly know.” Ervil leaned forward. “Are you sure I don’t smell pie?”
“Yes.” Came three quick responses.
“Alright then.” Ervel nodded his head. “I just thought I’d warn ya. If I was you, I wouldn’t touch ner clean nothing’ til this man shows up and says it’s alright.” The sheriff put his hands on his knees and groaned his way to a standing position. “Norvel Burcham, ya’ll know my dep’ty Norvel, he’ll be with the man. I reckon he’ll be here shortly.”
“Well, thank you Sheriff Tater.” Vonda stood and put out her hand to shake.
The sheriff took it. “Don’t get too worried up Vonda Kay. Like ya said, Ronnie said he did it. It’s purdy open and shut.”
“I’ll try, but you know me, I don’t like family touchin’ my stuff, let alone strangers.”
“They’ll wear rubber gloves, child.” Maw said matter of factly. “I seed ‘Law and Order’. Ya don’t has ta worry about stranger cooties in yer drawers.”
“That’s so comfortin’ Maw.” Vonda shot her mother a dirty look. “Thank you.”
“Well, unless you got pie…” the Sherrif said.
“We don’t.” Came three quick responses.
He nodded his head, “I’ll be off now.” He stuffed himself out the front door as the three women watched him waddle off the groaning front porch.
“Mercy.” Vista said.
“Aw, shoot!” Vonda said. “Girls! Girls! Stop the cleanin!” She yelled down the hall.
“And we was havin’ so much fun!” Ann Bliss yelled back as the vacuum went off.
Vonda put her hands to her temples. “This just couldn’t get any worse!”
“Well, I’d say you won’t be sellin’ any houses for a while.” Maw rubbed her daughter’s back. “Good thing ya sold the Quisenberry Place.”
“Ya did?” Vista tried to encourage her sister. “That’s good. Who’d ya sell it to?”
“Oh God…Mac.” Vonda sat back down in the chair. “Mac Moretz bought it, Vista Kay. He’s movin’ back to town.”
“Mac?” Vista Kay sat hard on the indentation still visible in the sofa. “My husband’s comin’ back?”
Monday, August 16, 2010
Episode #1: You Can Lead A Horse To Water
He scratched his belly and stood there in the kitchen. He knew it was there somewhere, and he’d been wanting a piece since the aroma got him out of bed that morning. It was always the best when it wasn’t oven hot but not room temperature cool either.
He lifted up everything on the counter that had a cheesecloth or dishrag across it. So far all he’d found was that awful Ritz cracker pie Arzella Tater had brought over yesterday and a few biscuits left over from breakfast.
“Now where would Maw Maw hide that?” He said to himself and got down in the floor and started going through the cabinets. He had half the pots and pans out and his head stuck way back in the corner when the kitchen screen door slammed.
“Broderick Ray Moretz! What on earth are you doin’?” his mother slammed the basket of pole beans on the counter and yanked him by the waist of his jeans, banging his head on the frame of the cabinet he was digging through.
“Gol’ dang, Mama.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked at her from his sprawled position on the floor. “That hurt.”
“Didn’t mean to bang your head, Brod honey, but ya looked like you were tryin’ to crawl into the walls.”
“I was lookin’ for somethin’.” He stayed on the floor and double-checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.
“In the cannin’ cupboard?” She said turning back to her freshly picked beans.
“I thought Maw mighta hid it there.” He said finally pushing himself up on the old linoleum with one hand.
“Hid what?”
“The honey bun cake she made this morning.” He got no response. He stuck his hands in his jeans. “She did make a honey bun cake this morning…didn’t she?”
“Yes she did.” His mother opened the cabinet over the sink and got down two bowls older than she was down putting them on top of the basket of beans. “And she took it with her.”
“Where’d she go?” Brod followed her out to the front porch, holding the screen open as she carried her load. “Maw Maw never goes anywhere.”
“She got invited to a tea party.” His mother sat down in the wicker chair farthest from the screen door and sat down. “She said she hadn’t been to one since she was courtin’ Poppy, so she made her famous honey bun cake, put on her best dress and headed to town just as happy as a lark.”
Brod sat in the other chair, picked up a newspaper and unfolded it in his lap. “You reckon there’ll be some left over?”
His mother put a handful of beans in the paper on his lap and put a pile in hers. “I doubt it. You know how much ever body loves it.”
“Damn.” He tossed a handful of snapped beans into the old bowl on the floor.
“Watch yer mouth, honey.”
Without a beat, the old truck came screeching to a halt. Brod and his mother couldn’t help but hear the old brakes slam to a stop and whip their heads in time to see the old Ford slide a good five inches in the gravel.
The driver’s side door kicked open and out came Maw Maw, hunched from 86 years of hard country living, straw hat askew and letting loose a coarse string of profanities neither of them was used to hearing, especially strung together by the winner of the county fair blue ribbon for quilting, 18 years running mind you.
The old woman stormed up on the porch and practically hit her grandson with a glass cake pan. “Here.” She stomped in the house, continuing the profanities until they both heard the bathroom door slam.
Brod turned to his mother. “I take it the tea party was nice.”
They heard the old woman open the bathroom door up and scream, “Oh my god! What on earth died and what possessed you people to eat it?” before the door slammed back.
“I haven’t seen Mama this upset since Daddy died and Uncle Milford came and got the chickens.”
“I’m sure it weren’t no fun for him either drivin’ back to Delaware with all 27 of them things in his Honda.” Brod snapped another bean. “Them chickens was mean.”
“I just worry about her heart, getting that upset over something. I wonder what happened?” The woman put her unsnapped beans back in the basket and stood, wiping the front of her khakis off with her hands.
“It must been big, whatever it was.” Brod said.
“I never heard the like a cussin’” She peered into the kitchen from the safety of her side of the screen. “Especially from her.”
“Cussin’?” Brod snorted. “I didn’t know she used the bathroom!”
His mother whipped her head to him. “Course she uses the bathroom. She’s old, not constipated.”
“Vista Kay!” Came a much calmed down voice from the back of the house. “Let me change m’dress an’ I’ll be out to help with them beans d'rectly.”
“Okay, mama!” Vista yelled back. “Guess the storm has passed us by.”
“Guess so.” Brod mumbled slamming a handful of cake into his mouth.
“Mercy, Brod.” Vista complained pulling the Press’n’Seal back over the glass pan and placing it carefully on the porch rail. “You act like you never had cake before.”
“This is so good mama.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “The best, even cold.”
She sat back down in her seat and returned a handful of beans to her freshly papered lap. “At least we finally got some pole beans. Been too hot, and the bugs ate m’ half runners.”
“Sorry, mama.” Brod wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I sprayed and sprayed. Musta been some kinda June bug and Arnold Schwarchenegger hybrid. I could get nothin’ to kill ‘em.”
“It’s fine, honey.” Vista continued to snap. “We won’t starve to death.”
“Corn ain’t very tall, but it looks like the ears’ll be meaty.”
“Whose ears are meaty?” Maw Maw let the screen door slam behind her.
“I said the corn ears look like they’ll be meaty.” Brod explained.
“If the deer don’t eat it all and the neighbors keep that stupid pot belly pig outta the garden.” The old woman put her hands on the red flowered print of her house dress and peered over at the cake pan. “You just grab a handful of that cake, boy?”
“Well…” Brod blinked at her in mid-snap. “Yes’m.”
“Ever hear of a knife ‘n’ fork?”
“Did’je have ‘em handy?”
“Lan’ sakes.” The old woman shook her head and the rubbed the blonde curls on her grandson’s head. “Gimme a handful of them beans.”
She groaned as she seated herself in the old rocker and proceeded to out string and out snap the two younger.
“Mama…” Vista hesitated. “I hate to rip the scab off a skinned knee, but do you wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever got you so upset.”
“Not worth talkin’ over.” She tossed a handful of beans in the bowl on the floor. “What’s done is done.”
“How was the tea party?” Her grandson casually inquired. “I take it they didn’t like yer cake.”
“I didn’t give ‘em the chance to eat it!” The old lady’s face got red.
“Sorry, Maw Maw.” Brod tried to change the subject.
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” She slammed a handful of snapped beans toward the bowl so hard they splattered all over the front porch. “Them bunch a fools!”
“Okay, Mama, okay.” Vista patted her mother on the knee. “You don’t wanna talk about it, and Brod was just trying to make conversation.”
“Yeah, Maw Maw, just calm down. We ain’t seen you this upset since…”
“Hush…” his mother cut him off.
The old woman stood, letting more beans fall to the floor. “Harlon did not will Milford them chickens!” She put her gnarled fists on her ample hips. “And it twernt no real tea party neither!”
“El, Mama…” The old woman’s daughter shushed her down. “Just sit down…sit down…your gonna work yaself into a heart attack.”
Maw put her hand on her heart and took a deep breath. “Sorry, sugar. It jes makes me so mad!” She brushed the back of her dress before she calmly sat back down in her rocker. “I shoulda knowed something was up when Arzella dropped that Ritz Cracker pie off last night. Any one who ain’t got the good sense to use real fruit in a pie shouldn't be let off the chain in the back yard.”
“What’s Miz Tater got to do with upsettin’ you so?” Brod asked, wondering if it would set her off again if he snatched another handful of that cake from the porch rail.
“It was her effin’ tea party.” Maw snapped.
Brod couldn’t hold back the laugh. The two woman turned to him with dirty looks. “What’s so all fired funny?” His mother asked.
“I sorry, Maw Maw” the boy apologized. “But never heard you say poop, let alone come out with the string of cuss words you railed the earth with when you come outta that ol’ truck.”
The old woman smiled. “Well, I allus said if yer gonna do somethin’, go ahead and do it to the best of yer ability.” She looked at her grandson. “Did I use ‘em all right?”
“I guess so.” Brod told her. “I haven’t heard that many in one sentence though since we watched that “Pulp Fiction” movie we bought at the Five ‘n’ Ten fer a dollar.”
“Just forget that, Brod.” His mother shot him a dirty look. “Now Maw why did Arzella’s tea party get you to cussin’ like a sailor?”
“Well, you know I was so excited.”
“Uh huh.”
“I was expectin' pretty table cloths, china tea cups and sugar biscuits…”
“Didn't they have none?” Brod asked giving up the thought of more cake and grabbing a handful of dirty beans instead.
“Wrong kinda tea party.” Maw said with a bad taste in her mouth.
“I don’t understand, Maw.” Vista said. “What other kinda tea party is there?”
“Well, this was of one of them po-lick-tical rally things.” Maw shook her head. “Now I consider m’self a conservative Christian, a good Southern Baptist…but I swan.” She reached over and refilled her lap with pole beans. “There just ain’t no sense in that at all.”
“Yer kiddin!” Brod looked up from his lap. “Arzella Tater’s messed up in that crap?”
“Messed up in it?” Maw sniped. “The ol’ bats a-stirring the whole mess!”
Vista shook her head and tisked. “Oh, Mama, I am so sorry. I heard about them people, but it never occurred to me…”
“I shoulda knowed.” Maw waved the blame off her. “Now I believe ever body’s entitled to their own opinion, but let’s not make up ya own facts. Them people’s outta their heads.”
“Purdy bad, was it?” Brod asked scooping up a last handful.
“Let’s just say I grabbed m’cake and got outta there afore they started sacrificin’ virgins in honor a Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin.” She whisked her hands together to get the dirt off of them. “Thems a nice mess a beans, Vista Kay. They come from the garden?”
“Picked ‘em this mornin’” She dumped the snapped ends and strings in the now empty basket. “At least one of us got somethin’ useful done.”
“Well…” Maw balled up her newspaper and shoved it on top of the husks. “Before Arzella got everyone riled up, I did enjoy chattin’”.
“You mean gossipin’” Brod teased.
Maw tried to hide a little wicked smile. “Tain’t gossip if it’s true.”
“An’ it’s true if you say so.”
“Wouldn’t tell no lie.”
“Course not, Mama.” Vista picked up the two old bowls full of fresh snaps. “Brod, honey, take them husks and toss ‘em on the burn pile.”
Maw held the screen door open for her daughter and followed her into the sink. “Did ‘ja hear Wilton Mullin done left town?”
“Left town? Why for?” Vista asked as she stopped up the sink and started filling it with water.
“Don’t know, but good riddins. Course now they'll be a lookin' fer a new pricipal a the high school”. Maw dumped the first bowl of beans in the sink. “Gonna put part of ‘em in the pressure cooker fer dinner or just can ‘em all?”
“The mess ain’t big enough to do both, mama.”
“Well, we can have half fer supper and I’ll take the other half over to yer sister.”
“If that’s what you want.” Vista scooped up a handful and held them under the tap stream. “How’s she doin’?”
“Oh, honey.” Maw shook her head and bent down to find the cooker. “I’m sure she’s a mess.”
Vista plopped the washed beans into a colander. “The usual heartache or a new drama?” She asked half smiling.
“You don’t know, then?” Maw plopped the pressure cooker on the stove eye. “Where’s the little top thingy?”
“In that drawer over there.” Her daughter dutifully pointed. “Don’t know what? Is Vonda Kay all right?” Her twin sister was always the dramatic one, and she drove her crazy, but she was still her sister.
“Well, your cousin Ronnie’s back in prison.”
Vista let out a breath and shook her head. “That boy. What for this time?”
“Murder.” Maw dumped the full colander in the pot.
“Again?”
Maw nodded her head. “That boy’s just gonna hafta learn he can’t go around shootin’ just anybody.”
“Mama!” Vista scolded her.
“Well, ever body knows no body liked that first man he kilt.”
Vista pulled the Press ‘n’ Seal out of a corner cabinet and stretched a piece across the bowl of unwashed pole beans. “Mercy. Who’d he shoot this time?”
They barely heard the screen door slam. “Ya’ll talking’ about Ronnie?” Brod asked.
“You know about this?” His mother asked as she set the wrapped bowl on the kitchen table.
“Ever body does.” Brod put his precious cake on the counter. “An’ he didn’t shoot nobody...this time.”
“Then what’s he in prison fer, mister know it all?” His grandmother snorted as she struggled to twist the lid on the pressure cooker.
“He runned over Myrtle Lewis with the columbine. Here, Maw Maw, let me get that.” She stepped aside as the young man easily fit the top and the bottom together. “He claims he didn’t know he did it until he saw her hand stickin’ outta one of the bails a hay.”
“Wait!” Vista piped in. “He runs her over with a bailer and claims he didn’t know it until he come back to gather up the hay?”
“Says he was a listening to his I-pod and a fantasizin’ about Lady Gaga.”
“That alone oughta get ‘em twenty to life.” Maw said as she turned the burner on.
“Well, no wonder Vonda’s upset. I’d be too, if my son farmed his neighbor’s girlfriend and tried to feed her to the cows, hip hop induced or no.” Vista wiped her hands on a tea towel. “Brod, get the truck keys. Your gonna take us all right over there.”
“But Mama, I was getting’ ready to go over to R.D.’s. We gotta rehearse for this weekend.”
“You can sing “Salty Dog” off key later honey. Your family needs ya.”
“Aw, Mama…”
“I don’t ask much of ya Broderick.” Vista picked up the bowl of beans and headed to the door.
“We don’t do bluegrass!” He yelled as she headed for the door. “And I do not sing off key!” He yelled louder as she rushed out of sight.
“Child, child.” His grandmother tapped his check. “You can lead a horse to water but that don’t make him a duck.”
“What the hell does that even mean, Maw Maw?”
“Shush boy, just get the keys and take us over to yer Aunt’s.” Maw Maw untied her apron. “Better she hear it from her sister than me. I ain’t got the heart to tell ‘er.”
“Huh?” Brod said as he snatched the truck keys off the wooden key rack he made in shop in the seventh grade.
“Brod, somebody bought the old Quisenbury home place.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Arzella Tater says it’s yer daddy.”
He lifted up everything on the counter that had a cheesecloth or dishrag across it. So far all he’d found was that awful Ritz cracker pie Arzella Tater had brought over yesterday and a few biscuits left over from breakfast.
“Now where would Maw Maw hide that?” He said to himself and got down in the floor and started going through the cabinets. He had half the pots and pans out and his head stuck way back in the corner when the kitchen screen door slammed.
“Broderick Ray Moretz! What on earth are you doin’?” his mother slammed the basket of pole beans on the counter and yanked him by the waist of his jeans, banging his head on the frame of the cabinet he was digging through.
“Gol’ dang, Mama.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked at her from his sprawled position on the floor. “That hurt.”
“Didn’t mean to bang your head, Brod honey, but ya looked like you were tryin’ to crawl into the walls.”
“I was lookin’ for somethin’.” He stayed on the floor and double-checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.
“In the cannin’ cupboard?” She said turning back to her freshly picked beans.
“I thought Maw mighta hid it there.” He said finally pushing himself up on the old linoleum with one hand.
“Hid what?”
“The honey bun cake she made this morning.” He got no response. He stuck his hands in his jeans. “She did make a honey bun cake this morning…didn’t she?”
“Yes she did.” His mother opened the cabinet over the sink and got down two bowls older than she was down putting them on top of the basket of beans. “And she took it with her.”
“Where’d she go?” Brod followed her out to the front porch, holding the screen open as she carried her load. “Maw Maw never goes anywhere.”
“She got invited to a tea party.” His mother sat down in the wicker chair farthest from the screen door and sat down. “She said she hadn’t been to one since she was courtin’ Poppy, so she made her famous honey bun cake, put on her best dress and headed to town just as happy as a lark.”
Brod sat in the other chair, picked up a newspaper and unfolded it in his lap. “You reckon there’ll be some left over?”
His mother put a handful of beans in the paper on his lap and put a pile in hers. “I doubt it. You know how much ever body loves it.”
“Damn.” He tossed a handful of snapped beans into the old bowl on the floor.
“Watch yer mouth, honey.”
Without a beat, the old truck came screeching to a halt. Brod and his mother couldn’t help but hear the old brakes slam to a stop and whip their heads in time to see the old Ford slide a good five inches in the gravel.
The driver’s side door kicked open and out came Maw Maw, hunched from 86 years of hard country living, straw hat askew and letting loose a coarse string of profanities neither of them was used to hearing, especially strung together by the winner of the county fair blue ribbon for quilting, 18 years running mind you.
The old woman stormed up on the porch and practically hit her grandson with a glass cake pan. “Here.” She stomped in the house, continuing the profanities until they both heard the bathroom door slam.
Brod turned to his mother. “I take it the tea party was nice.”
They heard the old woman open the bathroom door up and scream, “Oh my god! What on earth died and what possessed you people to eat it?” before the door slammed back.
“I haven’t seen Mama this upset since Daddy died and Uncle Milford came and got the chickens.”
“I’m sure it weren’t no fun for him either drivin’ back to Delaware with all 27 of them things in his Honda.” Brod snapped another bean. “Them chickens was mean.”
“I just worry about her heart, getting that upset over something. I wonder what happened?” The woman put her unsnapped beans back in the basket and stood, wiping the front of her khakis off with her hands.
“It must been big, whatever it was.” Brod said.
“I never heard the like a cussin’” She peered into the kitchen from the safety of her side of the screen. “Especially from her.”
“Cussin’?” Brod snorted. “I didn’t know she used the bathroom!”
His mother whipped her head to him. “Course she uses the bathroom. She’s old, not constipated.”
“Vista Kay!” Came a much calmed down voice from the back of the house. “Let me change m’dress an’ I’ll be out to help with them beans d'rectly.”
“Okay, mama!” Vista yelled back. “Guess the storm has passed us by.”
“Guess so.” Brod mumbled slamming a handful of cake into his mouth.
“Mercy, Brod.” Vista complained pulling the Press’n’Seal back over the glass pan and placing it carefully on the porch rail. “You act like you never had cake before.”
“This is so good mama.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “The best, even cold.”
She sat back down in her seat and returned a handful of beans to her freshly papered lap. “At least we finally got some pole beans. Been too hot, and the bugs ate m’ half runners.”
“Sorry, mama.” Brod wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I sprayed and sprayed. Musta been some kinda June bug and Arnold Schwarchenegger hybrid. I could get nothin’ to kill ‘em.”
“It’s fine, honey.” Vista continued to snap. “We won’t starve to death.”
“Corn ain’t very tall, but it looks like the ears’ll be meaty.”
“Whose ears are meaty?” Maw Maw let the screen door slam behind her.
“I said the corn ears look like they’ll be meaty.” Brod explained.
“If the deer don’t eat it all and the neighbors keep that stupid pot belly pig outta the garden.” The old woman put her hands on the red flowered print of her house dress and peered over at the cake pan. “You just grab a handful of that cake, boy?”
“Well…” Brod blinked at her in mid-snap. “Yes’m.”
“Ever hear of a knife ‘n’ fork?”
“Did’je have ‘em handy?”
“Lan’ sakes.” The old woman shook her head and the rubbed the blonde curls on her grandson’s head. “Gimme a handful of them beans.”
She groaned as she seated herself in the old rocker and proceeded to out string and out snap the two younger.
“Mama…” Vista hesitated. “I hate to rip the scab off a skinned knee, but do you wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever got you so upset.”
“Not worth talkin’ over.” She tossed a handful of beans in the bowl on the floor. “What’s done is done.”
“How was the tea party?” Her grandson casually inquired. “I take it they didn’t like yer cake.”
“I didn’t give ‘em the chance to eat it!” The old lady’s face got red.
“Sorry, Maw Maw.” Brod tried to change the subject.
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” She slammed a handful of snapped beans toward the bowl so hard they splattered all over the front porch. “Them bunch a fools!”
“Okay, Mama, okay.” Vista patted her mother on the knee. “You don’t wanna talk about it, and Brod was just trying to make conversation.”
“Yeah, Maw Maw, just calm down. We ain’t seen you this upset since…”
“Hush…” his mother cut him off.
The old woman stood, letting more beans fall to the floor. “Harlon did not will Milford them chickens!” She put her gnarled fists on her ample hips. “And it twernt no real tea party neither!”
“El, Mama…” The old woman’s daughter shushed her down. “Just sit down…sit down…your gonna work yaself into a heart attack.”
Maw put her hand on her heart and took a deep breath. “Sorry, sugar. It jes makes me so mad!” She brushed the back of her dress before she calmly sat back down in her rocker. “I shoulda knowed something was up when Arzella dropped that Ritz Cracker pie off last night. Any one who ain’t got the good sense to use real fruit in a pie shouldn't be let off the chain in the back yard.”
“What’s Miz Tater got to do with upsettin’ you so?” Brod asked, wondering if it would set her off again if he snatched another handful of that cake from the porch rail.
“It was her effin’ tea party.” Maw snapped.
Brod couldn’t hold back the laugh. The two woman turned to him with dirty looks. “What’s so all fired funny?” His mother asked.
“I sorry, Maw Maw” the boy apologized. “But never heard you say poop, let alone come out with the string of cuss words you railed the earth with when you come outta that ol’ truck.”
The old woman smiled. “Well, I allus said if yer gonna do somethin’, go ahead and do it to the best of yer ability.” She looked at her grandson. “Did I use ‘em all right?”
“I guess so.” Brod told her. “I haven’t heard that many in one sentence though since we watched that “Pulp Fiction” movie we bought at the Five ‘n’ Ten fer a dollar.”
“Just forget that, Brod.” His mother shot him a dirty look. “Now Maw why did Arzella’s tea party get you to cussin’ like a sailor?”
“Well, you know I was so excited.”
“Uh huh.”
“I was expectin' pretty table cloths, china tea cups and sugar biscuits…”
“Didn't they have none?” Brod asked giving up the thought of more cake and grabbing a handful of dirty beans instead.
“Wrong kinda tea party.” Maw said with a bad taste in her mouth.
“I don’t understand, Maw.” Vista said. “What other kinda tea party is there?”
“Well, this was of one of them po-lick-tical rally things.” Maw shook her head. “Now I consider m’self a conservative Christian, a good Southern Baptist…but I swan.” She reached over and refilled her lap with pole beans. “There just ain’t no sense in that at all.”
“Yer kiddin!” Brod looked up from his lap. “Arzella Tater’s messed up in that crap?”
“Messed up in it?” Maw sniped. “The ol’ bats a-stirring the whole mess!”
Vista shook her head and tisked. “Oh, Mama, I am so sorry. I heard about them people, but it never occurred to me…”
“I shoulda knowed.” Maw waved the blame off her. “Now I believe ever body’s entitled to their own opinion, but let’s not make up ya own facts. Them people’s outta their heads.”
“Purdy bad, was it?” Brod asked scooping up a last handful.
“Let’s just say I grabbed m’cake and got outta there afore they started sacrificin’ virgins in honor a Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin.” She whisked her hands together to get the dirt off of them. “Thems a nice mess a beans, Vista Kay. They come from the garden?”
“Picked ‘em this mornin’” She dumped the snapped ends and strings in the now empty basket. “At least one of us got somethin’ useful done.”
“Well…” Maw balled up her newspaper and shoved it on top of the husks. “Before Arzella got everyone riled up, I did enjoy chattin’”.
“You mean gossipin’” Brod teased.
Maw tried to hide a little wicked smile. “Tain’t gossip if it’s true.”
“An’ it’s true if you say so.”
“Wouldn’t tell no lie.”
“Course not, Mama.” Vista picked up the two old bowls full of fresh snaps. “Brod, honey, take them husks and toss ‘em on the burn pile.”
Maw held the screen door open for her daughter and followed her into the sink. “Did ‘ja hear Wilton Mullin done left town?”
“Left town? Why for?” Vista asked as she stopped up the sink and started filling it with water.
“Don’t know, but good riddins. Course now they'll be a lookin' fer a new pricipal a the high school”. Maw dumped the first bowl of beans in the sink. “Gonna put part of ‘em in the pressure cooker fer dinner or just can ‘em all?”
“The mess ain’t big enough to do both, mama.”
“Well, we can have half fer supper and I’ll take the other half over to yer sister.”
“If that’s what you want.” Vista scooped up a handful and held them under the tap stream. “How’s she doin’?”
“Oh, honey.” Maw shook her head and bent down to find the cooker. “I’m sure she’s a mess.”
Vista plopped the washed beans into a colander. “The usual heartache or a new drama?” She asked half smiling.
“You don’t know, then?” Maw plopped the pressure cooker on the stove eye. “Where’s the little top thingy?”
“In that drawer over there.” Her daughter dutifully pointed. “Don’t know what? Is Vonda Kay all right?” Her twin sister was always the dramatic one, and she drove her crazy, but she was still her sister.
“Well, your cousin Ronnie’s back in prison.”
Vista let out a breath and shook her head. “That boy. What for this time?”
“Murder.” Maw dumped the full colander in the pot.
“Again?”
Maw nodded her head. “That boy’s just gonna hafta learn he can’t go around shootin’ just anybody.”
“Mama!” Vista scolded her.
“Well, ever body knows no body liked that first man he kilt.”
Vista pulled the Press ‘n’ Seal out of a corner cabinet and stretched a piece across the bowl of unwashed pole beans. “Mercy. Who’d he shoot this time?”
They barely heard the screen door slam. “Ya’ll talking’ about Ronnie?” Brod asked.
“You know about this?” His mother asked as she set the wrapped bowl on the kitchen table.
“Ever body does.” Brod put his precious cake on the counter. “An’ he didn’t shoot nobody...this time.”
“Then what’s he in prison fer, mister know it all?” His grandmother snorted as she struggled to twist the lid on the pressure cooker.
“He runned over Myrtle Lewis with the columbine. Here, Maw Maw, let me get that.” She stepped aside as the young man easily fit the top and the bottom together. “He claims he didn’t know he did it until he saw her hand stickin’ outta one of the bails a hay.”
“Wait!” Vista piped in. “He runs her over with a bailer and claims he didn’t know it until he come back to gather up the hay?”
“Says he was a listening to his I-pod and a fantasizin’ about Lady Gaga.”
“That alone oughta get ‘em twenty to life.” Maw said as she turned the burner on.
“Well, no wonder Vonda’s upset. I’d be too, if my son farmed his neighbor’s girlfriend and tried to feed her to the cows, hip hop induced or no.” Vista wiped her hands on a tea towel. “Brod, get the truck keys. Your gonna take us all right over there.”
“But Mama, I was getting’ ready to go over to R.D.’s. We gotta rehearse for this weekend.”
“You can sing “Salty Dog” off key later honey. Your family needs ya.”
“Aw, Mama…”
“I don’t ask much of ya Broderick.” Vista picked up the bowl of beans and headed to the door.
“We don’t do bluegrass!” He yelled as she headed for the door. “And I do not sing off key!” He yelled louder as she rushed out of sight.
“Child, child.” His grandmother tapped his check. “You can lead a horse to water but that don’t make him a duck.”
“What the hell does that even mean, Maw Maw?”
“Shush boy, just get the keys and take us over to yer Aunt’s.” Maw Maw untied her apron. “Better she hear it from her sister than me. I ain’t got the heart to tell ‘er.”
“Huh?” Brod said as he snatched the truck keys off the wooden key rack he made in shop in the seventh grade.
“Brod, somebody bought the old Quisenbury home place.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Arzella Tater says it’s yer daddy.”
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