went to grab whatever had flown out the back and ran it down to Eli. Eli didn’t even thank him, just stuffed the bag angrily back into his Jeep.
Mr. Quinn came out of the house yelling, “This is no weather to be driving around in, young lady. You get back in here right now!” Hannah acted like she couldn’t hear him over the loud stereo and climbed in the passenger side. They drove on down Lick Skillet Road with Mr. Quinn chasing behind, wavin’ his fist ’til he realized he didn’t have any shoes on.
I turned to Piran after his dad went back inside. “What was in the bag?”
With short breaths, he said, “Bunch of fluorescent lightbulbs. Course, most of ’em were broken. What do you suppose he’d need with that many lightbulbs?”
“I have no idea.”
O
When we got back to our boxes, they had frozen to the ground, which might have been a good thing since Piran looked on the verge of a full-on asthma attack.
“It’s a sign,” I said. “Time for lunch.”
We peeled up our sleds as best we could and split up. I didn’t envy Piran the mood in his house. Course, my mood had just been squashed too—Hannah was still crazy over Eli.
At home, Dad was busy with the pipe in the kitchen. Mom worked around him and heated me up some tomato soup with lots of pepper. It made me feel all warm inside and my mood improved some. Even with Hannah going off with Eli, how could I stay in a bad mood on a day off from school with sledding?
I grabbed a fresh box and ran back to Killer Hill. More kids were there now, even a few grown-ups.
Piran had taken some asthma medicine during lunch and seemed ready to go at it again. He invented a new sport he called bumper sledding. The whole trick was to knock each other off our sleds before we got to the bottom. We tore our boxes to shreds and ended up slidin’ down on our bellies more than anything else. But we didn’t care.
O
“Jack, you’re soaking wet!” Mom said as I entered the kitchen and dripped on the floor. “Oh, I wish I could stick you in a hot bathtub.”
“Did Dad fix the pipes?” I shivered.
“Yes, but we still don’t have hot water.”
“I’ll go change, then.”
“Oh no. You’re not dripping all over the house,” she said. “Strip, young man.”
“Mom! Well, turn around at least!”
“Geesh!” She rolled her eyes and threw me a towel.
Naked and freezing, I ran to my bedroom and piled on more cold crispy clothes then ran back to the den and dove under the blankets on the couch to warm up.
Dad lit candles as the sun went down and grabbed two beers for him and Mom from the cooler outside. Then he straightened out a couple of wire coat hangers and we roasted hot dogs over the fire for dinner. The fat sizzled as it dripped on the logs and filled the room with a buttery smell. It was like camping in our own house.
“Grace, how about you tell us some Jack Tales,” Dad said.
“Yeah!” Mom said I was named after my great-grandpa Jack Hicks, but I liked to imagine I was named after the hero of the old Appalachian stories. I loved the Jack Tales.
They had come over with our families from England, but turned into something really special when they reached our mountain home, most of all up on Beech Mountain where Mom and Aunt Livvy spent their summers growing up. Her grandma, my great-grandma Harmon, lived in an old log cabin without any power or running water, but Mom loved it up there anyhow.
Great-Grandma Harmon told the Jack Tales while Mom and Livvy shelled peas or shucked corn. They wouldn’t stop as long as the stories didn’t, so Great-Grandma told story after story, one leading into another. Mom knew them all by heart and she told them in a thick mountain drawl.
My favorite was “Jack and the Robbers.” It was about Jack, of course, and an ox, a donkey, a hound dog, a cat, and a rooster who all end up riding on top of each other like a pyramid. They come across the lair of some highway robbers and wait for ’em to return
Mr. Quinn came out of the house yelling, “This is no weather to be driving around in, young lady. You get back in here right now!” Hannah acted like she couldn’t hear him over the loud stereo and climbed in the passenger side. They drove on down Lick Skillet Road with Mr. Quinn chasing behind, wavin’ his fist ’til he realized he didn’t have any shoes on.
I turned to Piran after his dad went back inside. “What was in the bag?”
With short breaths, he said, “Bunch of fluorescent lightbulbs. Course, most of ’em were broken. What do you suppose he’d need with that many lightbulbs?”
“I have no idea.”
O
When we got back to our boxes, they had frozen to the ground, which might have been a good thing since Piran looked on the verge of a full-on asthma attack.
“It’s a sign,” I said. “Time for lunch.”
We peeled up our sleds as best we could and split up. I didn’t envy Piran the mood in his house. Course, my mood had just been squashed too—Hannah was still crazy over Eli.
At home, Dad was busy with the pipe in the kitchen. Mom worked around him and heated me up some tomato soup with lots of pepper. It made me feel all warm inside and my mood improved some. Even with Hannah going off with Eli, how could I stay in a bad mood on a day off from school with sledding?
I grabbed a fresh box and ran back to Killer Hill. More kids were there now, even a few grown-ups.
Piran had taken some asthma medicine during lunch and seemed ready to go at it again. He invented a new sport he called bumper sledding. The whole trick was to knock each other off our sleds before we got to the bottom. We tore our boxes to shreds and ended up slidin’ down on our bellies more than anything else. But we didn’t care.
O
“Jack, you’re soaking wet!” Mom said as I entered the kitchen and dripped on the floor. “Oh, I wish I could stick you in a hot bathtub.”
“Did Dad fix the pipes?” I shivered.
“Yes, but we still don’t have hot water.”
“I’ll go change, then.”
“Oh no. You’re not dripping all over the house,” she said. “Strip, young man.”
“Mom! Well, turn around at least!”
“Geesh!” She rolled her eyes and threw me a towel.
Naked and freezing, I ran to my bedroom and piled on more cold crispy clothes then ran back to the den and dove under the blankets on the couch to warm up.
Dad lit candles as the sun went down and grabbed two beers for him and Mom from the cooler outside. Then he straightened out a couple of wire coat hangers and we roasted hot dogs over the fire for dinner. The fat sizzled as it dripped on the logs and filled the room with a buttery smell. It was like camping in our own house.
“Grace, how about you tell us some Jack Tales,” Dad said.
“Yeah!” Mom said I was named after my great-grandpa Jack Hicks, but I liked to imagine I was named after the hero of the old Appalachian stories. I loved the Jack Tales.
They had come over with our families from England, but turned into something really special when they reached our mountain home, most of all up on Beech Mountain where Mom and Aunt Livvy spent their summers growing up. Her grandma, my great-grandma Harmon, lived in an old log cabin without any power or running water, but Mom loved it up there anyhow.
Great-Grandma Harmon told the Jack Tales while Mom and Livvy shelled peas or shucked corn. They wouldn’t stop as long as the stories didn’t, so Great-Grandma told story after story, one leading into another. Mom knew them all by heart and she told them in a thick mountain drawl.
My favorite was “Jack and the Robbers.” It was about Jack, of course, and an ox, a donkey, a hound dog, a cat, and a rooster who all end up riding on top of each other like a pyramid. They come across the lair of some highway robbers and wait for ’em to return
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