eel. Em forfeited the line in roaring frustration. "Well, damnit, then, I think I'll have a swim." And setting his Vaseline jar of matches on the rail, he somersaulted into the water. We had a good long swim, and, our wants taken care of to Em's satisfaction, returned once again to the unfinished ought.
The pine thicket behind the Waugh place was like an oven, and though our clothes had quickly dried when we came out of the creek, by the time we had finished touching up the final trim work we were soaked through again and steaming.
The Waugh house seemed docile enough sitting across the field, and I wondered vaguely if the old terror of the Waugh place wasn't just another of those time-embellished tales that grew up about eccentric people. She was probably just a quiet little old lady who talked to her flowers. I started to mention this possibility to Em, and found him frozen, a paper half-filled from his tobacco can, staring past me. I turned and saw her standing at the fence. And she was nothing like that at all.
At least six feet tall, feet apart, she stood glaring from the shadow of her bonnet, one fist against her hip and the other dangling a big revolver.
"Uh-huh," said Em, and he went crashing through the brush.
"Come here, boy," she ordered. The voice was harshly masculine, but with an unnatural squeak, like green shucks being pulled off corn. Steadying my legs, I cautiously approached the fence. Up close she was even more striking. Her hands were long and spidery, and seemed to leap about on their own. One sprang to a post and crouched there. She had too much hair for her small head, and there was something defiant about the way she let it stream down her back instead of tying it up in a bun the way old people are supposed to. But most discomforting to me were her eyes, flat little blue disks that alternately drifted unfocused, then ganged up and bore down on you. "What are you doing down here?''
"Jayell Crooms hired us to help on this house."
"Who's that hiding in the bushes?"
"Em Jojohn, he's helping too."
"He a nigger?"
"No," I said, "he's an Indian."
"Looked pretty dark to me."
"Well, maybe you got bad eyes."
The eyes zeroed in on me, burning. The revolver trembled in her fist.
"Run, boy, run!" came the voice from the woods.
"We're hired hands on Jayell Crooms's payroll," I said, "and you got no call to come around threatening us with a pistol."
"I never threatened nobody, and don't you go sayin' I did!"
"Then what you doin' with the gun?"
"Don't look her in the eye, Earl!"
"I was going to shoot some dogs when I saw somebody sneaking around down here, and come to investigate. There's been stealing lately."
"Well, I've never set foot on your property, and he ain't neither."
"See to it you don't. Now, get your work done and get on away from here." She turned and started back toward the house.
"Ma'am, wait a minute! What was that you said about the dogs?"
She stopped and turned around. A strange little smile touched the corners of her mouth. "My bitch got run over yesterday. I'm going to do away with the puppies."
"You're going to shoot 'em because they got no mama?"
"You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine."
I jumped the sagging fence and landed in front of her, a move so unexpected it startled everybody, including me. Em started out of the woods. "Give them to me," I said, "I'll take 'em off your hands."
"That's foolish. They ain't even weaned."
"I'll bottle feed 'em."
"They'll die."
"Well, at least I can try. It's better than shooting them before you even give 'em a chance!"
She hesitated, mulling it over.
"Give 'em to him," called Em. "Ain't no skin off yours one way or t'other." She shot him a sharp glance and he took an uncertain step toward the woods.
Miss Lilly took a lace handkerchief and pinched at the corner of her mouth, the blue disks floating. "What'll you give me for 'em?" she said.
"Give for 'em? What are they worth if you're going to kill them anyway?"
"Nothing
The pine thicket behind the Waugh place was like an oven, and though our clothes had quickly dried when we came out of the creek, by the time we had finished touching up the final trim work we were soaked through again and steaming.
The Waugh house seemed docile enough sitting across the field, and I wondered vaguely if the old terror of the Waugh place wasn't just another of those time-embellished tales that grew up about eccentric people. She was probably just a quiet little old lady who talked to her flowers. I started to mention this possibility to Em, and found him frozen, a paper half-filled from his tobacco can, staring past me. I turned and saw her standing at the fence. And she was nothing like that at all.
At least six feet tall, feet apart, she stood glaring from the shadow of her bonnet, one fist against her hip and the other dangling a big revolver.
"Uh-huh," said Em, and he went crashing through the brush.
"Come here, boy," she ordered. The voice was harshly masculine, but with an unnatural squeak, like green shucks being pulled off corn. Steadying my legs, I cautiously approached the fence. Up close she was even more striking. Her hands were long and spidery, and seemed to leap about on their own. One sprang to a post and crouched there. She had too much hair for her small head, and there was something defiant about the way she let it stream down her back instead of tying it up in a bun the way old people are supposed to. But most discomforting to me were her eyes, flat little blue disks that alternately drifted unfocused, then ganged up and bore down on you. "What are you doing down here?''
"Jayell Crooms hired us to help on this house."
"Who's that hiding in the bushes?"
"Em Jojohn, he's helping too."
"He a nigger?"
"No," I said, "he's an Indian."
"Looked pretty dark to me."
"Well, maybe you got bad eyes."
The eyes zeroed in on me, burning. The revolver trembled in her fist.
"Run, boy, run!" came the voice from the woods.
"We're hired hands on Jayell Crooms's payroll," I said, "and you got no call to come around threatening us with a pistol."
"I never threatened nobody, and don't you go sayin' I did!"
"Then what you doin' with the gun?"
"Don't look her in the eye, Earl!"
"I was going to shoot some dogs when I saw somebody sneaking around down here, and come to investigate. There's been stealing lately."
"Well, I've never set foot on your property, and he ain't neither."
"See to it you don't. Now, get your work done and get on away from here." She turned and started back toward the house.
"Ma'am, wait a minute! What was that you said about the dogs?"
She stopped and turned around. A strange little smile touched the corners of her mouth. "My bitch got run over yesterday. I'm going to do away with the puppies."
"You're going to shoot 'em because they got no mama?"
"You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine."
I jumped the sagging fence and landed in front of her, a move so unexpected it startled everybody, including me. Em started out of the woods. "Give them to me," I said, "I'll take 'em off your hands."
"That's foolish. They ain't even weaned."
"I'll bottle feed 'em."
"They'll die."
"Well, at least I can try. It's better than shooting them before you even give 'em a chance!"
She hesitated, mulling it over.
"Give 'em to him," called Em. "Ain't no skin off yours one way or t'other." She shot him a sharp glance and he took an uncertain step toward the woods.
Miss Lilly took a lace handkerchief and pinched at the corner of her mouth, the blue disks floating. "What'll you give me for 'em?" she said.
"Give for 'em? What are they worth if you're going to kill them anyway?"
"Nothing
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