out beyond the fence to where a wooden cross was forever above Lady’s grave. In life Lady had been an orange and white striped mouser and was actually a boy. But Birdie, only four when they found him wandering down the dirt road, refused to believe it, insisting they call him Lady.
Lydia dug into the soft ground next to Lady’s grave until she had a hole big enough for Piggy. She placed him inside and quickly covered him with dirt, patting the mound with the back of the shovel. She gathered a dozen rocks in various sizes and placed them over the grave to keep predators away. If Birdie were here, she would give Piggy’s eulogy. But she wasn’t, Lydia thought, pitifully. The girls were out of town visiting Lydia’s father and his wife. They wouldn’t be back for another week. She would have to give the eulogy herself.
It was still today, no breeze or rain. Just a thick cloud layer that felt close. “You were a good cat, Piggy,” she said out loud. “You never gave up, even when you were old and could’ve spent your days sleeping. Instead you just kept along, killing mice like a young cat, which is to be admired. I’ll miss you.”
She went inside the house and sat at the piano. Most days she played three hours in the morning and another two in the afternoon, but now she could not focus, thinking instead about William. Every death, whether a cat or a neighbor down the road she hardly knew, brought grief to the surface.
Around nine, there was a knock on the front door. Startled, Lydia dried her eyes and opened the door. It was Midwife Stone. “Mornin’, Mrs. Tyler. Just coming from the Warrens’. She had them twins this morning.”
Midwife Stone was nearing sixty, scrawny, with gnarled hands and several missing teeth, known to smoke a corncob pipe on the porch of the general store. She’d helped almost every poor baby in Atmore come into the world. She looked Lydia up and down. “You having yourself a cry, Lydia Tyler? That ain’t like you.”
Lydia smiled, feeling foolish. “My old cat Piggy died.”
“That ole mangy cat? I thought evil lived forever.”
Lydia laughed. The last time Midwife Stone was over for a visit he’d hissed and snarled at her before running like something possessed out the door and into the barn, appearing hours later with an accusatory stare in Lydia’s direction. “He just didn’t like you. He was a grand judge of character. Come on in now, and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
In the kitchen, Lydia set some biscuits, butter, and honey on a plate in front of Midwife Stone. “I’ll fix you up a couple of eggs.”
“That’d be mighty fine. I came by to see if you’d fry up a chicken for Mrs. Warren. She’s feeling poorly, and her kin is surely about to starve to death. These twins make six kids. Nary a crumb of food in that house as far as I can see.”
The Warren family lived a ways down the road from Lydia in a two-room shack, trying to make a living growing cotton on a small, overused piece of land. “That’s a shame. I’ll send them up some eggs, too. And I’ve some canned beans and peaches I can spare. We don’t eat nearly what we did when William was alive.”
“That what got you boohooin’ here in the broad daylight?”
Lydia smiled as she tied on her apron. “I guess. Just feeling mighty sorry for myself. It’s embarrassing.” She scooped some lard into a frying pan. “My mother always told me if you’re feeling bad to do for others.”
“Good way to live, surely.” Midwife Stone chewed the biscuit on the left side of her mouth, where she had more teeth. “All them Warren kids need shoes. Anything you could do for ’em?”
“I can put it on our list at church.” Lydia cracked two eggs into the frying pan, hot lard spattering over her clean stove. “Sometimes we can scare up some money from a few of the wealthy folks.”
“Those same ladies that pray for me?” asked Midwife Stone.
Lydia laughed and
Lydia dug into the soft ground next to Lady’s grave until she had a hole big enough for Piggy. She placed him inside and quickly covered him with dirt, patting the mound with the back of the shovel. She gathered a dozen rocks in various sizes and placed them over the grave to keep predators away. If Birdie were here, she would give Piggy’s eulogy. But she wasn’t, Lydia thought, pitifully. The girls were out of town visiting Lydia’s father and his wife. They wouldn’t be back for another week. She would have to give the eulogy herself.
It was still today, no breeze or rain. Just a thick cloud layer that felt close. “You were a good cat, Piggy,” she said out loud. “You never gave up, even when you were old and could’ve spent your days sleeping. Instead you just kept along, killing mice like a young cat, which is to be admired. I’ll miss you.”
She went inside the house and sat at the piano. Most days she played three hours in the morning and another two in the afternoon, but now she could not focus, thinking instead about William. Every death, whether a cat or a neighbor down the road she hardly knew, brought grief to the surface.
Around nine, there was a knock on the front door. Startled, Lydia dried her eyes and opened the door. It was Midwife Stone. “Mornin’, Mrs. Tyler. Just coming from the Warrens’. She had them twins this morning.”
Midwife Stone was nearing sixty, scrawny, with gnarled hands and several missing teeth, known to smoke a corncob pipe on the porch of the general store. She’d helped almost every poor baby in Atmore come into the world. She looked Lydia up and down. “You having yourself a cry, Lydia Tyler? That ain’t like you.”
Lydia smiled, feeling foolish. “My old cat Piggy died.”
“That ole mangy cat? I thought evil lived forever.”
Lydia laughed. The last time Midwife Stone was over for a visit he’d hissed and snarled at her before running like something possessed out the door and into the barn, appearing hours later with an accusatory stare in Lydia’s direction. “He just didn’t like you. He was a grand judge of character. Come on in now, and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
In the kitchen, Lydia set some biscuits, butter, and honey on a plate in front of Midwife Stone. “I’ll fix you up a couple of eggs.”
“That’d be mighty fine. I came by to see if you’d fry up a chicken for Mrs. Warren. She’s feeling poorly, and her kin is surely about to starve to death. These twins make six kids. Nary a crumb of food in that house as far as I can see.”
The Warren family lived a ways down the road from Lydia in a two-room shack, trying to make a living growing cotton on a small, overused piece of land. “That’s a shame. I’ll send them up some eggs, too. And I’ve some canned beans and peaches I can spare. We don’t eat nearly what we did when William was alive.”
“That what got you boohooin’ here in the broad daylight?”
Lydia smiled as she tied on her apron. “I guess. Just feeling mighty sorry for myself. It’s embarrassing.” She scooped some lard into a frying pan. “My mother always told me if you’re feeling bad to do for others.”
“Good way to live, surely.” Midwife Stone chewed the biscuit on the left side of her mouth, where she had more teeth. “All them Warren kids need shoes. Anything you could do for ’em?”
“I can put it on our list at church.” Lydia cracked two eggs into the frying pan, hot lard spattering over her clean stove. “Sometimes we can scare up some money from a few of the wealthy folks.”
“Those same ladies that pray for me?” asked Midwife Stone.
Lydia laughed and
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