the amaretto and handed the bottle back to Cresta. She slipped it in her purse, then helped Josh to his feet.
"I'm all right, love. Really I am."
As they walked forward, Cresta kept her arm around Josh's waist. "I didn't know you were that close to your aunt."
"Well, I didn't see her that often. Like I said, mainly on holidays. I loved the way she loved me. I was better looking and smarter than my parents had any right to expect of their child, and they spoiled me - you know, catered to me. Aunt Avvie talked to me straight. No bullshit. 'Stop preening around, Joshua, and come over and sit in my lap,' she used to say, and of course I'd go. She'd hug me so tight I could hardly breathe. My parents, when they touched me, were always so careful, like they were afraid I was going to break."
"But they loved you."
"Sure, but from a distance. That can play tricks on your head. But Aunt Avvie, she was different. I remember one time in particular. Mom was sick and Aunt Avvie came down from the mountains to care for her. I was just a little shaver then, but ornery as all get out. Well, I'd had my own way ever since I could remember. Anyhow, Aunt Avvie did the wash and hung it outside to dry in the sun. Nearby was an apple tree and beneath that a small pond. I don't know what I was thinking of, but I climbed that apple tree, picked a bunch of apples and dropped them in the pond, which in turn splashed dirty water all over the fresh washing. Well, my Aunt Avvie cut herself a willow branch and switched me good and proper. My parents would never have done that. They would have let me get away with it. It was the only whipping I ever had, and it did me more good than all those pats on the head."
At the end of the tunnel of trees was the house. Although Josh and Cresta did not know this, it remained much the same as when Sissy's husband had built it for her, except that two small rooms had been added on either side. A kerosene lamp sitting in the kitchen window lit Josh and Cresta's way. Someone was sitting on the porch swing, humming a plaintive melody to herself. The light from the kitchen door spilled across a pair of slender legs - the legs of a young girl - pumping herself back and forth in the swing. But as Josh and Cresta neared the porch, they realized that the light had played tricks on them. The woman was older, much older than they had thought.
She was a middle-aged woman, cradling a corn-husk doll in her arm. Her once-blond hair was streaked with strands of pure white, and a limp ribbon decorated either side of her head. Her skin, youthful and pink, had lost none of its elasticity. But her face was bewildered, as if she had endured a perpetual hurt. The corners of her mouth dropped delicately and there were fine lines around her enormous eyes. Josh's eyes traveled to the slender hands holding the doll. They were liver-spotted and laced with fine blue veins. It seemed as if the woman had not aged uniformly. A simple flowered shift added to the illusion of youth, that and the fact that she was barefoot.
Josh cleared his throat. She looked up, startled, as if she had heard a loud explosion.
"I'm looking for Avarilla Chastain," Josh said with unaccustomed gentleness. The woman, still clutching the doll, stood up and walked tentatively toward them. She opened and closed her eyes, which appeared ultimately shocked and blank. It seemed to take time for her eyes to transmit what she was seeing to her simple mind.
Her body suddenly went stiff. She drew back her head and emitted a high-pitched cry, an unsettling mixture of joy and agony. She dropped the doll, ran to the edge of the porch and fell to her knees. Her mouth moved soundlessly as she gaped at Josh. Huge tears, as perfect as jewels, formed in the corners of her eyes. She reached for Josh's hands, pressed her soft cheek against them and began sobbing. Josh was touched. "There, there, we didn't mean to frighten you. No one's going to hurt you."
Cresta was surprised by
"I'm all right, love. Really I am."
As they walked forward, Cresta kept her arm around Josh's waist. "I didn't know you were that close to your aunt."
"Well, I didn't see her that often. Like I said, mainly on holidays. I loved the way she loved me. I was better looking and smarter than my parents had any right to expect of their child, and they spoiled me - you know, catered to me. Aunt Avvie talked to me straight. No bullshit. 'Stop preening around, Joshua, and come over and sit in my lap,' she used to say, and of course I'd go. She'd hug me so tight I could hardly breathe. My parents, when they touched me, were always so careful, like they were afraid I was going to break."
"But they loved you."
"Sure, but from a distance. That can play tricks on your head. But Aunt Avvie, she was different. I remember one time in particular. Mom was sick and Aunt Avvie came down from the mountains to care for her. I was just a little shaver then, but ornery as all get out. Well, I'd had my own way ever since I could remember. Anyhow, Aunt Avvie did the wash and hung it outside to dry in the sun. Nearby was an apple tree and beneath that a small pond. I don't know what I was thinking of, but I climbed that apple tree, picked a bunch of apples and dropped them in the pond, which in turn splashed dirty water all over the fresh washing. Well, my Aunt Avvie cut herself a willow branch and switched me good and proper. My parents would never have done that. They would have let me get away with it. It was the only whipping I ever had, and it did me more good than all those pats on the head."
At the end of the tunnel of trees was the house. Although Josh and Cresta did not know this, it remained much the same as when Sissy's husband had built it for her, except that two small rooms had been added on either side. A kerosene lamp sitting in the kitchen window lit Josh and Cresta's way. Someone was sitting on the porch swing, humming a plaintive melody to herself. The light from the kitchen door spilled across a pair of slender legs - the legs of a young girl - pumping herself back and forth in the swing. But as Josh and Cresta neared the porch, they realized that the light had played tricks on them. The woman was older, much older than they had thought.
She was a middle-aged woman, cradling a corn-husk doll in her arm. Her once-blond hair was streaked with strands of pure white, and a limp ribbon decorated either side of her head. Her skin, youthful and pink, had lost none of its elasticity. But her face was bewildered, as if she had endured a perpetual hurt. The corners of her mouth dropped delicately and there were fine lines around her enormous eyes. Josh's eyes traveled to the slender hands holding the doll. They were liver-spotted and laced with fine blue veins. It seemed as if the woman had not aged uniformly. A simple flowered shift added to the illusion of youth, that and the fact that she was barefoot.
Josh cleared his throat. She looked up, startled, as if she had heard a loud explosion.
"I'm looking for Avarilla Chastain," Josh said with unaccustomed gentleness. The woman, still clutching the doll, stood up and walked tentatively toward them. She opened and closed her eyes, which appeared ultimately shocked and blank. It seemed to take time for her eyes to transmit what she was seeing to her simple mind.
Her body suddenly went stiff. She drew back her head and emitted a high-pitched cry, an unsettling mixture of joy and agony. She dropped the doll, ran to the edge of the porch and fell to her knees. Her mouth moved soundlessly as she gaped at Josh. Huge tears, as perfect as jewels, formed in the corners of her eyes. She reached for Josh's hands, pressed her soft cheek against them and began sobbing. Josh was touched. "There, there, we didn't mean to frighten you. No one's going to hurt you."
Cresta was surprised by
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