flower perfume? Did she ever talk about Hollyhill? Or Jocie?
Jocie swatted at a mosquito buzzing her ear, yanked the cover up over her head, and went to sleep.
The next morning Jocie was jerked awake by a mockingbird shouting out his songs. Normally she liked mockingbirds, but this one had not only variety but volume. She put her head under her pillow, but it was no use. Aunt Love started slamming skillets around in the kitchen, and Mr. Crutcher was hitting rocks as he bush-hogged his pasture just across the fence from them.
Beside her Zeb growled low in his throat. She’d forgotten about the dog. Jocie threw off the pillow, grabbed his muzzle, and whispered, “No barking.” She slid off the cot, glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen door, and then let Zeb out the back door. Just in time. Jezebel stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen door.
“Morning, Sugar,” Jocie said sweetly. The white cat arched her back and took a swipe at the air before turning back to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later Jocie had washed her face, combed her hair, and sneaked into her room for some clean clothes. Tabitha didn’tmove so much as an eyelash while Jocie was getting her stuff, even when the dresser drawer groaned as she pulled it open. Tabitha was so still, in fact, that Jocie stared at her chest before she left the room to be sure she was breathing while crazy headlines ran through her head. “Sister Returns Home Only to Die in Her Sleep.” “Chips from Unknown Truck Driver Poison Unsuspecting Girl.” But Tabitha was breathing, her chest rising and falling quite naturally. Jocie whispered a thank-you prayer and pulled the door shut behind her.
She made it to the kitchen just in time to rescue the biscuits and turn the bacon. Breakfast was her favorite meal, since Aunt Love hadn’t come up with any way to use up Mt. Pleasant’s bountiful supply of cabbage for breakfast.
Aunt Love was nowhere to be seen. That was her problem lately. She’d start cooking and then go off to do something else and forget all about the food on the stove till the smoke reminded her. What Jocie couldn’t understand was how come Aunt Love couldn’t remember the beans she’d put on to cook ten minutes ago but could still come up with half the verses in the Bible. But her dad said that was the way it was with old people, and they’d just have to try to help Aunt Love with the things she kept forgetting.
It wasn’t that Jocie didn’t like Aunt Love. She was family. She had to like her, or maybe that was love her. Maybe it was the liking Aunt Love she had a choice on. Love thy neighbor could just as easily say love thy senile old aunt. It wasn’t Aunt Love’s fault that she wasn’t like Mama Mae. Sisters, but not alike. Just like Jocie and Tabitha. Sisters, but nothing alike.
Jocie lifted the bacon strips out of the skillet and laid them out on a brown paper grocery bag to drain the grease. She was setting plates on the table when Aunt Love finally made her way back to the kitchen. If Jocie hadn’t come to the rescue, the bacon grease would have surely been flaming to the ceiling by now. Maybe they should start eating cornflakes for breakfast. Her father hadalready asked Aunt Love not to cook at lunchtime if he or Jocie wasn’t there. Some days he took the fuse for the stove out of the meter box.
“Rejoice! For this is the day the Lord hath made,” Jocie said, beating Aunt Love to the punch with a little Scripture.
Aunt Love smiled. She wore her customary dark purple housedress with a white apron tied over it. A few white cat hairs clung to the sleeves of the purple dress, but the cat was nowhere in sight. Aunt Love’s iron gray hair was fastened tightly in a bun on the back of her head. Jocie had seen her cutting it one time. Aunt Love had washed her hair in the kitchen sink and combed it out down her back before gathering it all up in her hand to bring over her shoulder in a bunch. Then she’d unceremoniously snipped
Jocie swatted at a mosquito buzzing her ear, yanked the cover up over her head, and went to sleep.
The next morning Jocie was jerked awake by a mockingbird shouting out his songs. Normally she liked mockingbirds, but this one had not only variety but volume. She put her head under her pillow, but it was no use. Aunt Love started slamming skillets around in the kitchen, and Mr. Crutcher was hitting rocks as he bush-hogged his pasture just across the fence from them.
Beside her Zeb growled low in his throat. She’d forgotten about the dog. Jocie threw off the pillow, grabbed his muzzle, and whispered, “No barking.” She slid off the cot, glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen door, and then let Zeb out the back door. Just in time. Jezebel stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen door.
“Morning, Sugar,” Jocie said sweetly. The white cat arched her back and took a swipe at the air before turning back to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later Jocie had washed her face, combed her hair, and sneaked into her room for some clean clothes. Tabitha didn’tmove so much as an eyelash while Jocie was getting her stuff, even when the dresser drawer groaned as she pulled it open. Tabitha was so still, in fact, that Jocie stared at her chest before she left the room to be sure she was breathing while crazy headlines ran through her head. “Sister Returns Home Only to Die in Her Sleep.” “Chips from Unknown Truck Driver Poison Unsuspecting Girl.” But Tabitha was breathing, her chest rising and falling quite naturally. Jocie whispered a thank-you prayer and pulled the door shut behind her.
She made it to the kitchen just in time to rescue the biscuits and turn the bacon. Breakfast was her favorite meal, since Aunt Love hadn’t come up with any way to use up Mt. Pleasant’s bountiful supply of cabbage for breakfast.
Aunt Love was nowhere to be seen. That was her problem lately. She’d start cooking and then go off to do something else and forget all about the food on the stove till the smoke reminded her. What Jocie couldn’t understand was how come Aunt Love couldn’t remember the beans she’d put on to cook ten minutes ago but could still come up with half the verses in the Bible. But her dad said that was the way it was with old people, and they’d just have to try to help Aunt Love with the things she kept forgetting.
It wasn’t that Jocie didn’t like Aunt Love. She was family. She had to like her, or maybe that was love her. Maybe it was the liking Aunt Love she had a choice on. Love thy neighbor could just as easily say love thy senile old aunt. It wasn’t Aunt Love’s fault that she wasn’t like Mama Mae. Sisters, but not alike. Just like Jocie and Tabitha. Sisters, but nothing alike.
Jocie lifted the bacon strips out of the skillet and laid them out on a brown paper grocery bag to drain the grease. She was setting plates on the table when Aunt Love finally made her way back to the kitchen. If Jocie hadn’t come to the rescue, the bacon grease would have surely been flaming to the ceiling by now. Maybe they should start eating cornflakes for breakfast. Her father hadalready asked Aunt Love not to cook at lunchtime if he or Jocie wasn’t there. Some days he took the fuse for the stove out of the meter box.
“Rejoice! For this is the day the Lord hath made,” Jocie said, beating Aunt Love to the punch with a little Scripture.
Aunt Love smiled. She wore her customary dark purple housedress with a white apron tied over it. A few white cat hairs clung to the sleeves of the purple dress, but the cat was nowhere in sight. Aunt Love’s iron gray hair was fastened tightly in a bun on the back of her head. Jocie had seen her cutting it one time. Aunt Love had washed her hair in the kitchen sink and combed it out down her back before gathering it all up in her hand to bring over her shoulder in a bunch. Then she’d unceremoniously snipped
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