after Powhatan blacks next fall. Three-week
trial hunt, one bear limit to each hunter. He'll be in that lottery an' may get lucky."
Sam looked off toward home, where the bo'sun was waiting. For four years he'd been going elsewhere for quail and deer with the Powhatan chock-full of game, sitting right under his thin nostrils. He hadn't shot a bear since 1984, she knew. There was a family album photo of him squatting proudly, grinning widely beside his kill, rifle in his hand.
Dell added, "And I don't think he'll exactly appreciate a seventeen-year-old boy stickin' his outta-state nose in."
Sam acknowledged that to herself. Chief Warrant Boatswain Stuart Sanders could be a handful once he got going. That much was well known in both the U.S. Coast Guard and the old house on Chapanoke Road. Though he'd never once harmed her physically or even threatened it, she'd always been aware of his flashing temper. She truly loved him, but he often intimidated her.
They sat there a while longer, then Dell started the Bronco again. "An' knowin' what is comin' up, I'd stay far away from the Clewts if I was you," she added, shifting gears.
"I have to return his slippers."
"Call him an' say you'll drop 'em off at Dunnegan's."
Sam didn't commit herself.
In less than a minute, the Bronco was in the front yard, Sam's papa sitting out on the porch, waiting for them. He got up and walked over, looking in at Sam as he opened the door. He was smiling. "You are sure mussed up."
No denying that, Sam thought as he pushed his bony face to her cheek and kissed her. "One thing you got to learn, daughter, is never risk your neck for a dog. They got to take the risks. They're made for it."
"Buck didn't know what he was doing. He'd probably never seen a bear."
"Well, I've had it with that particular bruin. I'll bet it's the same one that got us last year. Robbin' the cornfield, tearin' down the apple trees. He's a gone bear. I'm gonna get a permit to kill him, that's for sure. I'll make a trap, get him by a paw, then blow his brains out...." Bo'sun Sanders was always direct.
"He's one of those NC State 'study bears,' wearing a radio-collar, I was told...."
"That Telford fella again? I don't care if the Pope has blessed it, he's a gone bear, that's for sure."
Dell interrupted. "Her feet are in bad shape, Stu. Dunnegan lifted her for me."
He laughed and reached in. "You weigh a teensy bit more than the last time I carried you, whenever that was."
"Long time ago, Papa."
"Where'd you get the fancy slippers?"
"John Clewt's son."
"The weirdo? I've heard of him but don't think I've ever seen him. Deformed, isn't he?" Bo'sun Sanders said, carrying her easily across the yard.
"He's not a weirdo, and he's not deformed," Sam replied defensively, surprised to find herself eager to talk about Chip Clewt. "He was seriously burned in a plane crash."
"Jus' take her on up to the bathroom, an' I'll tend her," Dell said. "Sit her down on the John. That boy soaked her feet in Epsom salts, but she may need Doc Cross."
Stu Sanders frowned. "How old's that boy?"
Somehow "that boy" didn't sound right to Sam. He was too mature. "Seventeen."
"I'll call out there an' thank him."
"I'll do it, Stu," said Dell, quickly opening the front door.
As he was going up the stairs, he asked, "You spend the night at the Clewts'?"
"No, in a hollow stump. I remembered Grandpa did it when he got lost."
"That's my girl," her father said with pride, turning into the hallway and finally depositing her on the toilet seat.
Then he stood in the doorway. "Where was John Clewt in all this? I've heard he's also a strange one."
"He wasn't there," Sam answered.
Dell said, "Get lost, Stu. I'm going to undress her, put her in the tub."
Sam complained, "Mama, I can undress myself. It's only my feet that are..."
Dell overrode the protest. "Let's get the jacket off, then the jeans, what's left of 'em...."
Sam felt like a child again.
***
AN HOUR later, Dell called the doctor, saying
trial hunt, one bear limit to each hunter. He'll be in that lottery an' may get lucky."
Sam looked off toward home, where the bo'sun was waiting. For four years he'd been going elsewhere for quail and deer with the Powhatan chock-full of game, sitting right under his thin nostrils. He hadn't shot a bear since 1984, she knew. There was a family album photo of him squatting proudly, grinning widely beside his kill, rifle in his hand.
Dell added, "And I don't think he'll exactly appreciate a seventeen-year-old boy stickin' his outta-state nose in."
Sam acknowledged that to herself. Chief Warrant Boatswain Stuart Sanders could be a handful once he got going. That much was well known in both the U.S. Coast Guard and the old house on Chapanoke Road. Though he'd never once harmed her physically or even threatened it, she'd always been aware of his flashing temper. She truly loved him, but he often intimidated her.
They sat there a while longer, then Dell started the Bronco again. "An' knowin' what is comin' up, I'd stay far away from the Clewts if I was you," she added, shifting gears.
"I have to return his slippers."
"Call him an' say you'll drop 'em off at Dunnegan's."
Sam didn't commit herself.
In less than a minute, the Bronco was in the front yard, Sam's papa sitting out on the porch, waiting for them. He got up and walked over, looking in at Sam as he opened the door. He was smiling. "You are sure mussed up."
No denying that, Sam thought as he pushed his bony face to her cheek and kissed her. "One thing you got to learn, daughter, is never risk your neck for a dog. They got to take the risks. They're made for it."
"Buck didn't know what he was doing. He'd probably never seen a bear."
"Well, I've had it with that particular bruin. I'll bet it's the same one that got us last year. Robbin' the cornfield, tearin' down the apple trees. He's a gone bear. I'm gonna get a permit to kill him, that's for sure. I'll make a trap, get him by a paw, then blow his brains out...." Bo'sun Sanders was always direct.
"He's one of those NC State 'study bears,' wearing a radio-collar, I was told...."
"That Telford fella again? I don't care if the Pope has blessed it, he's a gone bear, that's for sure."
Dell interrupted. "Her feet are in bad shape, Stu. Dunnegan lifted her for me."
He laughed and reached in. "You weigh a teensy bit more than the last time I carried you, whenever that was."
"Long time ago, Papa."
"Where'd you get the fancy slippers?"
"John Clewt's son."
"The weirdo? I've heard of him but don't think I've ever seen him. Deformed, isn't he?" Bo'sun Sanders said, carrying her easily across the yard.
"He's not a weirdo, and he's not deformed," Sam replied defensively, surprised to find herself eager to talk about Chip Clewt. "He was seriously burned in a plane crash."
"Jus' take her on up to the bathroom, an' I'll tend her," Dell said. "Sit her down on the John. That boy soaked her feet in Epsom salts, but she may need Doc Cross."
Stu Sanders frowned. "How old's that boy?"
Somehow "that boy" didn't sound right to Sam. He was too mature. "Seventeen."
"I'll call out there an' thank him."
"I'll do it, Stu," said Dell, quickly opening the front door.
As he was going up the stairs, he asked, "You spend the night at the Clewts'?"
"No, in a hollow stump. I remembered Grandpa did it when he got lost."
"That's my girl," her father said with pride, turning into the hallway and finally depositing her on the toilet seat.
Then he stood in the doorway. "Where was John Clewt in all this? I've heard he's also a strange one."
"He wasn't there," Sam answered.
Dell said, "Get lost, Stu. I'm going to undress her, put her in the tub."
Sam complained, "Mama, I can undress myself. It's only my feet that are..."
Dell overrode the protest. "Let's get the jacket off, then the jeans, what's left of 'em...."
Sam felt like a child again.
***
AN HOUR later, Dell called the doctor, saying
Similar Books
