This Side of Jordan by Monte Schulz Page A

gave her a small wave.
    Chester walked over to the window, kissed Rose once on the mouth, ran his hand through her hair, then walked over to the Packard and climbed in. As the engine started up, Alvin saw Rascal standing by the barn door, nearly invisible in the shadow. The tan Packard rolled out from behind the farmhouse and down the dirt road leading to the highway. Chester beeped the horn twice as he turned in the direction of Harrison.
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    They sat in the kitchen, watching Rose fry up the eggs and potatoes on an old wood-burning stove. Outdoors, the sundown sky cast burnt shadows all across the dusty yard. Rascal had removed a stuffed pillow from the front room sofa and used it to raise the level of his seat at the table. Alvin played with the tarnished silverware Rose had dug out of her uncle’s boxes in the cellar. He also had his eye on Rose in her white chemise. Something inside him stirred when he studied the curves of her body and the milky-white skin of her neck and shoulders. Her dark hair was long and curly, fussy from her afternoon under the sheets with Chester. She had a musky odor, too, not entirely unpleasant. When she looked at him, he could hardly breathe. Maybe he loved her. Back at the restaurant when they were all hungry and tired from traveling, Alvin wondered why Chester had invited her out. Now, alone with her in the kitchen, he knew clear as a bell that if he had the guts Chester had, he would date her up himself. If he had the guts.
    â€œI can still scramble ’em if you’d prefer,” Rose said, turning from the stove. Her face was sweaty from the heat and it made her even prettier. “You just tell me what you like.”
    â€œIf they’re not boiled, I don’t care how you fix them,” replied Rascal, rubbing one eye.
    â€œCan’t boil an egg without a pot,” Rose said. “You didn’t see one out in the barn, did you?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t.”
    â€œThen, there you go. No boiled eggs.”
    â€œFried eggs are swell, too,” said Alvin, feeling like a hick all of a sudden. “If I was cooking, that’s how I’d fix them.” Why couldn’t he spit out a quick word or two to catch her eye? A fellow can’t expect much if he won’t deliver nothing. Frenchy always told him that and he was right.
    Soon enough, Rose slid the fried eggs and potatoes onto three plates and sat down at the table with Alvin and Rascal.
    â€œShall we say grace?” the dwarf asked.
    Rose looked over at Alvin who shrugged, wholly ignorant of the topic. She told the dwarf, “Go on, if you like. I don’t trust God. He don’t listen to me much.”
    â€œAll right.” The dwarf bowed his head. “O merciful Father who hath turned our dearth and scarcity into plenty, we give Thee humble thanks for this Thy special bounty, beseeching Thee to continue Thy loving kindness unto us, to Thy glory and our comfort, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
    His stomach grumbling, Alvin picked up his fork. “Let’s eat.”
    â€œYou said it,” added Rose.
    â€œIs there anything to drink?” the dwarf asked Rose, as he dug into the fried potatoes.
    â€œIcebox’s dry as a bone, but there’s water in the well.”
    â€œAre there any glasses?”
    â€œNot anymore,” replied Rose. “Just some tin cups in the cabinet back there.” She motioned toward the pantry.
    The dwarf shoved his chair back from the table.
    â€œBring me one, too,” Alvin said, his mouth drier than a hole in the ground.
    â€œIf I get you a cup, will you pump the water?” asked Rascal. “I have an awful pain in my shoulder.”
    â€œNope, I ain’t that thirsty.” Why the hell should he do all the work? Chester wasn’t here.
    â€œThank you very much.”
    Rascal glared at Alvin and headed for the pantry. After a few minutes of rummaging around, he came out with a tin cup and