[Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek by Jan Watson Page A

and fought it all over again. And grown men still argued which side was wrong and which was right.
    “Mam, those two are busy making next Monday’s wash,” Copper said. “Maybe we should just let them run naked.”
    “Is that an appropriate thing for a young lady to say?” Mam arched an eyebrow. “Though the thought does have merit. Let’s sit on the porch in the shade for a minute and catch our breath. I’ll get some tea.”
    Copper sat on the plank floor, letting her legs dangle off the side, watching the wash flap in the summer breeze. Mam was being nice; it made her feel guilty about sneaking out of the house last night.
    Lord, Copper prayed silently, selfishly, please don’t let Mam find out.
    “Laura Grace,” Mam said through the screen door, “have you seen the blackberry jam? I thought I put out a new jar this morning.”
    “No, ma’am. I had honey on my biscuit.”
    “I don’t understand what is happening around here lately.” Mam handed Copper a glass of tea. “Things keep disappearing. Last week it was the sugar bowl. The week before, my tortoiseshell comb. I’ve got to keep a better eye on the boys, though they deny any wrongdoing.”
    “Maybe it’s a raccoon. Remember a couple of years ago when one stole all of Daddy’s quarters?”
    “But a sugar bowl, Laura Grace?” Mam took off her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That doesn’t seem possible.”
    “I don’t know, Mam. They have hands just like a man. Maybe they pair up and one holds the door open while the other one pilfers from our kitchen.”
    Mam shook her head. “Your imagination. I sure miss my comb. I’ll have to order another. . . . If it is coons we’ll have to keep the windows down at night. They’ll tear up the screens.”
    Copper fanned her face with her hand and sipped her tea. “Oh, that would be miserable hot, Mam. We should just let Paw-paw sleep in the kitchen. He’d scare the varmints away.”
    “Yes, and eat everything in the house at the same time,” Mam declared. “That dog would be worse than the raccoons.”
    After a few minutes of resting from the morning’s labor, Copper stood and stretched, rubbing the sore spot on her lower back—the one that appeared like clockwork every Monday, following hours of stirring a pot of heavy laundry.
    By afternoon, Mam went inside to start supper, saying she had a mess of pole beans to snap.
    Copper gathered the sun-dried, sweet-smelling laundry, then folded towels, dishrags, and the boys’ everyday clothes. She piled them in a basket to put away directly. After supper, she’d sprinkle clean water over the starched whites and Sunday clothes. Then she’d roll them up, tuck them into the woven laundry basket, and cover it with a damp towel ready for ironing. She’d help Mam with that tomorrow.
    She’d saved her least favorite job for last—scrubbing down the outhouse. She poured a bucket of soapy water from the cooling copper kettle and carried it to the two-seater. They kept an old, nubby straw broom in the corner, and she used its handle to knock down a fresh mud dauber’s nest, closing her eyes against the dust, hoping the wasp wouldn’t fly in and take revenge.
    Just who, she wondered, would scrub the outhouse if Mam sent me away? And who would milk the cow? Who would mind the boys? It seemed like she did enough work to warrant her place in the household. She felt certain that if she left for a few days Mam would see that she couldn’t get along without her.
    Sticking her broom in the bucket of water, she scrubbed the bench seat, then sluiced water out and washed the floor. She used the damp broom to swipe spiderwebs out of the corners and sprinkled lye down the toilet hole. It left a fresh, clean smell.
    Pleased with a job well done, Copper finished the task by placing sheets of torn newsprint in the basket kept for that purpose. She put the broom back in the corner. It would be handy in case there was a lizard lurking about. One good