“shootin’ blanks.” It’s loaded terrain, primed by the very public fact that, despite ten years of marriage, he and Birdilee remain childless. Of course, the public word is some sort of female problem on Birdilee’s part but his wife, a schooled nurse, has always sidestepped details. Then there’s the additional matter of Lynette Thompson, the seventeen-year-old who, back in ’43, the year he and Louis made All-American, got an all-expenses-paid trip (courtesy of the Judge) to the doctor in Jacksonville who took care of such things. Publicly, DeLuth got bragging rights but, privately, he knew he’d never touched the girl or impregnated anyone.
“. . . sure wish I could talk you into selling him,” Cunningham’s still going on about Ol’ Ben.
“Sell Ben?” DeLuth turns to Cunningham, flashing his you-know-me-better’n-that grin. “Ol’ Ben’s like family to me, Clive. Love that bull like a brother.”
18
Daniel presses flat to the floor of the unfinished cabin, playing possum. His eyes are squeezed shut but his ears are wide open, straining to hear Pap and Aunt Lu talking softly on the dark porch.
“She didn’t say
any
thin’?” Aunt Lu’s wondering about Miz Betty, their boardinghouse lady.
“She tried to smile purt, like nuthin’ was wrong, but her face was all puffed up and worried like. When I thanked her for the stay, she teared up considerable, couldn’t talk atall. I told her I knowed she’s a good-hearted woman and we hain’t carryin’ no grudge,” Pap says.
“And Miss Lila?”
“She’s rared up like a polecat fixed to spit.”
“Will says there’s bad blood ’twixt her and that Sheriff.”
“They go back; that’s for dang shore.”
“Franklin, maybe I ortn’t say it, but these younguns don’t belong in th’ middle of somebody else’s fight.”
Daniel hears the scratch, flare, and draw of Pap lighting his pipe. The creak of wood tells him Aunt Lu’s decided to rock awhile.
It’s shore been a quare day,
Daniel thinks, what with Miss Lila showing up outta nowheres in her big green field truck and asking for a word, private like, with Pap.
Pap and Uncle Will driving off with her—with nary a word of what for—and, a few hours later, coming back with all their things from the room at Miz Betty’s boardinghouse, and the big storage barn out back.
Somebody had added a sack of Cora the Cook’s thumbprint cookies “for the children,” and, boy, were they good! And there was a note to ’Becca from Miss Bunny Collins saying “good luck” and she was “going to miss having y’all around the house.”
While Daniel helped Pap and Uncle Will unload the truck, Aunt Lu had got busy tacking up oilcloth over the open windows of their unfinished cabin and had the girls sweep the floor free of sawdust “so’s to make it more homelike.” Together, they set up Mam’s chester drawers, the plank-board worktable, the hardwood chairs, the sleeping pallets, and the hickory-seat rockers on the porch.
Except for the back wall, which still needs chinking, and the roof, which is nearly done, the cabin’s just fine. At least for him and Pap. ’Becca remains across the way at Uncle Will and Aunt Lu’s place, tucked in between the girl cousins.
After the sun went down, and the air turned chill—maybe Floridy has a fall after all—Aunt Lu cracked open Mam’s big cedar chest and hauled out Daniel’s wool coverlet from up home. The coverlet smells of cedarwood and the wildflowers Mam used to jar by the window and hang off the rafters to dry by the fire.
Like it was yesterday, Daniel remembers the day last fall Mam called him out to the porch to admire the valley view.
“Ain’t Mother Nature spread out the purties’ coverlet ye ever saw? Reckon I could try and make ye one in jus’ them colors. Ef ye’d like me to, that is,” she’d said.
The very next day, she had Pap set up her big loom right in the corner. And the rest of the fall and winter had been filled
“. . . sure wish I could talk you into selling him,” Cunningham’s still going on about Ol’ Ben.
“Sell Ben?” DeLuth turns to Cunningham, flashing his you-know-me-better’n-that grin. “Ol’ Ben’s like family to me, Clive. Love that bull like a brother.”
18
Daniel presses flat to the floor of the unfinished cabin, playing possum. His eyes are squeezed shut but his ears are wide open, straining to hear Pap and Aunt Lu talking softly on the dark porch.
“She didn’t say
any
thin’?” Aunt Lu’s wondering about Miz Betty, their boardinghouse lady.
“She tried to smile purt, like nuthin’ was wrong, but her face was all puffed up and worried like. When I thanked her for the stay, she teared up considerable, couldn’t talk atall. I told her I knowed she’s a good-hearted woman and we hain’t carryin’ no grudge,” Pap says.
“And Miss Lila?”
“She’s rared up like a polecat fixed to spit.”
“Will says there’s bad blood ’twixt her and that Sheriff.”
“They go back; that’s for dang shore.”
“Franklin, maybe I ortn’t say it, but these younguns don’t belong in th’ middle of somebody else’s fight.”
Daniel hears the scratch, flare, and draw of Pap lighting his pipe. The creak of wood tells him Aunt Lu’s decided to rock awhile.
It’s shore been a quare day,
Daniel thinks, what with Miss Lila showing up outta nowheres in her big green field truck and asking for a word, private like, with Pap.
Pap and Uncle Will driving off with her—with nary a word of what for—and, a few hours later, coming back with all their things from the room at Miz Betty’s boardinghouse, and the big storage barn out back.
Somebody had added a sack of Cora the Cook’s thumbprint cookies “for the children,” and, boy, were they good! And there was a note to ’Becca from Miss Bunny Collins saying “good luck” and she was “going to miss having y’all around the house.”
While Daniel helped Pap and Uncle Will unload the truck, Aunt Lu had got busy tacking up oilcloth over the open windows of their unfinished cabin and had the girls sweep the floor free of sawdust “so’s to make it more homelike.” Together, they set up Mam’s chester drawers, the plank-board worktable, the hardwood chairs, the sleeping pallets, and the hickory-seat rockers on the porch.
Except for the back wall, which still needs chinking, and the roof, which is nearly done, the cabin’s just fine. At least for him and Pap. ’Becca remains across the way at Uncle Will and Aunt Lu’s place, tucked in between the girl cousins.
After the sun went down, and the air turned chill—maybe Floridy has a fall after all—Aunt Lu cracked open Mam’s big cedar chest and hauled out Daniel’s wool coverlet from up home. The coverlet smells of cedarwood and the wildflowers Mam used to jar by the window and hang off the rafters to dry by the fire.
Like it was yesterday, Daniel remembers the day last fall Mam called him out to the porch to admire the valley view.
“Ain’t Mother Nature spread out the purties’ coverlet ye ever saw? Reckon I could try and make ye one in jus’ them colors. Ef ye’d like me to, that is,” she’d said.
The very next day, she had Pap set up her big loom right in the corner. And the rest of the fall and winter had been filled
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