things he would later regret.
“We could at least go out looking for him,” I suggested. So Martha started putting together a scratch supper while Ridd and Joe Riddley went driving up and down logging roads and tractor trails. I drove over to Walker’s, thinking maybe the boy had gone home. He wasn’t there, but I did see crumbs on the counter and a smear of peanut butter that indicated he’d swung by for something to eat. The pantry had no bread or peanut butter, so I figured he’d taken them with him. I hurried upstairs to his room and saw that his sleeping bag was also missing from the closet shelf. The little rascal—his whole family were seasoned campers. He had come home long enough to provision himself for at least one night of sleeping rough.
I did take time, though, to use Cindy’s directory to call her friends, thinking maybe Tad had gone to one of them. He hadn’t. I made them promise not to alert his parents, explaining that he had camping supplies with him and promising we’d call Cindy and Walker if Tad weren’t home by the next day.
I returned to Ridd and Martha’s. Joe Riddley came back at dark, and Ridd half an hour later. We all sat on the side porch not eating much, exhausted and drained. A gentle rain had started falling. “He’s gonna get wet,” Ridd said, and sounded downright satisfied.
I understood that he was still mad at Tad for putting us through that horrendous day, but grandmothers have more patience and sympathy than parents and uncles. “I hope he doesn’t catch a cold or get bitten by a snake,” I worried aloud.
“Is Tad gonna die?” Cricket asked, looking at our long faces.
“We don’t think so, sweetheart,” Martha told him, “but nobody knows where he is.”
“God knows,” he reminded us. “Time to pray.”
I don’t know how families get through rough times without praying together. We all felt better after we’d spent time asking Tad’s third parent to take special care of him that night. But when I asked God to help Tad find a dry place to sleep if he was outdoors, Cricket interrupted, his lower lip stuck out like a plate, “You mean Tad gets to camp, and I don’t?”
“Camping without your parents can be scary, tiger,” his granddaddy reminded him.
Cricket thought that over, then closed his eyes. “Don’t let him be scared, but don’t you let him have fun without me.” That ended the prayer.
Joe Riddley stood up and headed for the phone. “It’s too early for a missing persons report, but I am gonna call Buster.” We heard him explain the situation and could tell that the sheriff was promising to alert all his deputies to watch for Tad and the horse.
It was late when Joe Riddley and I finally admitted Tad might not be coming home, and left. He gave a little laugh as he walked me to our car. “I was sitting there,” he confided softly, “wondering why those folks didn’t go home so we could go up to bed.” His voice sounded a little wistful.
“Do you miss this place?” I asked, keeping my voice down.
“Yeah,” he admitted. He turned and I knew in spite of the darkness, he could see every inch of it in his head. He pulled me close to him under one arm and spoke into my hair. “We did the right thing, Little Bit, but it’s gonna take some getting used to.”
I turned and threw my arms around his chest. “I’d rather get used to it with you than anybody else.” We stood there a minute, enjoying the closeness, then I pulled away. “This place smells awful. Let’s go home where we can breathe.”
When we got there, I had so much smoke and soot in my hair, I had to wash and dry it before bed. Phyllis wouldn’t be open again until Tuesday, and I couldn’t lay my head on the pillow reeking of smoke. As I slid in beside Joe Riddley, he murmured sleepily, “Know what? That was Burlin Bullock admiring your roses this morning. I ran into him at Gusta’s party. If you’d known, you could have invited him in for coffee. He’s
“We could at least go out looking for him,” I suggested. So Martha started putting together a scratch supper while Ridd and Joe Riddley went driving up and down logging roads and tractor trails. I drove over to Walker’s, thinking maybe the boy had gone home. He wasn’t there, but I did see crumbs on the counter and a smear of peanut butter that indicated he’d swung by for something to eat. The pantry had no bread or peanut butter, so I figured he’d taken them with him. I hurried upstairs to his room and saw that his sleeping bag was also missing from the closet shelf. The little rascal—his whole family were seasoned campers. He had come home long enough to provision himself for at least one night of sleeping rough.
I did take time, though, to use Cindy’s directory to call her friends, thinking maybe Tad had gone to one of them. He hadn’t. I made them promise not to alert his parents, explaining that he had camping supplies with him and promising we’d call Cindy and Walker if Tad weren’t home by the next day.
I returned to Ridd and Martha’s. Joe Riddley came back at dark, and Ridd half an hour later. We all sat on the side porch not eating much, exhausted and drained. A gentle rain had started falling. “He’s gonna get wet,” Ridd said, and sounded downright satisfied.
I understood that he was still mad at Tad for putting us through that horrendous day, but grandmothers have more patience and sympathy than parents and uncles. “I hope he doesn’t catch a cold or get bitten by a snake,” I worried aloud.
“Is Tad gonna die?” Cricket asked, looking at our long faces.
“We don’t think so, sweetheart,” Martha told him, “but nobody knows where he is.”
“God knows,” he reminded us. “Time to pray.”
I don’t know how families get through rough times without praying together. We all felt better after we’d spent time asking Tad’s third parent to take special care of him that night. But when I asked God to help Tad find a dry place to sleep if he was outdoors, Cricket interrupted, his lower lip stuck out like a plate, “You mean Tad gets to camp, and I don’t?”
“Camping without your parents can be scary, tiger,” his granddaddy reminded him.
Cricket thought that over, then closed his eyes. “Don’t let him be scared, but don’t you let him have fun without me.” That ended the prayer.
Joe Riddley stood up and headed for the phone. “It’s too early for a missing persons report, but I am gonna call Buster.” We heard him explain the situation and could tell that the sheriff was promising to alert all his deputies to watch for Tad and the horse.
It was late when Joe Riddley and I finally admitted Tad might not be coming home, and left. He gave a little laugh as he walked me to our car. “I was sitting there,” he confided softly, “wondering why those folks didn’t go home so we could go up to bed.” His voice sounded a little wistful.
“Do you miss this place?” I asked, keeping my voice down.
“Yeah,” he admitted. He turned and I knew in spite of the darkness, he could see every inch of it in his head. He pulled me close to him under one arm and spoke into my hair. “We did the right thing, Little Bit, but it’s gonna take some getting used to.”
I turned and threw my arms around his chest. “I’d rather get used to it with you than anybody else.” We stood there a minute, enjoying the closeness, then I pulled away. “This place smells awful. Let’s go home where we can breathe.”
When we got there, I had so much smoke and soot in my hair, I had to wash and dry it before bed. Phyllis wouldn’t be open again until Tuesday, and I couldn’t lay my head on the pillow reeking of smoke. As I slid in beside Joe Riddley, he murmured sleepily, “Know what? That was Burlin Bullock admiring your roses this morning. I ran into him at Gusta’s party. If you’d known, you could have invited him in for coffee. He’s
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