by Green, Jeri
To say that Granny Dilcie lived “a far piece from nowhere” would not be an exaggeration. But the view from Granny’s front porch was spectacular.
“Granny,” Hadley said, “I forgot how beautiful it is up here.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Granny Dilcie. “Don’t have to go no further than my own front door to have my very own picture post card.”
“Amen,” said Beanie.
“Ya’ll hungry?” Granny Dilcie asked. “Jimmie Ollie done cotched me a mess a ground squirrels. I done biled ’em with a tater ’n’ a onion to get the ‘wild’ out. Gonna bread ’em ’n’ fry ’em up nice. ’Ey be ready soon.”
“No thanks, Granny,” Hadley said.
“Well,” said Granny Dilcie, “what kin I do fer ya.”
“Dilcie,” Hadley said, “Beanie’s got a problem.”
“A problem, ya sez.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hadley said. “Show her your finger, Bean. He’s worrying himself sick because he pointed in a cemetery.”
“You did, did ya!”
Dilcie made a clucking noise in her throat. The old woman took Beanie’s right index finger in her hand. She looked it over from top to bottom. All the while, she was shaking her head like Beanie had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“I done got one arm messed up at that pulp mill, Granny,” Beanie said.
“And you don’t want to lose your finger on the othern,” Granny Dilcie said. “I knowed whut ya mean. I sho’ly understand, Vesper. But don’t worry, son. Don’t you worry a’tall. Granny’s gonna fix you up might fine. Yes, sir. I got just the charm fer ya.”
The old lady disappeared into her rustic cabin.
‘Hadley,” Beanie said.
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t think Granny’s gonna make me drink no tonic, do you?” Beanie asked.
“Why are you worried about drinking a tonic,” Hadley said. “Granny knows what she’s doing.”
“Oh, I know Granny knows what she’s doing. Granny Dilcie knows too good what she’s doing.”
“What do you mean, Beanie?”
“Well, ’bout five or six year ago, I come to see Granny. She told me I was costive. Gave me a tonic. Horrible tastin’ stuff.”
“I don’t follow you, Bean. Costive must be an old term for something. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I was bunged up, Hadley,” Beanie said.
“Oh,” Hadley said. “And did Granny’s tonic work?”
“Did it work?” Beanie said. “I ain’t been back to see Granny Dilcie since then!”
Beanie and Hadley waited for the old woman to return. Beanie looked visibly relieved when Granny came out with an empty bottle and a small tin of salve.
“Teke ’is ’n’ set it on yer winder sill,” Dilcie instructed.
She handed Beanie a blue bottle.
“Don’ worry, I got me plenny,” she said. “This one is awf’lly good luck, Beanie. Don’t drop it ’fore ya git home.”
“I’ll be real careful, Granny,” Beanie said.
“Now, gimme that finger,” Granny said.
She rubbed the salve on his index finger and muttered some unintelligible words over it, finally pursing her rubbery lips and blowing over it three times.
“Don’ you fret no more, Vesper Wendell Fugate,” Granny Dilcie said.
She looked deeply into his eyes and smiled. For the first time, Beanie seemed to relax. He smiled back.
“Well, now,” Hadley said, “I think it was worth the drive out here, don’t you, Bean?”
“I sure do! How much I owe ya, Granny?”
“Beanie Fugate!” Granny said, “you know you don’ owe me a dime.”
“I know,” Beanie said, “but I’m just ever so grateful. I can’t thank ya enough, Granny.”
Beanie bent down and kissed the withered old woman’s cheek.
“That’s payment ’nuff,” Granny Dilcie said. “You always was a gen’man, Vesper Fugate. Always.”
The color rose in Beanie’s cheeks.
Hadley went back to her car. She popped the trunk. She rummaged around and came back with her hands full of sacks from Pixie-Squares.
“Granny,” Hadley said, “this ain’t payment for helping Beanie. I got more sense than to offer payment for your good works. But I need your help. The store had a big sale, and I plum made a pig of myself. I got more stuff here than I could ever use before it goes bad. Even with Beanie helping me eat it up.”
“She’s right, Granny,” Beanie said. “Hadley is a real sow when it comes to cookin’ too much or buyin’ too much. She’s the biggest pig I know. I have to help her all the time. She’s always sayin’ ‘eat this, Bean. Here’s an extra sandwich. Here’s some cake.’ But I’m a pig, too, Granny. I don’t mind sloppin’ at Hadley’s trough. She’s the best cook in Hope Rock County. Oink. Oink.”
Beanie smiled.
“There’s some canned milk, dried fruit, peanut butter, saltines, canned beans, and a bunch of stuff like that in these sacks,” Hadley said. “I’d be most obliged if you would help a mountain girl out and see that none of this good food goes to waste. Lord knows, I gotta enough sins to repent for. I don’t need to be adding that one to the list.”
“Chile,” Granny Dilcie said, “I’m most thankful fer ya thinkin’ ‘a ole Granny. I’d be mos’ honored to hep ya out. Dat’s what ole Granny Dilcie wuz put on this Earth fer. Waste not want not. Them old sayings ring true, don’t they. They shorely do.”
“I know,” said Hadley, setting the groceries down on a roughly-hewn log bench on Granny Dilcie’s porch.
“Ya’ll come in and set a spell.”
“I sincerely wish we could, Dilcie,” Hadley said, “but we’re on a tight schedule.”
“That’s the trouble with young folks,” Granny Dilcie said. “Ya’ll pledge too many things to do in one day. Moderation. And a little rest in between, never hurt nobody.”
“No,” said Hadley, “we don’t make time to smell the roses. I’m afraid I’m as guilty as the next.
“Beanie and I have a million things to do. I am sorry we can’t stay, but we’ve got to run. I’ve got to get home and put up all that stuff in my trunk. But before I do that, I’ve got to take Beanie and run by Hennishaw Pink’s and pick up a free mower he’s giving Harvey at the cemetery. And I have to drop it off at Beanie’s house before dark. I promised Beanie I’d get him home before the haints come haunting.”
“Come here, young man,” Dilcie said.
Beanie stood in front of her. He lowered his head, and she whispered in his ear.
Beanie shook his head “yes” and got into the car.
It was a long drive back. The roads were crooked and rutty. Finally, they hit the hard surface and Hadley breathed easier. She was pushing it to get to Hennishaw’s and then to Beanie’s before dark, but now, it looked as if she’d make it.
“What did Granny Dilcie say to you, Bean?” Hadley asked.
“Oh, Hadley,” said Beanie, “you know a gen’man never tells on a lady.”
“I guess you’re right,” Hadley said. “And Granny Dilcie’s about the grandest lady I know from her neck of the woods.”
Chapter Seven
When Hadley arrived home, dusk was just settling in. She unloaded her groceries, and set out on a search for Onus. Usually, the tabby would at least peek in the kitchen. But not today. He must be pouting, she thought.
She flipped on the light to the dining room. Eureka! There he was.
Onus sat squarely behind one leg of her dining room table. His eyes spilt the leg, peering out at her like a mystic with a long bar hiding his nose and forehead.
“Big boy,” Hadley said, “you really are miffed. Did I stay away too long? I can’t believe you missed me that much. Oh, Onus. You’re such a big, bad, baby boy.”
Then, it hit her. She was supposed to empty his litter box this morning, but with all of the things she’d had planned, and unplanned, that chore had to
tally slipped her mind.
“Onus, old bird,” Hadley said, “you really must forgive me. I’ve been rushed all day. I simply forgot, old man. It just slipped my mind. Absentmindedness is a characteristic trait of an old lady, I’m afraid.”
Onus did not move. He did not make a sound. He was really ticked.
“Boy, you are irate. I can see that. Haven’t moved a muscle in the last couple of minutes. Let’s see if I can’t right this wrong, too. It seems like that’s all I’ve been doing all day.”
Hadley cleaned out the cat’s litter box. She washed up and wiped off the counters. She did a little more cleaning, careful to keep an eye out for any “gift” the irate tabby might have left her. Such gifts illustrated his displeasure with her for forgetting to dump his litter box that morning. She found two small offerings outside the litter box, and she dutifully disposed of them.
What was with that cat? Hadley wondered. It was like he had his own built-in clock or something. Hadley was convinced he knew the exact hour she usually emptied the litter box. Her routine was twice daily, but not today.
“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Hadley said.
The instant the litter box was clean Onus came out from behind the table leg.
“I guess that’s my signal that you want your dinner,” Hadley said.
Her phone rang.
“Hey, Anna.”
She shoved the receiver under her ear, crunching her neck in a horribly awkward position to hold it in place, and continued to get Onus’ cat food can from the cupboard.
“I’m thinking about running a competition for our students to encourage them to read,” said Anna.
“That sounds like a big turnoff,” Hadley said.
“I know,” said Anna, “but what if some of our locals, of any age, posted things online about books they’d read or wrote things for the others to read. I could do something like ‘encourage your friends who have written online.’ It could be poetry or short stories or essays about their favorite books. What do you think?”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” said Hadley. “It will give the kids a reason to read, and to write if they feel like it. And I just love contests.”
“I know,” said Anna, remembering the many dishes she’d tasted when Hadley had won all that goat cheese. “But the prizes would be for the kids.”
“I don’t care,” said Hadley. “A contest is a contest. You know I’m in. How are you going to run it?”
“I don’t know,” Anna said. “I haven’t got all the details figured out. I just wanted to bounce the idea off someone to see if it was plausible.”
“What if, we had a raffle to raise some money? Whatever we came up with, whether it is $20 or 200, we’ll use to fund the prizes for your contest.”
“That would work,” said Anna. “If we could spark the parents’ interest and give them a sense that they are involved, we could make this thing work.”
“I’ve got a quilt I could donate. I’m sure Maury’s got some things. Maybe Bill would donate one of his wood carvings. Hobie might donate a dulcimer. We could make it a potpourri kind of raffle prize that would interest a lot of different folks. Skippy might donate one of his handmade hunting knives. I’ll ask around to see who else might be interested in throwing some craft or handmade item into the prize pot. We’ll never know who might donate what until we ask around.”
“Good,” said Anna. “I’ll start working up some ideas on how the website should look. Maybe we can make it interactive. Add some videos. Make it really colorful. Maybe add some slide shows and stuff. I want to get the kid’s attention. I’ll look around and get some ideas. Thanks for your input, Hadley.”
“Talk to you soon,” said Hadley.
Hadley turned around to locate Onus. He’d found a small sack she’d dropped on the floor and had managed to cram his big body inside it. Only his nose and eyes stuck out. That cat was in sack heaven.
“I didn’t mean to drop that little bag,” Hadley said, “but if it makes you that happy, I’m glad I did. At least it made you forget your litter box pout.”
“Reooow,” said Onus, contentedly.
“Have your fun,” she said. “I’m going out in the garage and open a few cans of food for my supper.”
Onus followed her with his big omniscient eyes. If she ever opened a can with the can opener in her kitchen, like normal folks, it drove Onus crazier than catnip. Was it the motor on the can opener that drove him bananas? She’d never figured it out.
To avoid cat mischief, it was just easier to step into the garage, open her cans, and come back into the kitchen with them. At least, he let her cook the ingredients without bothering to notice. That was one thing about living alone. She could just imagine what Harry would say if she stepped conveniently out to the garage every time she needed to open a can.
But such was life with a housecat.
It was good to remember to choose your battles carefully, Hadley thought as the little motorized machine opened can after can.
Once in a while, Onus might let you win.
Chapter Eight
Hadley got out her guitar and a pencil and a tablet. She really did want to contribute to Anna’s website. She’d write a song, she thought. That could be her volunteer contribution to Anna’s new project. She fumbled around with a few chords. Suddenly, inspiration struck.
I dreamed last night I saw you there.
The moonlight lit your silky hair
Your face was pale. Your skin so cold.
And here I sit, so far from home.
I saw you standing by the fence.
The mourning dove from woodland dense,
His call is low. It brings me peace.
I hope that you have found true rest.
I cannot come to hold you near.
So far away from you, my dear.
You come to me when fires die.
My love burns true on love’s true pyre.
The meadows bloom. The spring has come.
And I will make my way back home
To mountain peaks that I love so.
But you have left, dear. I’m alone.
The fever came. It would not leave.
And now my bitter heart just grieves.
For your sweet kiss, I can but pine.
I walk out to your grave and cry.
Sweet mountain girl, you walk these pines.
Your spirit still in me resides.
I call your name deep in the night.
But you don’t answer. I just cry.
No, you don’t answer. I just cry.
Not bad for a beginner, she thought. She’d ask Hobie what he thought. He could spruce it up for her. Make it a zinger the kids would love to read. Maybe he’d play it, and Anna could make a video. Or better yet, Hadley thought, she could make a video. She had mastered Harry’s old camera. Well, if not mastered it, at least she’d gotten good enough at videoing not to make the viewer feel like they were riding on a rickety, old rollercoaster. Yes, she thought, she’d make a video. Maybe the Speckled Pups would agree to be on it, too. She’d ask her nephew, Skip. That would be a real nice addition to her library’s website.
Onus sat on his haunches staring holes right through her.
“Okay,” she said, reaching for his favorite toy.
It was a short piece of cane pole with a string and a fuzzy wormlike critter on the end. All Hadley had to do was wiggle that pole and make the worm dance. Onus would come chasing it down from wherever he was in the house because the worm made a squeaky noise when it was jiggled.
Like a panther, Onus rounded the sofa and pounced on the worm. Hadley played with him for about five minutes.
“I’m beat,” she said. “I hope you’ve had enough of this. I sure have. Time for bed.”
Onus sat down and watched her exit the den.
“All right, I give in,” Hadley said, leaving her bedroom door opened. “But remember, that pillow’s mine. The bed’s yours, and you can even ha
ve the other pillow. But the pillow on the right side of the bed is all mine. Dibs. Dibs. Dibs. I got dibs on that one. You hear me?”
It was early. The light had not filtered into her bedroom. She felt two paws kneading her cheek. She opened her eyes. Was it the middle of the night? It felt like it. The grit in her eyes told her she’d not been asleep a full eight hours.
“What’s this, old bird,” Hadley said. “Are you my new alarm clock? What time is it? Five-thirty. Onus, it’s not even six o’clock, and here you are using me for your ‘are you up, old gal’ punching bag! Make that punching cheek. Okay, okay! You out of dry food? What is it? I’m trying to figure it out. Where’s the fire! I’m getting up, already!”
That must have been it. The cat’s bowl looked as if it had been licked clean.
“Dry food, canned food. You are high-maintenance, you know that?” Hadley said.
Onus half-closed his eyes.
“And impatient, too!” said Hadley.
She filled his bowl of kibbles.
“Guess while I’m at it, I might as well go the whole nine yards. Here, pretty kitty. Fresh water in a sparkling clean bowl.
Onus purred. He hunched over his bowl and Hadley heard little crunching sounds.
All was right with the world.
Chapter Nine
There was a knock on Hadley’s door. Who in the world would be out visiting at this early hour, she wondered. She peeked through the spy hole in the door and opened it.
“Hadley Jane,” said Lou Edna, from the Beauty Boutique on Main Street, “I hope I didn’t give you a fright, bangin’ on your door like the cops breakin’ into the back room where Al Capone hid all his hooch. But just like Prohibition, I’m on a mission!
“I know it’s just a hair past the crack ‘a dawn, but I had ta’ tell somebody. I was on my way into the shop and saw your light on.”
