I think she was starting to like him.
We fished for nearly two hours, and the only thing biting were the mosquitoes. We slapped at out ankles and arms, trying to keep the bugs away, giggling at our foolishness.
But we had a good time. Even Birdie did, who kept faking us out like she had a fish on her line. She’d reel in frantically, and we’d pretend to be anxious. Then she’d flip her bobber out of the water, dangle her worm for us, and screech with delight for thinking she had us fooled. We took pictures of her with her worms, like she’d caught them.
Once, Culler dove in the river, clothes and all, and made like he was swimming after a fish who stole his bait. It put us all into hysterics for quite some time.
As we were about to leave, I mentioned the skylift. At first, no one seemed too interested, but when I described the bridge for them again, everyone wanted to go. We drove back to the park and got in line for the ride. While we waited, a young girl in a gingham vest and cowboy hat talked to us about the bridge. She explained that it was the result of water working its way slowly through loose soil and soft rock.
I liked my theory better, that it was a hole God punched in the earth.
I rode with Culler, Birdie with Connie. I was surprised she wasn’t afraid. I had asked Connie to hang onto her, not to let her swing her legs too much.
Culler and I waited to get a seat behind them so we could make out. It was such a wild sensation to be way up above the ground, and then to be high inside, too. I really liked the way he kissed me. I wanted the ride to last forever.
At the top, they took our picture, and Culler bought four copies, one for each of us. The pictures came out well; Birdie was so proud of hers. She showed it to a few strangers that got off the ride after us.
When we got to the bridge and looked down, it was beautiful. Just like I remembered it. Trees grew into the sides of it and wild flowers blossomed around the perimeter. There was also a nature trail up there, and we took that, too. Blackberry bushes were abundant in the woods, and I let Birdie pick some and eat them. Connie and I once tried to hide and scare Culler, but he was on to us.
We didn’t leave until five o’clock. I realized we would be late getting home, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t remember, ever, having so much fun.
Connie and Birdie slept on the way home, but not me. I watched the scenery along the road and took in the fresh air. As we came upon the familiar hollows of home, I wished the interior of this little purple jeep was my world, not the one I was reentering.
23. Fences Up, Guards Down
When Birdie and I came home that night from fishing, it was almost seven o’clock, and Daddy gave us a real tongue-lashing. Hazel had cooked his dinner and had tacked the note I left in the kitchen saying we’d be home at four on the wall clock, just to let us know how late we were.
But I didn’t care. I had other things to think about. For the next three nights, I stayed up late reading my textbook, studying the female reproductive system. Even though the books were about humans, I figured that dogs couldn’t be all that different.
Birdie had forgiven me for Culler’s significance in my life, and we worked on her dress after school every day. The dress, like her, was beginning to take shape. It seemed she’d done more growing just that summer than she had all year.
Momma came home from Florabelle’s on Tuesday while we were hemming the dress and brought word that the baby had a name finally. Daisy. She explained that when Florabelle had been in the hospital, Jason had brought her a bunch of dandelions but because she was so heavily dosed up, she had thought they were daisies and named the baby after them.
Momma thought it was fitting how the name had something to do with flowers, as that was what she had in mind when she’d named Florabelle. She was just thankful that Florabelle was indeed out of it when she’d come up with the name Daisy, because she wouldn’t want to be calling no grandbaby of hers Dandy Lion.
“Momma,” asked Birdie, “Fern was named after a sort of flower, too, how come I wasn’t?”
“After the Lord brought forth vegetation, Bird,” said Momma, “He said, ‘let the birds fly above the earth.’ That’s where you come in.”
Birdie seemed to grant Momma’s answer. She smiled, lifted high the hem of her dress on both sides, two great wings, and soared in a circle.
“Put your dress down and be a lady. And what’s this about you being out late Sunday night?” asked Momma. “Hazel called me up at Florabelle’s, fit to be tied.”
“I took her fishing,” I said quickly.
“So did Culler and Connie,” Birdie challenged.
“Who?” asked Momma.
“My friends,” I said. “Momma, come hold the end of this tape measure.”
Momma took the tape measure; we both bent over Birdie, who was standing up on the ottoman, prissing.
“Hold still,” Momma scolded. “And don’t get any big ideas to go running off fishing this Sunday. Your grandmother’s in a beauty contest, and we’re all supposed to be there.”
“A what?” I asked, standing up.
“They got something going down there at the nursing home where every year they hold a pageant and crown a queen who gets to say something on the radio. Families come and there’s refreshments and dancing. Me, Hazel, you two, Florabelle; we’re all going. I want your father to come, but he still ain’t speaking to Mother. I wonder sometimes, how he can carry a grudge like he does.”
“Hurry up and finish my dress,” said Birdie. “I can wear it to the beauty contest.” She jumped down and strutted around the room, swinging her hips, singing “Here she Comes, Miss America.”
“What in God’s name has gotten into you?” Momma shook her head at Birdie. “Quit that flitting around.”
“Fern, come on in the kitchen and help me with the snap beans. Your Daddy’s told me he’s missed my cooking.”
Daddy was cutting away at his second pork chop, when suddenly he put down his knife and said, “What in Christ’s name is that?” He was looking through the window at the backyard.
“Too much fat around the bone?” asked Momma.
“No, there’s a feller carrying a roll of fencing through our yard.” Daddy stood up, peering.
“Maybe it’s someone from the plant who’s come to put a fence around the pumps,” suggested Momma. “That one pump handle did come down and kill Bud Fowler’s cow that time.”
“I don’t believe it’s anybody I know from the plant.”
He got up from the table, went out the door into the garage. He was gone for almost ten minutes, so we assumed it was someone he knew from work after all.
Momma went ahead and served dessert.
When Daddy came back inside, he was looking at me. “It’s that boy, Culler. Says he’s building a dog pen.”
I went to look out the window. Birdie jumped up and ran outside.
“You mind telling me what’s going on?” asked Daddy.
“Well, the vet did say we’d have to start keeping Heidi penned up for protection from those strays. Especially while she’s healing.” I watched as Birdie dragged fence-posts along behind Culler. They were talking animatedly. I turned to Daddy. “I guess I told Culler that.”
“Who’s paying for it?” he asked.
“I guess he is. It’s okay, isn’t it?”
Daddy looked at me in silence for a few seconds, then went over to the counter and poured himself some coffee. He sat back down in front of his pie plate. “I told him he was going to run out of daylight,” he said.
“I’ll help him,” I said. “Momma, I’ll do the dishes later.”
She turned to me, looked at Daddy to make sure he wasn’t watching, then winked. “There ain’t much here,” she said. “I’ll take care of the mess, you get on out there and build that cage.”
I don’t know where Culler got the money, but he bought eighty-four feet of fencing to build a twelve-by-thirty runner. He wanted Heidi to have a lot of room to run around and be safe. He had ske
tched out the dimensions in one of his architecture classes, then explained the draft to me and Birdie. His plan was to get the fencing in place that night before darkness fell, then come back early Saturday morning and build a doghouse to go inside the pen, for shelter from rain. Eventually, he was going to roof the whole thing with chicken wire.
We worked hard. Birdie and I rolled out the fence and held it while Culler cut it. Momma brought Birdie and me each a pair of gloves to wear, as well as the rest of the lemon pie and some coffee.
Around eight, Daddy came outside with a posthole digger. “I told you, you was going to run out of light,” was all he said, then he went right along behind where Culler marked the ground, and dug the postholes.
When we were through, Culler shook Daddy’s hand, thanked him for his help. It was almost ten o’clock, and Daddy looked beat. I watched as he walked back into the house. He was getting old. It seemed that for the last ten years, he hadn’t changed a bit, didn’t look a day older. Just lately, though, he was aging. He was beginning to move slower, put on weight, lose hair, lose spirit.
When Momma called Birdie in to bathe, as it was a school night, she put up a fuss, but Culler promised he’d let her help build the doghouse when he came back.
I walked Culler out to his jeep and trailer. It was a full moon, and I wanted to suggest a walk. But it was late, we were both exhausted, and I knew he had a drive back to Lexington.
“Here,” he said, reaching in the front seat, “I almost forgot. I got you this from the library. You can keep it for two weeks.” He handed me a large book, bigger than our family Bible.
I read the title. Hysterosalpingography. “Thanks,” I said. I could barely grip it, my hands were so sore.
“It ought to give you all the information you’re going to need for Saturday.” He rubbed my cheek with the back of his hand. His palms were raw. “Good luck,” he said. “Remember, just go slow and steady.”
24. Living and Breathing
I was funneling a bunch of half-full transmission fluid cans into a larger carton, and I kept spilling.
“If you don’t quit that shaking,” said Clem, “you’re going to end up slashing that dog of yours wide open.”
“I’ve got the jitters about today,” I said.
“You’ll do fine. Erikson ain’t going to make you do it all by yourself anyway; he’ll do most of it. You’re there to learn.”
“I don’t think I can handle it. You know it’s going to be a tad more complicated than rebuilding a carburetor.” I held the can steady with two hands. “This time it’s a living, breathing thing.”
“A carburetor breathes,” said Clem.
“You know what I mean.”
“Relax,” he said. “What did you do, drink a pot of coffee this morning?”
It was true, I did drink too much coffee in general, but that wasn’t the problem this time. I had stayed up almost the whole night reading the book Culler had borrowed for me. We knew he would be at our house at seven o’clock that morning to build the doghouse, and Birdie and I got up to wait for him. I had made us all breakfast, but I’d only had one cup of coffee and a Three Musketeers bar. It was just that I was excited about seeing Culler.
I decided not to tell Clem about it; he’d tease me for sure. “I got up early,” I said.
“How long do you think it’s going to take you up there at Erikson’s?” asked Clem.
“I don’t know, maybe an hour? According to that book I read, it’s a pretty simple procedure.”
“Oh, so you did do your homework?” Clem grinned, raised his eyebrows.
“You bet.”
“You’re pretty serious about this, aren’t you?” He quit greasing engine mounts and turned to face me.
“I’m interested,” I said. “That’s all, just interested in learning something new.”
A horn honked at the pumps. I put down the funnel, went out front.
“You come back here and keep doing what you’re doing,” shouted Clem. “You’re acting too goosey to gas a tank. Besides,” he leaned out to see who the customer was. “It’s that Crabtree boy you don’t like.” Clem put down his rag, wiped his hands on his pantslegs. “I’ll take care of him.”
When Clem came back in the station, he looked distressed. “Dwayne tells me you were down here Sunday with Birdie.” He looked at me, arms folded against his chest, waiting for a response.
“That’s right,” I said, going about my business. “We didn’t come in the station, we were just sitting out front.”
“Waiting on somebody, I gather,” said Clem.
“That’s right.”
“Don’t be abusing that key,” he warned.
“I said we didn’t go inside.”
“Dwayne happened to mention you left in some jeep,” said Clem, still fishing for more. “I don’t suppose it was a purple jeep, was it?”
“Clem, lay off it,” I said, turning towards him. “What did Dwayne say?”
Clem grinned like a baked possum. “Aw, he didn’t say nothing.”
“What did he say?” I hated when he played this game with me, kept me guessing at things.
“Oh, he just told me you went off fishing with the mailman.” He kept laughing.
“That ass.” I took the carton of transmission fluid into the station to label and date it.
Clem followed me. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to contain himself. “I know he’s a nice boy, it’s just that I still keep seeing you hunched over him that day, sewing him back together. It was quite a sight. I think it’s admirable he took his chances and went and fished with you again.”
“We had a good time,” I said. “No casualties.”
“Well, Dwayne was mighty jealous.”
“Dwayne Crabtree struts around like a rooster in high mud.”
“Well, he was sure ragging on that boy—”
“—Culler.”
“—Culler, the way he was making fun of that jeep.”
“That’s a great jeep. There’s a 232 cubic-inch engine under that hood.”
“I know, I know, I’m just laughing at that yahoo, Dwayne. He talks so big.”
“He built Heidi a pen,” I said.
“Dwayne?”
“Culler. Wednesday night. He’s at the house now working on a doghouse to go in it.”
“I declare,” said Clem, musing. “He’s handy, too?”
“Very handy,” I said. “You sure you don’t mind loaning me your truck today? I should get going. I told Dr. Erikson I’d be there by two.”
Clem tossed me his keys. “Put gas in it.”
“I already did.”
“Fern, why don’t you try and save up the money you’re earning here, and buy yourself some old jalopy?”
“Clem, I told you, Daddy’s not doing as many hours at the plant, with the layoffs. Only way I’m going to get a car is if someone kicks off and wills me one.” I took Clem’s wrist, pretended to check his pulse. “How old are you anyway, Clem?” I asked.
“Get out of here,” he said.
When I got there, Dr. Erikson seemed to have everything all set in the garage. He led me around back where he’d been keeping Heidi.
I called to her.
She got so excited at the sound of my voice, whined and wiggled about. We opened the cage door, let her out, and I made over her for a few minutes, talking sweet to her. Bless her heart, she looked weak, and I could still see the gash and stitches where her hair was shaved, but she acted fine.
“She’ll be as good as ever,” said Dr. Erikson, petting Heidi’s head. “I’ve been giving her some vitamins that I’ll send home with you. They’ll give her more zip.”
We let Heidi romp around the yard a few minutes, to run her energy off, then we led her back in the garage. While hoisting her onto the table and getting her situated, Dr. Erikson explained what anesthetic he’d be administering.
I was still real nervous but listened carefully. I had even brought my textbooks along, and had them open
to diagrams I could refer to. I got a little queasy during the incision, but after that, I regained control.
Throughout the operation, step by step, he explained what he was doing in detail. He would start a task, illustrate the proper maneuvers, then hand me his tools to try on my own.
I asked a lot of questions, and he was very patient with me. He was real careful with Heidi, too.
The cervix was a very delicate thing, and I had to be extra cautious working around it. It was constricted; I had a hard time imagining that it had once stretched open wide enough for Jimmy to squeeze through. The organs were so supple; I never knew.
When we were through, he had me sew her up without assistance. I took my time, kept the stitches nice and even. She was beginning to twitch, and I was afraid she was coming to.
I took notes and by the time I left, my brain was on overload. Dr. Erikson had told me so much, and I needed time to mill and sort everything. I wanted to absorb it all.
Driving back towards Clem’s, with Heidi’s drowsy head in my lap, her body stretched across the front seat of the cab, I felt so relieved and proud. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, what Dr. Erikson would do with her ovaries.
I bet Birdie would like to have kept them.
25. Queen Esther
There were white cotton curtains and blue hangings caught up with cords of fine linen … Drinks were served in golden goblets, goblets of different kinds, and the royal wine was lavished according to the bounty of the king.
Esther 1:6–7
By two o’clock, most of the decorations were already up in the dining room; a committee had been arranged for this responsibility, and the taller, more capable residents were hanging gold spray-painted stars from the ceiling.
The pageant was scheduled to start at four and go until seven, with the six o’clock news coverage by the radio station sponsoring the event in between. We arrived early enough for Hazel to roll Grandma’s hair.
Natural Bridges Page 15
