by Kit Duncan
I got a letter from Hendley Nebraska a few days later but I let it sit on my dresser for three days before I opened it.
Dear Kate,
I know you asked me not to tell your parents about Steve and your bike. Perhaps when you are a little older you will understand why I had to.
The day after I received your letter I had a little accident with your Grandpa Wilhelm's pickup. I was driving down to throw some hay out for the beef down near the draw and I hit a little gully the wrong way. I think I've knocked the tail pipe out of whack. The old truck drives great but it doesn't sound so good.
It will be great seeing you and your folks again. I miss you all very much.
Love,
Aunt Myrna
I was determined to stay good and mad at Aunt Myrna forever, but as each day went by I found myself less and less angry, and after a little while it really didn't matter to me that she had told Papa about Steve Maynard.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
Mama finally got around to sewing on a new ear for Blackie. It's not exactly like his other ear, but he hasn't complained about it.
Papa sold seven cars last week, and boy, was he excited. He got a new demo not too long ago, another convertible. This one's blue, though. I liked the red one better.
They traded the Falcon in, too, for another white Falcon. Mama sure does like white cars.
Harry's dad bought a new car, too, but it's two years old. Harry's dad says it's silly buying a brand new car, and Harry and I had words about this. I nearly punched him but Danny stopped me, and Harry started using his inhaler all of a sudden. Harry goes to the doctor about once a week. Anyhow, I like Harry pretty good, but his dad is an idiot, don't you think?
July 4th was pretty good. Mr Watson and Papa set off some firecrackers, and they gave us all a bunch of sparklers. I love the sparklers. Did you have sparklers when you were a little girl?
Love,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
And Myrna wrote right back.
Dear Kate,
I'm glad Blackie's surgery went well. I'm sure he feels much better.
Wheat's doing pretty well this summer, but we could always use a little more rain.
Just because someone else has a different opinion doesn't mean they're stupid. Of course, I haven't met Harry's dad and he might be stupid.
No. We did not have sparklers when I was a little girl.
Much love from you very ancient
Aunt Myrna
The summer, as summers so often do, passed by too quickly. The boys and I made the most of each day, though. Most mornings we sat on the hillside and watched Mr and Mrs Dodson's house go up, and they had begun clearing the lot for the second house, too. I loved the smell of fresh lumber, but the noise of the hammering and machinery aggravated me. Danny said I was just too sensitive and I told him he was just too insensitive. My argument made sense to neither of us.
After lunch we usually played in the woods or in the clump of trees on the top of the hill. Sometimes we played in the dried out creek bed, and sometimes we rode our bikes, but I didn't ride all the way up to Birchwood alone anymore.
We walked down to Whirlies at least once or twice a week, but now we nearly always had to take Janey and Harry's little sister with us, and they had to hold their brothers' hands. Mama told me I didn't have to hold Danny's hand anymore when we crossed Birchwood, and I had mixed feelings about being released.
Mrs England got a new stove in the middle of August, and she donated the cardboard box it came in to us. We had had to rely on very small pieces of cardboard for sliding down the hill all summer, and getting the stove box was a great treasure.
We took turns, two of us at a time, sledding down the hill, squealing like little pigs, and climbing back up the hill. When we were about half way through sliding on the box Janey and Harry's sister joined us. Timmy said not to let them play, but Danny and Harry said we'd better. I scowled a little but said nothing. The two little girls were annoying, but they weren't horrible.
The stove box was in shambles by the end of the afternoon, and the six of us were at the top of the hill debating who would make the last run.
At first it was faint, like the rumble of a distant thunder. It grew louder and louder, and then it backfired.
"Aunt Myrna's here! Aunt Myrna's here!" I tore down the hillside. I ran up the deck's steps and through the kitchen. I found Mama in the living room, looking out the front door. She laughed when she saw me, and we both walked out on the porch together.
The old pickup skidded past the front of our house and came to an abrupt stop in front of the Dodson's nearly finished house. The gears crunched, and Aunt Myrna backed up and pulled Grandpa Wilhelm's old truck into our drive behind the Falcon. She waved to Mama and me before she got out of the truck, and I ran to her and hugged her with all the strength I had. She laughed long and hard, and when she looked down at me her eyes were twinkling.
CHAPTER 17
