The Banty House

by Brown, Carolyn

  “So that’s where they get their money,” she mused.

  “Some of it,” he replied.

  “I wondered how they could live on what they made from moonshine and jelly,” she said.

  “Connie sells her jelly and jams, all right, but they use the moonshine to barter with. That’s what upset them so much when their hairdresser died. They’d been paying her with shine. Kate says it’s against the law to sell homemade brew, but she can’t find a single place that says she can’t barter with it.” He chuckled. “I’m not sure that the law is really written that way, but I’m not about to argue with Kate.”

  “You are a smart man, Sloan. I wouldn’t disagree with Kate, either. If she wants to make moonshine and use it for haircuts and shampoos, I ain’t sayin’ a word.” Her brown eyes twinkled with humor.

  “So where are you going next?” he asked.

  “As far as wherever my paycheck takes me. I don’t expect much, and I sure won’t never find anyone who’ll treat me like I’ve been taken care of since I got here, but I’ve got some good memories,” she answered. “Do you ever get the urge to go somewhere else?”

  “Been there, done that, got a pair of well-worn combat boots to prove it.” He held up a foot. “So, no, ma’am. I’m content to be a hermit right now.”

  “If I was goin’ to settle in one spot, I wouldn’t mind this being the one,” she said.

  “But? I hear a but in your voice,” Sloan said.

  “But until now I ain’t never been outside of Kentucky, and I want my baby to have more than I did,” she told him. “I got to see Tennessee, Arkansas, and a little of Oklahoma before I got to here, though, so that’s something.”

  “How did you wind up in Hondo?” he asked.

  “I ran out of money in Oklahoma City, so I hitched a ride with a trucker and wound up in Dallas. He gave me some money when he let me off, and I asked the ticket person how far I could get with that amount. She said I could make it to Hondo, which was west of San Antonio, so I paid the price and had enough left to buy a sandwich and a carton of milk for my lunch,” Ginger explained.

  “That’s sure traveling by faith,” Sloan said.

  “Faith has nothing to do with it. Determination to get as far away from Kentucky as I can is the right word,” she told him.

  “I had that feeling when I went into the military right out of high school. I couldn’t wait to get away from Texas,” he admitted.

  “And now you don’t want to go anywhere? What happened?” she asked.

  “Life happened.” He wasn’t ready to go into detail about what had happened in Kuwait. Part of it was classified, anyway, and like his granny said so many times, “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Amen to that,” Ginger agreed, standing. “I’d better get on back to the house.”

  “Tinker and I are going that way. Mind if we walk with you?” Sloan asked.

  “Not a bit, but I have to warn you, I don’t go too fast these days,” she answered.

  “Tinker doesn’t either,” Sloan replied.

  Tinker took his cue from Sloan when he stood to his feet and started back to the house. Sloan whistled, and the dog whipped around and plodded along between him and Ginger.

  He tried to think of something to start a conversation, but nothing came to mind. When the Banty House was in sight, she finally said, “I can’t imagine a white community and a black one living this close together and still being segregated.”

  “It was the times,” Sloan said. “Mission Valley was all black. Rooster was less than a mile up the road and was all white. The residents met at the grocery store in Rooster. Each little town had their own churches and schools since those weren’t integrated back then, and other than buying groceries, each side pretty much kept to itself.”

  “I read about such things in history classes in school, but I can’t wrap my mind around that kind of prejudice,” Ginger said. “I’m glad that I live in today’s world instead of that one.”

  “Me too,” Sloan agreed. He’d seen prejudice when he was in Kuwait for those two tours, both inside the military and out, so he knew it was still in the world, but if Ginger wanted to believe it was all gone, he sure wasn’t going to burst her bubble.

  They reached the sidewalk leading up to the house, and she turned around to face him. The sun was nothing more than a sliver of orange on the horizon, but the shadows and light blended together to form a halo right above her head.

  “If Tinker needs to rest again, you could sit on the porch swing with me for a little while. I suppose it would even be all right if I offered you a glass of sweet tea or lemonade,” she said.

  He heard a familiar sound, and his pulse kicked into high gear. He glanced down just as Ginger took another step and her foot landed right behind a six-foot rattlesnake’s head.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t take another step, or even breathe.”

  “What?” She looked up at him with questions written all over her face.

  “You are standing on a snake. If you can, put more pressure on your foot, but don’t pick it up for any reason,” he whispered as he pulled his pocketknife out and flipped the longest blade open.

  “What are you going to do?” She gasped when she looked to the side.

  “I’m going to cut its head off, but you have to be still and put pressure on the body to hold it still, or else it could bite one of us,” Sloan told her.

  The snake’s body and tail twitched and jerked as it tried to free itself from her weight. When it wrapped its tail around her ankle, all the color left her face.

  Sloan dropped to his knees and laid the blade of the knife in the narrow space between the head and Ginger’s foot. Tinker must’ve realized what was happening because he began to growl and bite the snake. The creature writhed even more, as the dog tried to kill it by chewing on its middle while Sloan worked on holding it down right behind the head and slicing away with his knife. One slip of the knife and he’d cut the edge of Ginger’s foot. If that happened, she would no doubt jump and the rattler would turn and sink its fangs into Sloan’s hand.

  “I’ve got a leg cramp,” Ginger said.

  “Just another second or two.” To say that Sloan was sweating bullets was an understatement. He hadn’t been so tense since he’d come home to Texas in a numb state, devoid of any kind of emotion.

  “Please hurry,” she said.

  He could hear the sob in her voice just as he got through the last of the skin and used his knife to flip the critter’s head out to the side of the road, so Tinker wouldn’t mess with it. “It’s all right to take a step forward,” he said as he wiped the blade of his knife on the grass beside the road and straightened up.

  Ginger blinked a couple of times, then let out a whoosh of air and started to fall forward. He tossed the knife on the ground and caught her. If she hadn’t been pregnant, he might have thrown her over his shoulder like a bag of feed, but he scooped her up like a bride and carried her up the sidewalk to the porch. He managed to ring the doorbell, and time stood still. Ginger was still breathing, but fainting like that couldn’t be good for the baby. In reality, Kate opened the door within a minute, but it seemed like hours to Sloan.

  “What happened?” She motioned him inside.

  “She fainted.” Sloan’s voice sounded to him like it was coming from a tunnel as he crossed the foyer and headed toward the living room.

  “Put her on the sofa in the parlor.” Kate barked orders to the others. “Connie, get a cold rag. Betsy, bring the smelling salts.”

  By the time he’d crossed the room and gently laid her down, Connie was hurrying back across the floor. Betsy came from a different room carrying a small bottle in her hand. Both of them rattled off questions so fast that it made his head swim.

  Connie sat on the edge of the coffee table and began to wash Ginger’s face. Her eyelids fluttered yet didn’t open wide, but when Betsy waved the contents of the bottle under her nose, she sat straight up and started coughing.<
br />
  “Good girl!” Betsy quickly capped the smelling salts and set them on the mantel above the fireplace. “Now, tell us what happened.”

  “Do we need to call the doctor or take you to the emergency room?” Betsy asked.

  “She stepped on a snake.” Sloan hovered close by the end of the sofa.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Kate groaned. “I’ll get the snakebite kit.”

  Sloan shook his head. “No need for that.”

  “How did I get in here?” Ginger finally asked.

  “Sloan carried you.” Kate picked up the receiver of the old rotary phone from the end table. She tapped her foot as she waited for someone to answer and then said, “Hello, Dr. Emerson,” and then she went on to explain what had happened.

  “I’m fine,” Ginger said over Kate’s conversation. “I’m terrified of snakes, and that thing wrapped its body around my leg, and . . .” She shuddered as the sentence trailed off.

  Kate laid the receiver back on the base. “Okay, then. Dr. Emerson is out of town. Thank goodness he gave me his cell phone number for emergencies. He will see you on Thursday when he gets back, but for now you are to make sure the baby is moving at least every hour and drink lots of fluids and be careful where you walk.”

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Connie said.

  “What?” Ginger frowned.

  “We have to be sure the baby is moving, so I’ll take the first watch through the night,” she explained.

  “You ladies need to be fresh for Easter tomorrow. I’ll sit with her all night. I did lots of all-night guard duty in the service,” Sloan said.

  Ginger slung her legs off the sofa and shook her head. “No one is sitting up with me. The baby is kicking right now, so it’s all right. I was scared out of my mind, and my leg began to cramp, and I thought Sloan would never cut through that ugly thing’s head, but it’s over now.”

  Lord, have mercy! She had never had to hold her foot on a snake or fainted before, but she’d lived through equally harrowing situations. “I’m going to the kitchen to get a glass of sweet tea. Can I pour one for anyone else?” She stood up, and the room swayed a little before she got her footing.

  “I’ll get the tea,” Connie said.

  “You sit down and tell us all the details,” Kate demanded.

  “Why don’t I tell y’all and we can give Ginger a break? I was hopin’ she couldn’t see anything from right above the snake.” Sloan stood in the middle of the living room, back straight and shoulders squared off like he was about to talk to his commander.

  Connie headed to the kitchen with Betsy right behind her.

  “Don’t you say a word before we get back,” Connie demanded. “Do you hear that?”

  “Sounds like someone out on the porch,” Ginger said, hearing a scuffling sound.

  Kate cocked her head to one side, then got up and went to the front door. She eased it open and said, “Tinker, you can come inside, but you leave that thing on the porch.”

  As if he understood her, he raced into the house, went straight to the sofa, and jumped up onto Sloan’s lap. Ginger sat down on the other end of the sofa, and the dog moved over between them.

  “He thinks he killed that snake, doesn’t he?” Ginger smiled.

  Sloan scratched his ears. “He probably does, and we’ll let him think he’s a ferocious dog.”

  Connie returned carrying a tray with five glasses of tea on it. “Y’all didn’t start without us, did you?”

  Betsy came in behind her with a full pitcher. “I was afraid Connie would stumble and fall with a heavy tray. She’s not too steady on her feet.”

  “Speak for yourself, Elizabeth Carson.” Connie shot a dirty look toward her sister.

  “Elizabeth?” Ginger asked.

  “Betsy is Elizabeth,” Kate said. “The name on my birth certificate is Katherine, and Connie’s is Constance. Mama thought we needed a dignified name in case we ever wanted to become doctors or lawyers, but she liked shortened names for what she called everyday livin’. Now that we’re all here, tell us this snake story.”

  Just hearing the word made Ginger remember how that creature felt wrapped around her bare leg. With a shudder, she nodded toward Sloan. “You tell them. You were the hero.”

  Sloan’s face went blank for a split second. Ginger had learned at a young age to read people’s expressions, and it had benefited her very well in her formative years. She’d learned to tell if a new foster mother or father was angry and how to sidestep the issue in whatever way she could. Sloan was remembering something bad, and it took him a minute to shake it off.

  “Well.” He rubbed his chin and went on to tell the story, ending with, “I was just glad that Ginger stepped on it where she did and not halfway down the body, where it could have flipped over and bitten her.”

  “Me too.” Ginger picked up a glass of tea and sipped it, then laid her free hand on her stomach. “The baby just kicked very hard. Matter of fact, I can tell that it was a knee or an elbow just by the way it feels. So he or she is fine, too.”

  “She’s probably tellin’ you that she wants to meet all of us before you take her away to some other place,” Connie said.

  Ginger moved her hand to the other side. “And there’s another one. I do believe that she likes sweet tea.”

  “A true Southern lady.” Kate smiled.

  “Now that I see you’re all right, I should be going.” Sloan picked up the last glass of tea and downed it with one long drink. “Thanks for the tea, and I’m right sorry about that scare.”

  “Don’t be,” Ginger told him. “Like I said before, you’re the hero. You saved my life and my baby’s life and even kept me from falling. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. But one more thing—will you please throw what’s left of that snake across the road as you leave?” She stared at him and wondered if there was a Superman cape and outfit under his camouflage.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a slight nod as he stood up and headed to the door with Tinker right beside him.

  “Well, now.” Connie sighed. “That’s a lot of excitement for old ladies.”

  Kate’s index finger shot up in a blur. “Who are you callin’ old? None of us have earned that title, and for your information, baby sister, I don’t ever want it. I’m going to be young until the day I die.”

  Ginger chuckled. “On that note, I’m going to go upstairs and take a long, soaking bath before I go to bed.”

  “You be careful gettin’ in and out of that tub, young lady.” Connie shook a finger at her. “You could slip, and Dr. Emerson won’t be back until Thursday.”

  “And I’m leavin’ on Monday, remember?” Ginger said.

  “Oh, no!” Kate shook her head. “We can’t let you do that. Rule number two.”

  Ginger drew her brows down and tried to remember the second rule on the list in the living room. “What’s that one?”

  “Help people in distress,” Connie sing-songed.

  “But I’m not in distress,” Ginger argued.

  “You were when you fainted, and now we’re going to take care of you like Mama would if she was still here. You’re in no shape to be travelin’ on a bus.” Connie shivered. “Or hitchhiking. You never know about truckers. I watch them cop shows on the television. I’m going out on the porch for a cigarette. Lord only knows I need one to calm my nerves when I think about how near you came to bein’ snakebit.”

  Ginger didn’t really want to leave, and it would be nice to have a doctor verify her due date and tell her what she was having . . . “Thank you, all, for letting me stay on a while longer. I appreciate it more than you realize.”

  “You are very welcome.” Kate picked up the tray and headed for the kitchen. “I swear, Connie, Doc has told you at least a thousand times you need to stop that nasty habit.”

  “And he’s told you”—Connie did a head wiggle that any dramatic teenage girl would envy—“that if you didn’t stop samplin’ your moonshine, you were going to get a bad liver.”

>   Ginger glanced over at Betsy.

  The middle sister shrugged. “I don’t smoke cigarettes or drink. I will admit to havin’ a little joint before I go to bed at night, but I don’t buy it. I just grow a little in the backyard flower bed for personal use.”

  “Hells bells!” Connie turned around and frowned. “She crossbreeds the stuff and has the best shit in the county, and, honey,” Connie whispered as if she were letting Ginger in on a big secret, “we ain’t had to pay money for groceries since the year after she went to Woodstock.”

  Ginger wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to that, so she just smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got the bartering system down pretty good.”

  “Yep, we do,” Betsy said as she went upstairs. “And on that note, I’m going to my room. I’ll see all y’all tomorrow morning.”

  “If Mama had been alive when Woodstock happened, she wouldn’t have let Betsy go.” Kate came back into the room. “But she’d passed years before that, and Betsy was determined to fly to New York and listen to the music. She came back telling us about smokin’ pot and how it made her feel. Six months later, she was growin’ it in the backyard. What could I say? I was making moonshine, and Connie had been smokin’ cigarettes for years and years.”

  “I was just glad she didn’t come home pregnant,” Connie said. “Oh!” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to . . .” She trailed off.

  Ginger stood to her feet. “No offense taken, but why would you think she’d come home pregnant?”

  “Honey, have you ever read about Woodstock? All kinds of things went on there,” Kate said. “For the most part Betsy couldn’t even remember what she’d done or who she’d done it with. It wouldn’t have been like she’d fallen in love with a man and had a baby with him.”

  Ginger patted Kate on the shoulder as she passed by. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with Lucas, but he was a means to have a place outside of the shelter. Life is what it is. I can’t say I haven’t drank a little or that I haven’t smoked a joint. Lucas did both of those things on a daily basis, but then he died and I could barely eke out a living. I wouldn’t have the right to judge anyone. I was kind of glad that I hadn’t been using any of that kind of shit, though, when I found out I was pregnant.”