by Deanna Edens
“Good morning,” I swiped the sleep from my eyes.
“Time to rise and shine, Annie. I brought ya up some coffee.” Will posed as he opened the door, “Can I fix ya a cup?”
“That would be great, Will.” I provided a welcoming gesture with my hand.
Will moseyed into the kitchen with Hank and me following at his heels. I heard the thunk of pipes and the gush of water as he rinsed the filter basket, spooned in enough grounds for a pot, and filled the carafe. “I also brought ya some fruit.”
“Great. I prefer donuts but you can’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.” I inhaled deeply as I pulled a bowl from the cabinet to fill with Dog Chow. “Thank you, Will.”
Hank’s sad eyes examined the offering as I rested it on the floor. He nudged me with his nose, took his right paw and scratched at his neck, “Tikkk.”
“Eat your breakfast, Hank. I don’t have any bacon this morning.” I told the old dog as I plopped down in a chair.
He walked over to me and dropped his oversized head on my lap, and once again, clawed at his neck. “Tikkk,” he moaned.
“Hank has a tick,” Will informed me as he poured two cups of coffee and slid a steaming cup across the table.
“Really?” My nose wrinkled as I puzzled, “How do you know?”
The older man studied me doubtfully, “He’s been trying to tell ya all morning.”
“He has?” I was dumbstruck. “Yuk! What do I do with it?”
“Pull it out.”
“Pull it out?” My face contorted as I considered his proposition.
“Ya ain’t ever pulled a tick off before?”
“No,” I pointedly informed him as my fingers frantically started examining my own scalp. “This adds an entirely new meaning to the term bed bugs,” I disgustedly recognized.
“Ya just reach in and pull on it with a little twist to make sure ya get its head.” He took a long gulp of coffee, “Or ya could grab a pair of tweezers.”
“Then what will I do with it?”
“Kill it.”
“Kill it?” I gasped, “I have never killed anything before. That would be contrary to my entire way of thinking about the value of life.” I let out a mortified sigh, “Couldn’t we just relocate it? You know, release it back into the wild.”
Will cleared his throat, before his mouth twitched up at the corner. “Relocate it? That ain’t the smartest suggestion I’ve ever heard, but I reckon ya could. The only problem would be if Hank happened to find it again.” Will adjusted his weight on the seat, which groaned in response. “Let me just show how to pluck it out. You’re gonna need to learn how to detach a tick if ya plan to buy this old farm.”
I held my hand up to stop him, “I have no intention of purchasing this place! I have been sleeping with a drooling dog who has a blood sucking varmint attached to his neck.” I rolled my eyes, “What has my life regressed to?” I threw my hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Hank and I are going back to my apartment and we may, or may not, come back later this evening,” I told Will – perhaps a bit more melodramatically than the situation warranted.
I leapt up from my chair, “I need chocolate!” I whined.
“Annie, it’s not that bad.” He motioned for me to set back down, “A tick ain’t exactly a varmint.”
“A tick ain’t exactly a varmint?” My eyes narrowed questionably, “Are you trying to comfort me?”
“Oh Annie, sit down for a spell and let me tell ya a joke.” He slid a Twix Peanut Butter Bar from the front pocket of his overalls and handed it to me. “I know you and Erma used to eat sweets all the time, so I figured you might want something other than fruit this morning.”
“Thank you.” I lowered myself back into the seat and ripped the edge from the candy bar wrapper, pinched off a piece and handed a tiny bite over to Hank.
Will commenced with his story telling, “While milking a cow on a hot, humid August evening, a farmer was aggravated by the cow’s tail hitting him in the face. He finally tied the cow’s tail to his right leg. The farmer said, ‘Before I had been around the barn seven times, I knew I had made a big mistake.’” Will started to laugh so hard he could hardly catch his breath.
I giggled along, truly appreciating his sense of humor, still wondering where he was leading with his joke.
“My point is, Annie,” he continued, after he had settled down from his self-imposed fit of hilarity, “there’s a lot of things to learn about livin’ on a farm, and you’re gonna make some mistakes. But, you’re a smart girl and you’ll figure everything out eventually.”
“Maybe,” I reluctantly agreed, as I washed a nibble of candy bar down with a gulp of coffee, “Twix bars are my favorite – thanks for the treat, Will.”
“I know they’re your favorite,” he winked, “I pay attention to that sort of thing.”
Although I really held no interest in witnessing the upcoming task, especially at this time in the morning, I hesitantly recommended, “Why don’t you demonstrate your expert tick-plucking technique to me?”
A sly grin curved up at the corners of his mouth. “Sure,” he snapped his fingers in Hank’s direction, “come here, ole boy.”
Hank, who had apparently taken in the entire conversation, ambled over to Will, crooked his head to the side, and used his paw to direct Will’s attention toward the precise location of the firmly affixed culprit.
Then, just as slick as a whistle, Will stretched over and pulled that little varmint out.
I bristled momentarily before shoving the rest of my candy bar into my mouth, “Geeze.”
Charleston, West Virginia
June 7, 1919
“Suffrage”
{{4}}
“Well,” Ida declared as she slid the gearshift into park, “here we are. There’s the library.” She motioned toward the steps.
Erma’s gaze stopped on the group of young men standing on the corner. They were carrying signs – NO VOTE FOR WOMEN!
Ida pulled her key from the ignition, “Are you ready?”
Erma attempted to tuck the wadded mass of hair underneath her hat, “Do you see that group of men over there, Ida?”
“Yep,” Ida acknowledged.
“Do you know what my mama told me when we had to move out of Red Ash coal camp?”
“No, what did she say?”
“She said, ‘hold your head up, girl. Don’t look back, just keep on walking.’”
“Your mama is a smart lady,” Ida knew the kind, petite woman very well, “and sweet, too.”
They hesitated for a second before stepping out of the car and walking across McFarland Street. They kept their eyes focused on the front door of the library – not daring to glance toward the protestors hovered in the darkness.
“Are you girls headed to the suffrage meeting?” one of the men hollered.
“Don’t answer him, Ida.” Erma whispered as they kept walking.
As soon as they climbed the first step leading to the library entrance, an egg came hurtling through the air. Ida ducked, and Erma got smashed on the side of her head.
“I hit the tall ugly one with the bird on top of her head,” they overheard a man squawking to the others.
They glanced over to see a young man clad in a dirty shirt, pirouetting triumphantly.
Erma was speechless and stunned. “Having someone throw an egg at ya sure ain’t neighborly,” she huffed. Yeah, she remembered when she and Ida would throw crab apples at her little brother, Jeremiah, but this was different. This was an egg, and this was a public attack. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Ida touched her elbow and opened the door, pushing Erma in front of her. “Don’t pay them no mind. They’re purely ignorant,” she could hear Ida say as the tears began cascading down her face.
When they were safely planted inside the library, Ida pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the yolk, as best she could, from the hefty lump of hair that Erma had twisted into a knot on their drive into town. She delicately attempted to
detangle a feathered plume from the bulge protruding on the side of her friend’s head. “Let’s go on in, sweetie. You look fine.”
As they walked to the front of the room to take a seat, Mrs. Yost gasped in horror at the sight of Erma’s egg-soaked thicket of coiled curls.
“What happened to you?” The folks who were seated gawked curiously in Erma’s direction. “Did those men outside do this?”
Erma stood dumbstruck. She didn’t know if Mrs. Yost was referring to the egg dripping onto her shoulder or the self-inflicted rat nest she was sporting.
Her heart raced and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She shifted her weight uncomfortably.
“Yes!” Ida yelled out in anger, “But we walked straight and tall in spite of their immature attempt to discourage us!”
Mrs. Yost juddered her finger approvingly, “We applaud your determination!” She began clapping her hands together. The other men and women joined in – they even rose from their seated positions to offer a standing ovation, as Ida and Erma tucked themselves into the low-backed wooden chairs in the front row of the library meeting room.
The very idea of the man hurling an egg at her stayed in Erma’s mind, and it grew and grew as she thought back over all she had learned from Ida on their trip into Charleston. She fingered the egg yolk that was drying in her clump of hair, which was dangling in a snarled muddle over her right ear, and for the first time in her life, she was furious enough to inflict physical harm.
Erma was having a difficult time concentrating on Mrs. Yost’s speech, and right smack dab in the middle of the lecture, she leaned over and whispered into Ida’s ear. “I think I’m gonna step outside for a minute and go whip that fellow’s butt.”
Ida nodded approvingly, as she gently placed her hand on Erma’s arm, “Just wait until Mrs. Yost is finished,” she offered a wink, “and I’ll go out there and help you.”
Sissonville, West Virginia
April 10, 1981
{{5}}
I hesitantly decided to stay at the farm up Black Hollow Road for another night after listening to Will’s semi-encouraging words. I busied myself with dusting the house that had not been lived in since Erma’s death, and once the farm house was tidy enough, according to my not-so-lofty standards, I decided to work outside for a few hours, figuring if the toppled limbs and walnut shells were removed from the front lawn a potential buyer might actually consider this old farm a worthy place to occupy. I cracked open the front door, only to spy Hank sleeping peacefully on the front porch. “Come help me clean up the yard, Hank.” He cracked open one eye and looked at me disdainfully. Nothing could ever have provoked him to work.
I found a tattered crate and carried it over to the walnut tree where I started dropping shells and fallen limbs, left from the winter storms, into the wooden box to later throw out behind the barn. I was humming The Rose, by Bette Midler, when I heard footsteps lumbering noisily through the thick brush. I turned around, expecting to see that Hank finally woke up from his sixth nap of the day, but instead I witnessed a man who froze and stared sharply in my direction.
“Can I help you?” I asked, as my heartbeat quickened and my gut twisted into a tight ball.
He didn’t look me straight in the eyes, nor did he answer, as he kept striding blunderingly in my direction. I dropped the crate to the ground and ran in a full state of panic toward the house.
I heard Hank growl, deep from within his throat, before barking out a piercing warning. He took off running toward the unknown man and loyally positioned his large body between us. The man started kicking his leg wildly in the dog’s direction. Hank leapt onto his shoulders, forcefully knocking the intruder down into the mud. The man kept trying to strike Hank until the old dog expertly situated his mouth around the man’s throat. I threw open the screen door, slammed the wooden door shut, and immediately dialed the sheriff’s office. “This is Annie,” I managed to sputter, “I am located on Erma’s farm up Black Hollow Road and there is an unknown man on the property.” I peeked out the window, “Hank has him pinned on the ground, and I need help!”
“Did you say Black Hollow Road?”
“Yes,” I panted, as I stared at the front door.
“Not to worry,” the dispatcher responded. “Sheriff Holmes is out your way, I’ll give him a call him right now. Don’t hang up. Stay on the line with me, honey.”
Within less than three minutes, which felt like thirty, I heard the sheriff’s car speeding up the hollow with the siren blasting. His cruiser slid as he slammed on the breaks, tossing gravel into the air. He jumped from his vehicle, withdrew a pistol, and ran over to where Hank was standing resolutely on top of the man. “Good job, Hank.” I could overhear the sheriff saying, “Ya can let go of his throat now. I have this covered.” Hank released his gripped teeth before his gaze raised toward Sheriff Holmes. The hound dog glanced down at the man one more time, and viciously snarled, before stepping off his chest.
“The dog tried to kill me!” The man bawled as his shaking hands rose to cover his throat. “I hate dogs!” He clenched his fists, “I’m scared of ‘em.”
“Oh heck, it looks to me like he didn’t even break your skin.” The sheriff looked at him long and hard. “Well, I’ll be,” Sheriff Holmes boomed as he spit into the dirt, “if it ain’t Buster Thaxton. We’ve been looking for you for over two months now.” He motioned for the man to roll over as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his belt and shackled them around the man’s wrists. “What in the tarnation are you doin’ all the way up here?” He nudged the man with his boot. “Get up, Buster. You’re gonna get a first-class, chauffeured ride to the station.” The sheriff escorted Buster to the back of his car, placed his hand on top of his head and shoved him into the back seat before slamming the door shut. He walked to the front door of the farmhouse and rapped twice. When I opened the door, he could easily ascertain the terror masked on my face.
“Are you alright, Ma’am?”
I nodded numbly.
“He didn’t hurt ya, did he?”
I trembled, “No.” I gulped back the lump that was forming in my throat, “Hank stopped him.”
“Hank is a fine fellow,” the sheriff acknowledged as he glanced down at the dog who was now seated proudly beside the officer. “You are lucky Hank was here, ‘cause Buster Thaxton is a mean man – a wanted criminal. It’s hard to tell what could have happened if Hank hadn’t been here to protect ya.”
“Well, thank you Sheriff,” I sighed, “for getting up here so quickly.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am.” He tipped his ball cap. “Is there anyone you can call to come up and stay with ya for a bit ‘til ya calm down?”
“Yes, I’ll call Will. He’ll come up here and stay with me.”
“Will?” The sheriff grinned from ear to ear, “How’s Will doing? I know he was mighty upset after Erma passed away.”
“He’s doing fine, I suppose.”
“Good. Tell him Sheriff Holmes sends his regards.”
Will arrived within moments after I telephoned. “Are ya alright, Annie?” he bellowed, as he scampered through the door. I felt his arm wrap itself around my shoulders, squeezing them tight. It was a comforting gesture, sweet and empathetic, and it flooded me with unexpected warmth.
“Just a bit shook up.” I eventually responded.
“What happened?”
I told Will the whole story, careful not to leave out any details, and when I was finished I could tell he was definitely riled up. “That Buster Thaxton ain’t got a lick of sense in his head. I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy.” He sighed dramatically, “You know, the first time I saw Buster, he stopped in my store and slid a Granny Smith apple into his pocket. At first I thought he had stolen it, but figured if he was hungry enough to steal, he must have needed it. Then I discovered he had left a quarter on the shelf above the apple barrel.” Will added wistfully, “The Granny Smith apples had come from Dawson’s farm and you can bet your bottom dollar they
were good, plump juicy apples. However, my dilemma came to light when I realized that since I was selling them for twenty cents each, I owed Buster a nickel.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I slid a nickel on the shelf exactly where Buster had laid his quarter. The next day, he came in again, slid an apple in his pocket, picked up the nickel and deposited his quarter.” Will exhaled deeply, “To tell ya the truth Annie, this went on for so long I lost track of whether I owed him a nickel or he owed me.” He shrugged his shoulders dismissively.
“Did he stop in often?” I curiously asked.
“Oh, for a couple of years off and on. All the way up until his mama passed away.”
I suddenly felt sad for Buster Thaxton. “What happened to him after his mama died?”
“I don’t have a clue,” his voice trailed off, “anyway, even though two wrongs don’t make it right, it sure does make it even.” He scowled, “Buster Thaxton will get what he deserves.” Will paused, then continued, “Which will be a swift kick in the butt before he’s sent off to jail.” He gently patted my arm, “And ya won’t have to worry about that dude botherin’ ya again. He’ll be locked up ‘til the cows come home. Maybe longer.”
Hot tears started streaming down my face, and I wasn’t sure if the tears were for me or for Buster. I felt embarrassed to have Will watch me cry. I covered my face with my hands and felt a cold chill shoot unswervingly through my body. “Sorry,” I whispered, “I just got a cold chill.”
“An old wives’ tale says that when ya feel a cold chill it means someone stepped on your grave.”
I looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Stepped on my grave? Were they delivering flowers?”