Read Online Bloodline by Gerry Boyle - Free Book Online Page A

pickles. The kitchen was like a spicy steam bath, and the big canning pot was rattling explosively on the stove. Mary worked at the counter, dropping small pickling cukes from her garden into quart jars of brine, screwing on the lids, and whirling to drop them into the boiling water.
    â€œYou know any Hewetts in town?” I asked.
    â€œUsed to be Hewetts on Knox Ridge,” she said. “Could you go in the pantry there and get me another bunch of dill? It’s the long feathery stuff.”
    It was Wednesday, late morning, overcast and cool. I was drinking tea with Mary until Clair got back. He had gone into Belfast to get a belt for the mower for his small tractor. Actually, I didn’t really need to see him, but it was a gloomy day, and the Varney kitchen was a clean, well-lit place.
    â€œWhat are these little black things?” I said, putting the dill on the counter.
    â€œPeppercorns,” Mary said. “Why do you think they call them that? They should call them pepper kernels.”
    â€œToo late now,” I said. “So did you know these Hewetts?”
    â€œBy sight and reputation, which may or may not have been deserved.”
    â€œWhy? Were they outlaws?” I asked.
    â€œNo more than a lot of people,” Mary said, wincing as she splashed boiling water on her fingers. “The father never really worked. Took a lot of deer out of season. Did odd jobs. Drank up most of what he made. I think he went to prison for stealing. They had seven or eight kids, something like that. I remember seeing the mother at the store. Poor woman. Her life was one cross after another, stacked up on her back like cordwood. Of course, this is a generation back. Those kids were my age, so they’d have kids by now. You don’t hear the name much anymore. Of course, there were a lot of Hewett girls, and they’d be married now, so while the name would be lost, the family would still be around.”
    â€œI met one,” I said. “She’s in college in Portland.”
    â€œWell, good for her. That’s a first for that family.”
    â€œI don’t think she has much to do with any of them.”
    â€œProbably good that she doesn’t,” Mary said, filling more jars.
    â€œShe seemed like a nice kid, but very sad,” I said. “She had a baby but she gave it up for adoption.”
    â€œIn that family, that’s got to be a first, too. Babies mean checks from the State every month. A steady income.”
    â€œShe said she wanted hers to have a future. A real mom and dad. Not an easy decision to make, I would think.”
    â€œNot easy to do. Not easy to live with after,” Mary said.
    She shook her head.
    â€œThis girl must be one tough kid,” she said. “It isn’t many young women who are able to put their babies first like that.”
    â€œShe was in high school,” I said, refilling my cup from the porcelain teapot.
    Mary shook her head.
    â€œSomewhere she got some good advice,” she said.
    â€œProbably a good thing for both of them.”
    I sipped my tea.
    â€œBut not easy,” I said.
    â€œNo,” Mary said. “It couldn’t ever be easy. Even harder in a small town like this. Everybody knows your business.”
    â€œAnd everybody has an opinion.”
    â€œOh my, yes,” Mary said.
    By noon, Clair hadn’t come home, so I left Mary with her pickles and walked back up the road to home. On the way, one of the college girls stopped her car as she passed me and asked if she could borrow my truck sometime. The car had Maryland plates. Her name was Kippy or Skippy, and she was attractive in an athletic sort of way, like a woman you’d see in the Olympics.
    â€œI found this humongous bureau that I can have if I can get it home,” Kippy said. “I’d just need it for an hour or so.”
    â€œHey, anytime,” I said. “But if the truck breaks down, just be sure to take the