table’s long, shining enclosure. She wiped down the grids, the top, and the front, rinsing the rag every few swipes.
She stopped, her hearing strained, as she heard a yell of disbelief followed by exclamations of anger or dismay from a few of the most verbal ranch hands. Richard Caldwell was yelling too, his thundering voice bellowing above all the others.
“Aww! It ain’t right! This is an outrage. Who in his right mind would do something like that?”
Sadie stood positively motionless.
“He’s dead! A magnificent animal! I saw them load him in the truck. He was absolutely huge. Aw! It ain’t right.”
Sadie heard every word.
What? Which animal? It was all she could do to pick up the plastic bucket and return to the kitchen. She lingered reluctantly before opening the swinging oak doors.
Dorothy looked up from her post at the stove, viciously stirring a large pan of scrambled eggs. She was wearing an electric pink shirt over a brown, pleated skirt. The skirt rode up on her ample hips, leaving a few inches of her white, nylon slip exposed beneath the hem. Her hair was in a state of static profusion, held back by two very pink barrettes. Her eyes flashed blue amid all the pink surrounding her.
“It took you long enough!”
“I was listening. The men are all piled around the TV. Something about a dead animal on the news. Richard Caldwell was really yelling this time.”
Without a word, Dorothy marched over to the small television set perched on a stand in the corner and turned it on, expertly pushing buttons on the remote control until she found the channel she wanted.
Sadie picked up the forgotten spatula and stirred the eggs, turning sideways to watch the flickering screen. Dorothy positioned herself directly in front of the TV, obliterating any action from Sadie’s view. Muttering to herself, Dorothy clicked the button, then turned around as the television screen went black.
“Nothin’ much I can see. Some crazy person shot a horse. What’s so strange about that? Horse likely had a bone broke. Those animal-rights people is plumb nuts. You ain’t even allowed to dispose of a stray cat. You know what kills a cat so fast it ain’t funny?”
Sadie lifted the heavy pan with both hands, and a golden yellow avalanche of scrambled eggs tumbled out of it and into the square container on the counter. She shook her head at Dorothy’s question, biting down on her lower lip with the effort of lifting the heavy pan.
“I ain’t gonna tell you.”
“All right,” Sadie said, shrugging her shoulders noncommittally.
“You know why I ain’t gonna tell you? ‘Cause you’d tell everybody else, and next thing I know, I got those animal fanatics on my tail. I got enough to worry about now. Those kids. Those two precious souls, God love ’em. I can’t imagine what’s gonna happen to ’em. The cops has all the information they could get. They fingerprinted ’em, poor babies. Just like common animals, and what did they do wrong? Not one thing. Innocent as newborn babes.”
Dorothy stopped for breath, her cheeks flaming. “I’m takin’ ’em in! I am. I told my Jim, and this is what I said. I says, ‘Now Jim, honeybun, you lookie here. We ain’t never had no children of our own ’cause the Lord didn’t see fit to give us any. I may be old and fat and half wore out, but as long as the Lord gives me the strength, I’m keepin’ these young ’uns, sure as shootin’. They’s sent straight from heaven.’”
She mopped her shining nose with the dishrag that lay beside the stove, then took a deep breath and launched into a vivid account of the room they were going to fix up for them.
Sadie buttered toast, nodded in agreement, smiling, nodding her head, whenever a question abbreviated the sentences.
“You know, pink for Marcelona. She should have pink walls, but that would never work for Louise. He needs blue or green. So what I’m going to do is paint one side of the room pink, about the color of
She stopped, her hearing strained, as she heard a yell of disbelief followed by exclamations of anger or dismay from a few of the most verbal ranch hands. Richard Caldwell was yelling too, his thundering voice bellowing above all the others.
“Aww! It ain’t right! This is an outrage. Who in his right mind would do something like that?”
Sadie stood positively motionless.
“He’s dead! A magnificent animal! I saw them load him in the truck. He was absolutely huge. Aw! It ain’t right.”
Sadie heard every word.
What? Which animal? It was all she could do to pick up the plastic bucket and return to the kitchen. She lingered reluctantly before opening the swinging oak doors.
Dorothy looked up from her post at the stove, viciously stirring a large pan of scrambled eggs. She was wearing an electric pink shirt over a brown, pleated skirt. The skirt rode up on her ample hips, leaving a few inches of her white, nylon slip exposed beneath the hem. Her hair was in a state of static profusion, held back by two very pink barrettes. Her eyes flashed blue amid all the pink surrounding her.
“It took you long enough!”
“I was listening. The men are all piled around the TV. Something about a dead animal on the news. Richard Caldwell was really yelling this time.”
Without a word, Dorothy marched over to the small television set perched on a stand in the corner and turned it on, expertly pushing buttons on the remote control until she found the channel she wanted.
Sadie picked up the forgotten spatula and stirred the eggs, turning sideways to watch the flickering screen. Dorothy positioned herself directly in front of the TV, obliterating any action from Sadie’s view. Muttering to herself, Dorothy clicked the button, then turned around as the television screen went black.
“Nothin’ much I can see. Some crazy person shot a horse. What’s so strange about that? Horse likely had a bone broke. Those animal-rights people is plumb nuts. You ain’t even allowed to dispose of a stray cat. You know what kills a cat so fast it ain’t funny?”
Sadie lifted the heavy pan with both hands, and a golden yellow avalanche of scrambled eggs tumbled out of it and into the square container on the counter. She shook her head at Dorothy’s question, biting down on her lower lip with the effort of lifting the heavy pan.
“I ain’t gonna tell you.”
“All right,” Sadie said, shrugging her shoulders noncommittally.
“You know why I ain’t gonna tell you? ‘Cause you’d tell everybody else, and next thing I know, I got those animal fanatics on my tail. I got enough to worry about now. Those kids. Those two precious souls, God love ’em. I can’t imagine what’s gonna happen to ’em. The cops has all the information they could get. They fingerprinted ’em, poor babies. Just like common animals, and what did they do wrong? Not one thing. Innocent as newborn babes.”
Dorothy stopped for breath, her cheeks flaming. “I’m takin’ ’em in! I am. I told my Jim, and this is what I said. I says, ‘Now Jim, honeybun, you lookie here. We ain’t never had no children of our own ’cause the Lord didn’t see fit to give us any. I may be old and fat and half wore out, but as long as the Lord gives me the strength, I’m keepin’ these young ’uns, sure as shootin’. They’s sent straight from heaven.’”
She mopped her shining nose with the dishrag that lay beside the stove, then took a deep breath and launched into a vivid account of the room they were going to fix up for them.
Sadie buttered toast, nodded in agreement, smiling, nodding her head, whenever a question abbreviated the sentences.
“You know, pink for Marcelona. She should have pink walls, but that would never work for Louise. He needs blue or green. So what I’m going to do is paint one side of the room pink, about the color of
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