Read Online Long Upon the Land by Margaret Maron - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Maron
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him forever!”
“Oh, Frank,” she whispers and hugs him to her as grief overcomes him again.
“Now she’s really all gone,” he moans and her heart breaks for him.
When he has cried himself out, she says, “Listen, Frank. Her footprints may not be there exactly as she left them, but they aren’t really gone.”
“But they is, Miss Sue. See?” He points to the smooth dirt that the pan had once covered.
“The shape, maybe, but not the substance.”
“What’s substance?”
“What things are made of, honey. Your mama’s footprints were made in the dirt and that dirt’s still there. See where the pan piled up a little ridge of dirt before Andrew lifted it off?”
He gives a doubtful nod.
“That’s where your mama’s footprints still are. Not in the same shape maybe, but still the substance that she stood on. Wait right here and don’t touch it yet, okay?”
He looks at her in mute hope and nods.
She darts out to the yard and is back a moment later with the now-empty Christmas canister. “If we put that little pile of dirt in here, you can keep it safe for as long as you want.”
Wanting to be persuaded, he watches as she pulls the lid off and kneels down beside that smooth spot.
“I’ll do it,” Frank says, so she sits back on her heels and holds the canister while he gently scoops up the dry dirt as solemnly as if something of his dead mother really is being poured into the tin.
When he is satisfied that he has saved all the dirt her feet had touched, Sue snaps the lid back on and hands the canister to him.
“And if Andrew touches it, I’ll kill him,” he says fiercely.
The hired woman invites Sue and Zell into the big, shabby, and blessedly warm kitchen. She wants to hear about Robert and Frank’s near drowning in more detail. While the children are distracted by the Christmas candy and the pretty lithographed scene on Frank’s can, she thanks Sue in a low voice for comforting him. “That baby took Miss Annie Ruth’s passing the hardest.”
The two older boys seem to regard Sue as their own personal property, but she soon charms the others. While the younger boys chatter and tussle, Essie puts together a big pot of beef stew and gets started on fried apple pies for the midday meal.
“Come see our tree, Miss Sue,” Robert says and leads the way into the unheated front parlor. Somehow Sue hasn’t expected such a big tree nor one so festive with tinsel and lights.
Or that eight small socks would be hanging along the mantelpiece. The older boys point out theirs.
“Santa Claus don’t come for grown-ups and Jack’s too little for candy,” says Robert, “so can we give his to Daddy?”
The kitchen fills with smells of cinnamon and apples and the hearty aroma of beef stew. Four-year-old Benjamin volunteers to sing “Jingle Bells,” and Sue teaches them how to click-click-click their fingers for the chorus of “Up on the Housetop.”
By the time they drive away, Sue knows all eight boys by name and can even distinguish between the two twins.
“I didn’t know you were so good with children,” Zell says as they turn back toward Dobbs. “If you don’t want to go to law school, maybe you could be a teacher or something.”
“Or something,” Sue says thoughtfully.
CHAPTER
4
But brother goeth to law with brother…Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another.
— I Corinthians 6:6–7
N ext morning, I was up before the noisy wrens who are raising a second or third brood under our bedroom window, and by six-thirty, I was on the road with a cup of coffee and a cold sausage biscuit left over from yesterday’s breakfast. The weather report had mentioned the possibility of rain, which we badly needed, but the sky seemed indecisive about it. For the first hour, I drove east under gray clouds, listening to the morning news. Shortly before Goldsboro, though, the bright morning sun broke through and made me reach for
“Oh, Frank,” she whispers and hugs him to her as grief overcomes him again.
“Now she’s really all gone,” he moans and her heart breaks for him.
When he has cried himself out, she says, “Listen, Frank. Her footprints may not be there exactly as she left them, but they aren’t really gone.”
“But they is, Miss Sue. See?” He points to the smooth dirt that the pan had once covered.
“The shape, maybe, but not the substance.”
“What’s substance?”
“What things are made of, honey. Your mama’s footprints were made in the dirt and that dirt’s still there. See where the pan piled up a little ridge of dirt before Andrew lifted it off?”
He gives a doubtful nod.
“That’s where your mama’s footprints still are. Not in the same shape maybe, but still the substance that she stood on. Wait right here and don’t touch it yet, okay?”
He looks at her in mute hope and nods.
She darts out to the yard and is back a moment later with the now-empty Christmas canister. “If we put that little pile of dirt in here, you can keep it safe for as long as you want.”
Wanting to be persuaded, he watches as she pulls the lid off and kneels down beside that smooth spot.
“I’ll do it,” Frank says, so she sits back on her heels and holds the canister while he gently scoops up the dry dirt as solemnly as if something of his dead mother really is being poured into the tin.
When he is satisfied that he has saved all the dirt her feet had touched, Sue snaps the lid back on and hands the canister to him.
“And if Andrew touches it, I’ll kill him,” he says fiercely.
The hired woman invites Sue and Zell into the big, shabby, and blessedly warm kitchen. She wants to hear about Robert and Frank’s near drowning in more detail. While the children are distracted by the Christmas candy and the pretty lithographed scene on Frank’s can, she thanks Sue in a low voice for comforting him. “That baby took Miss Annie Ruth’s passing the hardest.”
The two older boys seem to regard Sue as their own personal property, but she soon charms the others. While the younger boys chatter and tussle, Essie puts together a big pot of beef stew and gets started on fried apple pies for the midday meal.
“Come see our tree, Miss Sue,” Robert says and leads the way into the unheated front parlor. Somehow Sue hasn’t expected such a big tree nor one so festive with tinsel and lights.
Or that eight small socks would be hanging along the mantelpiece. The older boys point out theirs.
“Santa Claus don’t come for grown-ups and Jack’s too little for candy,” says Robert, “so can we give his to Daddy?”
The kitchen fills with smells of cinnamon and apples and the hearty aroma of beef stew. Four-year-old Benjamin volunteers to sing “Jingle Bells,” and Sue teaches them how to click-click-click their fingers for the chorus of “Up on the Housetop.”
By the time they drive away, Sue knows all eight boys by name and can even distinguish between the two twins.
“I didn’t know you were so good with children,” Zell says as they turn back toward Dobbs. “If you don’t want to go to law school, maybe you could be a teacher or something.”
“Or something,” Sue says thoughtfully.
CHAPTER
4
But brother goeth to law with brother…Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another.
— I Corinthians 6:6–7
N ext morning, I was up before the noisy wrens who are raising a second or third brood under our bedroom window, and by six-thirty, I was on the road with a cup of coffee and a cold sausage biscuit left over from yesterday’s breakfast. The weather report had mentioned the possibility of rain, which we badly needed, but the sky seemed indecisive about it. For the first hour, I drove east under gray clouds, listening to the morning news. Shortly before Goldsboro, though, the bright morning sun broke through and made me reach for
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