Read Online The World Ends In Hickory Hollow by Ardath Mayhar - Free Book Online
Authors: Ardath Mayhar
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said, "Time Lantana and I get on home. One thing, though. Tomorrow, first thing, let's send the kids to move the horses out of the low pasture.. Those devils might kill ' em , just to be doing somethin '. And those horses are the future, don't ever forget it. The vehicles will run for a long time. We can make all the fuel we need. But parts are somethin ' else again. And tires. Horses are the only long-term answer."
Zack nodded. "Smart thinking, Luke. Well get them moved first of all in the morning. Then I figure some of us are going to want to go on and check out those other folks downriver. I'll not sleep much tonight, worrying about somebody needing us right now, that we don't know about."
We had adapted the old coal-oil lanterns that had been used when we were children so that they could burn alcohol. Each of the old people lit one, and we watched them through the glass pane of the door as the two spots of clear light moved away and vanished in the trees. Then we went into the living roam to check on Nellie Sweetbrier.
She was lying on the couch, her head neatly bandaged, her eyes closed. When we hesitated, not wanting to wake her, she opened them and said, "I'm not asleep. Come sit down and let's talk a bit. Mrs. Hardeman is in her room making me a place to sleep. I was just lying here remembering Jess. We were together forty-three years. It'll take some getting used to, being without him."
"We'll keep you so busy that you won't be able to have time to grieve too much," Zack said, taking her blue-veined hand in his. "We are a going concern, here, Nellie. You'll fit right in."
"If we don't start dying of radiation sickness, or some plague that everybody thought was licked doesn't rise up again and take us off. Or those hellcats don't kill us all," she said bitterly. Her free hand twitched against the bright quilt that covered her. "I want you to tell me, right out, in full, what happened to Jess," she said to me. "I need to know. The things that I imagine are worse than anything that could possibly have happened for real. Tell me how he died, how he looked, how the room looked. It's only when I can see it like it really was that I'll be able to stop my mind from running around and around, making pictures of what might have been."
I looked into her eyes. There in the warmth of the wood fire that twinkled through the glass of the heater door, with the smell of stew filling the house with richness, with Zack's other hand in mine, the scene in that house downriver seemed already far-off and dreamlike. So it was that I could tell her, as if it were a story or a movie, exactly what Lucas and I had seen in that bloody bedroom where Jess had lain dead. I even told her about the trail of drops on the ceiling that had followed the are of the stick that had beaten her husband to death. For I knew that she was right. Only the truth, terrible as it was, would lay to rest her overstimulated imagination.
When I was done, she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. Then she opened them and said, "Thank you. That was bad, but he died fast. Must have gone out when they hit him in the head. After that, they weren't truly hurting him. And he didn't have to lie there and freeze and wonder if they'd come back to finish the job, like I did; all in all, he was lucky. Thank you, Lucinda."
Then Suzi brought a bowl of stew for Nellie. "Supper's on in the kitchen. The children are washing up, and Mrs. Allie is on her way."
So we left the old lady to eat her supper and to come to grips with her loss.
The long evening was before us, and we all congregated around the big heater. Our newcomer didn't seem to want to talk, but her face smoothed as our bantering and tale telling accompanied the work of our hands. For, as it must have been in the long past, each of us was busy with some small but necessary task. The children were in a circle on the floor, a big bowl in the center, nutpicks in hand, as they picked out hickory nuts. A more
Zack nodded. "Smart thinking, Luke. Well get them moved first of all in the morning. Then I figure some of us are going to want to go on and check out those other folks downriver. I'll not sleep much tonight, worrying about somebody needing us right now, that we don't know about."
We had adapted the old coal-oil lanterns that had been used when we were children so that they could burn alcohol. Each of the old people lit one, and we watched them through the glass pane of the door as the two spots of clear light moved away and vanished in the trees. Then we went into the living roam to check on Nellie Sweetbrier.
She was lying on the couch, her head neatly bandaged, her eyes closed. When we hesitated, not wanting to wake her, she opened them and said, "I'm not asleep. Come sit down and let's talk a bit. Mrs. Hardeman is in her room making me a place to sleep. I was just lying here remembering Jess. We were together forty-three years. It'll take some getting used to, being without him."
"We'll keep you so busy that you won't be able to have time to grieve too much," Zack said, taking her blue-veined hand in his. "We are a going concern, here, Nellie. You'll fit right in."
"If we don't start dying of radiation sickness, or some plague that everybody thought was licked doesn't rise up again and take us off. Or those hellcats don't kill us all," she said bitterly. Her free hand twitched against the bright quilt that covered her. "I want you to tell me, right out, in full, what happened to Jess," she said to me. "I need to know. The things that I imagine are worse than anything that could possibly have happened for real. Tell me how he died, how he looked, how the room looked. It's only when I can see it like it really was that I'll be able to stop my mind from running around and around, making pictures of what might have been."
I looked into her eyes. There in the warmth of the wood fire that twinkled through the glass of the heater door, with the smell of stew filling the house with richness, with Zack's other hand in mine, the scene in that house downriver seemed already far-off and dreamlike. So it was that I could tell her, as if it were a story or a movie, exactly what Lucas and I had seen in that bloody bedroom where Jess had lain dead. I even told her about the trail of drops on the ceiling that had followed the are of the stick that had beaten her husband to death. For I knew that she was right. Only the truth, terrible as it was, would lay to rest her overstimulated imagination.
When I was done, she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. Then she opened them and said, "Thank you. That was bad, but he died fast. Must have gone out when they hit him in the head. After that, they weren't truly hurting him. And he didn't have to lie there and freeze and wonder if they'd come back to finish the job, like I did; all in all, he was lucky. Thank you, Lucinda."
Then Suzi brought a bowl of stew for Nellie. "Supper's on in the kitchen. The children are washing up, and Mrs. Allie is on her way."
So we left the old lady to eat her supper and to come to grips with her loss.
The long evening was before us, and we all congregated around the big heater. Our newcomer didn't seem to want to talk, but her face smoothed as our bantering and tale telling accompanied the work of our hands. For, as it must have been in the long past, each of us was busy with some small but necessary task. The children were in a circle on the floor, a big bowl in the center, nutpicks in hand, as they picked out hickory nuts. A more
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