Book 9 preview #GoTellTheBEEsthatIamGone
#DailyLines #BookNine #GoTELLTheBEESThatIAmGONE #backtotheRidge #madbackwoodskilz #ifyourewonderingnoitsnotdone #Illtellyouwhenwegetclose #NotClose #butgoingwell
They had brought me breakfast, lavish by my present standards: two fresh corn dodgers, warm griddled sausage patties wrapped in layers between burdock leaves [ck.], a boiled egg, still hot, and a quarter-inch of Amy’s last year’s huckleberry jam, in the bottom of its jar.
“Missus Higgins says to send back the empty jar,” Jemmy informed me, handing it over. Only one eye was on the jar; the other was on the Big Log, which had been hidden by darkness the night before. “Wow! What kind of tree is that?”
“Poplar,” I said, closing my eyes in ecstasy at the first bite of sausage. The Big Log was roughly sixty feet long. It had been a good bit longer, before Jamie had scavenged wood from the top for building and fires. “Your grandfather says it was likely more than a hundred feet tall before it fell.”
Mandy was trying to get up onto the log; Jem gave her a casual boost, then leaned over to look down the length of the trunk, mostly smooth and pale, but scabbed here and there with remnants of bark and odd little forests of toadstools and moss.
“Did it blow down in a storm?”
“Yes,” I said. “The top had been struck by lightning, but I don’t know whether that was the same storm that knocked it down. It might have died because of the lightning and then the next big storm blew it over. Mandy, be careful there!”
She’d scrambled to her feet and was walking along the trunk, arms stretched out like a gymnast, one foot in front of the other. The trunk was a good five feet in diameter at that point; there was plenty of room atop it, but it would be a hard bump if she fell off.
“Here, sweetheart.” Roger, who had been looking at the house with interest, came over and plucked her off the log. “Why don’t you and Jem go gather wood for Grannie? D’ye remember what good firewood looks like?”
“Aye, of course.” Jem looked lofty. “I’ll show her how.”
“I knows how!” Mandy said, glowering at him.
“You have to look out for snakes,” he informed her.
She perked up at once, pique forgotten.
“Wanna see a snake!”
“Jem—“ Roger began, but Jemmy rolled his eyes. “_I_ know, Dad,” he said. “If I find a little one, I’ll let her touch it, but not if it’s got rattles or a cotton mouth.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Roger muttered, watching them go off hand in hand.
I swallowed the last of the corn dodgers, licked sugary jam from the corner of my mouth and gave him a sympathetic look.
“Nobody died the last time you lived here,” I reminded him.