Story Ava (Complete)
- Thread starter Kathy in FL
- Start date
Chapter 28
“This doesn’t look like the farmer’s markets I’m used to,” I told Sarge as we pulled up to what I thought was a convenience store.
“Weellll, it’s a market. Different times of year it might be a bit busier. Most of the time this place has outdoor tables with stuff on them. They’ve slowed down for the year right now. The owner is some kind of shirt-tail cousin to Auntie. It is just where she is choosing to do business.”
“Oh, okay. Family helps family. Why didn’t you say so?”
He looked at me and just shook his heat. “Now you listen to me Pistol, don’t go shootin’ off that mouth and catching too much attention. Once Maurice finds out that you are Henley’s niece you might catch a break, you might not. About half the time he and Henley would get a feud on.”
“Why?” I asked, wondering just who Uncle Henley had turned into while I was growing up. Mom used to claim Dad was a “steadying influence” on him. I know he could be wild, but he did get religion for real before moving back here. Did he lose it at some point?
“’Cause Maurice and Henley were courtin’ the same woman until they both decided to give her up when they found out she was playin’ them. It still left some … er …”
“Competition and hard feelings?” I asked rolling my eyes.
Sarge snorted. “You could say that. Now I mean it. I can’t go off and leave you if you’re going to get in fights and what have you. I gotta be able to trust you’ll stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t try and teach your granny to suck eggs. There’s work to be done and I’m the Queen of Crapwork. Just introduce me so they’ll know I’m legit and not trying to pull some kind of scam.”
This time it was him that rolled his eyes, or maybe he was just looking to Heaven for some guidance or something. Since neither one of us heard a booming voice from the clouds I presume that Sarge accepted he was on his own. “Ava …”
“Is your memory so short you don’t remember that I don’t like trouble?”
“I remember, but like it or not, you sure do seem to find you some on a regular basis. I’m going to be over at Zealous putting …”
I laughed. “You’re gonna be where?”
“Smart ass,” he grumbled, hiding his own smile. “Zealous Energy. It’s across the street. I know someone over there and hope to get some referrals. And I mean it … behave yourself. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Maurice.”
It took a minute but finally a man I guessed to be about Uncle Henley’s age stared daggers at Sarge and snapped, “Took long enough. I could have sold this stock three times over.”
Taking the lead I said, “Good thing you didn’t since it is already paid for. Here’s a copy of the check just in case it went astray. Why don’t I just get things out of your way so you don’t have to worry about that little ol’ paper mix up.”
“Ava …”
I looked at Sarge and grinned, “Stop growling and go take care of your business. I know how to use a dolly and Mr. Maurice has other customers he needs to get to.”
I summarily ignored both men and started moving the crates and boxes that Aunt Orélie had ordered. It was much larger an order than I expected but I found out why after we got them back to the Big House. Seems the lawyers place a big order about once a month and it is supposed to last until the next order. Aunt Orélie then takes whatever is in the order and preserves what she won’t be using up within the week. I found out what preserving meant the next day but I’m still explaining this one.
“Just let her work Maurice and she’ll stay out of your hair.”
The old man just grumped but thankfully did that very thing. I like to work without a lot of hovering. I mean I’ve got a brain and experience so I don’t need people getting in my hair. I’ve run more dolly loads than I can count. It doesn’t matter much what is in the boxes and containers, they all get loaded and moved about the same way … heavy and wide on bottom to light and small on top.
I will admit that what I loaded wasn’t real interesting to me at the time but I did take notice of it. I’ll even list it in alphabetical order just ‘cause I can. Broccoli, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, collards, kale, lemons, lettuce, mandarins, okra, persimmons, pomegranates, spinach, swiss chard, tangerines, and turnips. Luckily Sarge had parked so that the trailer was in the shade of the building as he was taking longer than I expected. I had everything loaded and was wondering what to do when I realized I’d left a mess where the crates had originally been sitting. Seeing it I grabbed a broom that was leaning inside the door and used a trash can lid like a dustpan and before you know it I had it all swept up.
I was just about to go sit in the truck when this big tourist bus pulls in. It isn’t your traditional tourists like I used to see in Florida, this bus was full of people taking a road trip to do some shopping. Some folks run across the street to the Sonic, some head over to the Super 1 grocery store, even had a couple jog over to a sushi place – I mean who expects to see a honest-to-gawd sushi restaurant in Podunk, Louisiana – but quite a few of them were milling around the produce stand fingering the fruit like they enjoyed the tactile stimulation. And boy were they buying. The bus driver and guide weren’t too happy. It meant making room underneath the bus where the luggage goes and there was already a bunch of stuff down there. I’m not quite sure how it happened but I wound up helping to rearrange suitcases and boxes to fit bags and crates of things without things getting squooshed. When all those people handed me a buck or two apiece before getting back on the bus and pulling away I just looked at the money in my hand before stuffing it in my cargo pants pocket. Easiest seventy bucks I think I’ve ever made.
Maurice was looking at me and all I could come up with was to say, “There are some strange people in this world.”
He said, “Yeah ‘tis … and I guess I’m looking at one. What you help for if you didn’t expect to get paid for it?”
I shrugged. “Do a good turn daily I guess. Um … in your drink case you wouldn’t happen to have Hibiscus Tea would you?”
“As it happens I do. Doesn’t have sugar in it.”
“Even better.” Walking over and looking in the case I pulled out two bottles of Hibiscus Tea and two bottles of lemonade. It meant parting with some of the money in my pocket, but I thought I was due a treat.
“Henley used to drink Hibiscus Tea. I kept it stocked just for him,” said a woman that had been running the register.
“He and Dad used to get my mom to make Hibiscus Lemonade in the summer. They drank it by the gallon.”
“You’re really Henley’s niece then.”
“That’s what my parents told me. Apparently some people don’t believe it.”
She snorted a chuckle. “You Henley’s niece all right.” A little more serious and hesitant she said, “I … was sorry to hear what happened.”
“Me too. He was the last of my family.” Said like that it sounded pathetic, like I was looking for sympathy. It wouldn’t do so I added, “The authorities are supposed to be looking into it.”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Oh Lord, and didn’t I just open my big mouth. Dad! You better come over and tell her.”
“Dad” turned out to be Maurice and he was more than willing to explain, “Wasn’t poachers Sugar. Was drug runners. With the military running the highways, they had to find alternate routes to move their poison. Henley was in town about a week before he was shot making a complaint against some of ‘em. Reckon he’d caught them on his game cameras and had taken the evidence into town.”
“He wouldn’t have happened to mention names did he?”
Maurice was a shrewd man and something must have shown on my face. “No Honey he didn’t. Henley tended to take care of his own business and didn’t share it. But even if he had – and Lord knows enough of us have our suspicions – them people are not something you take on alone. You the kind of girl them wolves would gobble right up.”
“I’m the kind of girl that will stick in their craw like a bone and choke ‘em.” I didn’t go further and Sarge’s return changed the subject, but it was more information than I had and I added it to the case I was building in my head.
Sarge seemed to be in a rush to get away and I gave way to that after asking him to sign the invoice. He stated the obvious by saying, “You already signed it.”
“I did,” I agreed. “But this way those Trust lawyers know someone they already trust is checking my work until they learn to trust me without oversight. Want some tea or lemonade?” I asked pointing to the bag now sitting between my feet.
“No thank you. We got another stop and then we gotta head back.”
I let him drive for a minute before asking, “Did you get the referral you were looking for?”
“Maybe,” he answered thoughtfully. “They have more journeyman electricians than they have work for, but they’re short of master electricians.”
“Which are you?”
“Technically neither right now. I fulfilled my apprenticeship before I was out of high school. I was a journeyman from then until I left home to join the military. I haven’t been an ‘electrician’ since.”
“And?”
“It will be easy to pick back up as a journeyman. I’ve got experience in residential, commercial, and industrial work … just never took the test to get master status. I need to take a state exam before I can officially put it on my license.”
“Then do it,” I said thinking it was a no brainer.
He nodded. “I’m thinking on it, but it has a hefty price tag. Journeyman electricians don’t need a license in this state if the job is for under seventy-five hundred dollars, and that’s most jobs. If I do get my license it is through the Licensing Board of Contractors and there is a bunch more crap on the test than how to wire something up. Got to know all sorts of business stuff, labor laws and a bunch of damn nonsense that has nothing to do with the job itself. However, people with military training get preferential treatment.”
“I remember Dad grouching about the same stuff back home. He said it was stupid complicated, that you even needed a license to dig lint out of your own bellybutton.”
He finally smiled and said, “That’s bad all right.” He sighed, “I’m making a run to the library next week to see if they have a book with what is on the test.”
It gave me a thought. “Can I get a ride when you go? I guess I should find out what the GED takes.”
He nodded, “Sure … and yes you should. But you should be able to study for it online.”
“Do I look like someone that can afford a computer?”
“Well …”
“Deep subject so drop it. And why are we going back a different way?
He understood me to say I didn’t want to talk about the things I didn’t have and said, “We’re going by the Fruit Stand. Auntie wants some weird sweet potatoes she’s been hankering for … they’re white.”
“Sweet potatoes are orange.”
“These ain’t. They’re white. I ain’t sure that should be legal.”
“I saw a blue potato once only it was more purple-y. And I’ve seen purple carrots and yellow ones too.”
“Those should be outlawed too. They ain’t natural. Some of the stuff they used to feed us in the chow line … uh uh.”
I smiled and asked, “And how strange did they think you when you brought up eating crawfish and gator.”
“Welll,” he said with a laugh. “Gator ain’t bad, just gamey if you don’t cook it right. And crawfish are just little lobsters.”
“Said the poor man to the rich,” I told him quoting something my Dad would say. “They’re not lobsters, just oversized shrimp.”
“Lobsters,” he said disagreeing. Swinging into a parking lot he said, “Here we are. C’mon and I’ll get you a Delaware Punch.”
“A whut?” I asked suspiciously.
He chuckled. “It’s a soda you crazy girl.”
“Uh huh. And what does Delaware have to do with Louisiana?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“In other words you don’t know the answer,” I said with a grin.
“Mebee,” he said grinning back.
He’d pulled the door open for us to go into this little hole in the wall called “The Fruit Stand” as a girlish woman comes barreling out and right into Sarge. She jumps back like she’s about to snap in anger, sees who it is, then blares out, “Why Emerick Jeansonne, don’t you look good enough to eat!”
I nearly choke trying not to laugh at the look on Sarge’s face and go into the store to look around while he gets the full treatment from a woman whose name turned out to be Ursula. Yeah, I laughed at that too leaving Sarge to wonder just what my problem was. I mean if you don’t get it it isn’t worth explaining, but Disney villians can be funny. And that woman had plenty of tentacles.
He escaped and found me looking at a bag of butterscotch pecans and wondering if they were worth spending the dollars in my pocket on. I decided no right as Sarge came up behind me and said, “Thanks for nothing.”
I finally get my near giggles under control and nearly lost it completely because of Sarge looking at me funny. “Well you’re in a good mood.”
I told him between hiccups, “It was a pretty good show.”
“Ursula is an … er … old friend.”
“I just bet she is.”
“Smart ass,” he said finally grinning. “Let’s get Auntie’s order and get outta here.”
There was a gruff, “She causing problems?”
There went the sunshine. “Excuse me Sgt. Kramer, I hear a … uh … Delaware Punch calling my name.”
I make my way over to the drink area I the store and there was a guy a couple years younger than me cleaning the front of the coolers. I ask him, “Is this stuff a joke to catch the tourists with or are they drinkable?”
“Drinkable,” he answers. “They’re like a grape soda.”
“Oh. Okay. I …”
“Well if it isn’t Miss Thibodeaux. I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.” I turned and looked and there was Deputy Edgar and a woman, he was in plainclothes and she was in uniform.
“Miss Thibodeaux, this is Trooper Wylene Boudreaux.”
“How do you do ma’am,” I said to be polite.
“Fine thank you. I knew your uncle.” It wasn’t followed by “he was a good man” or anything even close so I gave her more of my attention.
“You did?”
“Hmm.” I wasn’t sure if she was being polite by saying nothing or she was waiting on me to make the first move.
Instead I just nodded and said to Deputy Edgar, “I think I’ve finally read all of those legal papers you left for me. Thank you for the licenses, they already came in handy. Um, who would you suggest I speak with regarding those accounts that are listed on the asset sheet?”
“You haven’t asked Emerick?”
“I try and keep business and personal separate so I don’t become a burden. He’s already helping me find out what I need for a GED.”
“You haven’t finished high school?” he asked like he was surprised. Yeah right. He knew, he was just fishing for some reason.
“The evacuation orders for south Florida got in the way.”
“Welll …”
From behind me I hear, “Deep subject.”
“Hi there Em.”
Sarge nodded at Deputy Edgar then said, “Wylene.”
Ol’ Wylene must have been another friend of Sarge because she gave him the same kinda look someone gives a car they’ve sold to see if it was better than they remember it or worse, and trying to decide whether they made a good decision or not.
“Good to see you up and walking,” she told him.
I’m trying to slide down another aisle when he nonchalantly puts the cart he was pushing in the middle of my getaway.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll tell Aunt Orélie I saw you.”
This time I nearly laughed at the Trooper because she was struggling not to look like she’d bit into a piece of tinfoil covered in powdered alum. The two LEOs go off to pay for what they had in their hands – there is a “to go” restaurant in the back of the store – and I’m still trying not to laugh.
“You little …” Sarge says with a gator growl.
I nearly lose it again and it was like being back home with all my friends when I hear, “Ava … cut the guy a break will ya?”
I’m snorting and chuffing into the crook of my elbow and finally get out, “Hey, do I look like anyone’s wingman?”
“That’s not it and you know it. You did the same thing to me when Cindy Rydell was trying to ask me out to the Sadie Hawkins dance. My gawd.”
“You looked like you were having a good time … at least after you figured out those eyelashes she was wearing were fake and not out to attack you.”
“Grrr …” he said before taking a couple of pseudo-menacing steps in my direction causing me to back up and keep laughing.
“You coulda helped me out,” he said laughing as much as I was.
“Oooh no. You guys can clean up your own messes. I had enough trouble dealing with Charlie when I found out it wasn’t his brother driving us but his grandmother in that old Monte Carlo she drives.”
Zeb went from laughing to dead man sober in a single blink. “Zeb?”
“Charlie … didn’t make it through basic.”
“What are you talking about Zeb. Charlie and Basic Training shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. He was the biggest momma’s boy on the planet and …”
“Even computer geeks have to go through basic Ava.”
“No.”
“Ava ..”
“No! Charlie is a couple of months younger than me. He couldn’t.”
“He … I heard he went in the day he turned.”
“He’s got asthma for gawd’s sake!”
“He didn’t tell them.”
“No! He’s Mom would have … would have …”
“She was real sick. Some kind of neurological disorder … turns out her migraines were for real. Charlie thought if he went in he could get priority medical care for her.”
“No.”
He stepped towards me and I stepped back. “Ava … c’mon.”
“No!” I snap and storm out of the store with Zeb on my tail.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Why didn’t any of you keep me in the loop?! What … what about his family?”
“His mom died a couple of days after Charlie.”
“Probably of a broken heart. He was the only thing she seemed to think important in life. Gawd, do you remember that year we went to Camp Barstow? Charlie forgot his raingear and she drove all the way to South Carolina to bring it to him. She brought all those cookies and gatorades too. You remember when she …?”
I refused to cry in public but it was close. I got ahold of myself and asked, “How did it happen?”
“The story I heard was they were on the firing range and something set off an asthma attack. They didn’t realize he wasn’t fooling around until it was too late. They got him to the hospital but everything just … shut down.”
I wanted to hit something but didn’t want to make more of a scene than I had already made. Instead I asked, “Have we lost anyone else?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?! That’s a hell of a way to say it!”
“Easy Ava. It’s the way things are.”
“Well the way things are suck!”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
I lean against Sarge’s truck and say, “Well from me to you to all the others … and you make sure they hear … they better damn sure fight to stay on this side of the cemetery sod – even on days they don’t feeeel like it – or I will come find them and stomp them hard. You got that?”
“Yeah Ava, I got it. Um … here,” he said handing me a napkin. “You kinda need it.”
“Oh hell no. I do not cry in public.”
Quietly he said, “Sometimes you do. Sometimes we all do.”
I turn away with the napkin and tell him, “Go on. Go. Before you get in trouble.”
“You going to be okay?”
“What choice do I have?” I asked. And really, what choice do I have?
“This doesn’t look like the farmer’s markets I’m used to,” I told Sarge as we pulled up to what I thought was a convenience store.
“Weellll, it’s a market. Different times of year it might be a bit busier. Most of the time this place has outdoor tables with stuff on them. They’ve slowed down for the year right now. The owner is some kind of shirt-tail cousin to Auntie. It is just where she is choosing to do business.”
“Oh, okay. Family helps family. Why didn’t you say so?”
He looked at me and just shook his heat. “Now you listen to me Pistol, don’t go shootin’ off that mouth and catching too much attention. Once Maurice finds out that you are Henley’s niece you might catch a break, you might not. About half the time he and Henley would get a feud on.”
“Why?” I asked, wondering just who Uncle Henley had turned into while I was growing up. Mom used to claim Dad was a “steadying influence” on him. I know he could be wild, but he did get religion for real before moving back here. Did he lose it at some point?
“’Cause Maurice and Henley were courtin’ the same woman until they both decided to give her up when they found out she was playin’ them. It still left some … er …”
“Competition and hard feelings?” I asked rolling my eyes.
Sarge snorted. “You could say that. Now I mean it. I can’t go off and leave you if you’re going to get in fights and what have you. I gotta be able to trust you’ll stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t try and teach your granny to suck eggs. There’s work to be done and I’m the Queen of Crapwork. Just introduce me so they’ll know I’m legit and not trying to pull some kind of scam.”
This time it was him that rolled his eyes, or maybe he was just looking to Heaven for some guidance or something. Since neither one of us heard a booming voice from the clouds I presume that Sarge accepted he was on his own. “Ava …”
“Is your memory so short you don’t remember that I don’t like trouble?”
“I remember, but like it or not, you sure do seem to find you some on a regular basis. I’m going to be over at Zealous putting …”
I laughed. “You’re gonna be where?”
“Smart ass,” he grumbled, hiding his own smile. “Zealous Energy. It’s across the street. I know someone over there and hope to get some referrals. And I mean it … behave yourself. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Maurice.”
It took a minute but finally a man I guessed to be about Uncle Henley’s age stared daggers at Sarge and snapped, “Took long enough. I could have sold this stock three times over.”
Taking the lead I said, “Good thing you didn’t since it is already paid for. Here’s a copy of the check just in case it went astray. Why don’t I just get things out of your way so you don’t have to worry about that little ol’ paper mix up.”
“Ava …”
I looked at Sarge and grinned, “Stop growling and go take care of your business. I know how to use a dolly and Mr. Maurice has other customers he needs to get to.”
I summarily ignored both men and started moving the crates and boxes that Aunt Orélie had ordered. It was much larger an order than I expected but I found out why after we got them back to the Big House. Seems the lawyers place a big order about once a month and it is supposed to last until the next order. Aunt Orélie then takes whatever is in the order and preserves what she won’t be using up within the week. I found out what preserving meant the next day but I’m still explaining this one.
“Just let her work Maurice and she’ll stay out of your hair.”
The old man just grumped but thankfully did that very thing. I like to work without a lot of hovering. I mean I’ve got a brain and experience so I don’t need people getting in my hair. I’ve run more dolly loads than I can count. It doesn’t matter much what is in the boxes and containers, they all get loaded and moved about the same way … heavy and wide on bottom to light and small on top.
I will admit that what I loaded wasn’t real interesting to me at the time but I did take notice of it. I’ll even list it in alphabetical order just ‘cause I can. Broccoli, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, collards, kale, lemons, lettuce, mandarins, okra, persimmons, pomegranates, spinach, swiss chard, tangerines, and turnips. Luckily Sarge had parked so that the trailer was in the shade of the building as he was taking longer than I expected. I had everything loaded and was wondering what to do when I realized I’d left a mess where the crates had originally been sitting. Seeing it I grabbed a broom that was leaning inside the door and used a trash can lid like a dustpan and before you know it I had it all swept up.
I was just about to go sit in the truck when this big tourist bus pulls in. It isn’t your traditional tourists like I used to see in Florida, this bus was full of people taking a road trip to do some shopping. Some folks run across the street to the Sonic, some head over to the Super 1 grocery store, even had a couple jog over to a sushi place – I mean who expects to see a honest-to-gawd sushi restaurant in Podunk, Louisiana – but quite a few of them were milling around the produce stand fingering the fruit like they enjoyed the tactile stimulation. And boy were they buying. The bus driver and guide weren’t too happy. It meant making room underneath the bus where the luggage goes and there was already a bunch of stuff down there. I’m not quite sure how it happened but I wound up helping to rearrange suitcases and boxes to fit bags and crates of things without things getting squooshed. When all those people handed me a buck or two apiece before getting back on the bus and pulling away I just looked at the money in my hand before stuffing it in my cargo pants pocket. Easiest seventy bucks I think I’ve ever made.
Maurice was looking at me and all I could come up with was to say, “There are some strange people in this world.”
He said, “Yeah ‘tis … and I guess I’m looking at one. What you help for if you didn’t expect to get paid for it?”
I shrugged. “Do a good turn daily I guess. Um … in your drink case you wouldn’t happen to have Hibiscus Tea would you?”
“As it happens I do. Doesn’t have sugar in it.”
“Even better.” Walking over and looking in the case I pulled out two bottles of Hibiscus Tea and two bottles of lemonade. It meant parting with some of the money in my pocket, but I thought I was due a treat.
“Henley used to drink Hibiscus Tea. I kept it stocked just for him,” said a woman that had been running the register.
“He and Dad used to get my mom to make Hibiscus Lemonade in the summer. They drank it by the gallon.”
“You’re really Henley’s niece then.”
“That’s what my parents told me. Apparently some people don’t believe it.”
She snorted a chuckle. “You Henley’s niece all right.” A little more serious and hesitant she said, “I … was sorry to hear what happened.”
“Me too. He was the last of my family.” Said like that it sounded pathetic, like I was looking for sympathy. It wouldn’t do so I added, “The authorities are supposed to be looking into it.”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Oh Lord, and didn’t I just open my big mouth. Dad! You better come over and tell her.”
“Dad” turned out to be Maurice and he was more than willing to explain, “Wasn’t poachers Sugar. Was drug runners. With the military running the highways, they had to find alternate routes to move their poison. Henley was in town about a week before he was shot making a complaint against some of ‘em. Reckon he’d caught them on his game cameras and had taken the evidence into town.”
“He wouldn’t have happened to mention names did he?”
Maurice was a shrewd man and something must have shown on my face. “No Honey he didn’t. Henley tended to take care of his own business and didn’t share it. But even if he had – and Lord knows enough of us have our suspicions – them people are not something you take on alone. You the kind of girl them wolves would gobble right up.”
“I’m the kind of girl that will stick in their craw like a bone and choke ‘em.” I didn’t go further and Sarge’s return changed the subject, but it was more information than I had and I added it to the case I was building in my head.
Sarge seemed to be in a rush to get away and I gave way to that after asking him to sign the invoice. He stated the obvious by saying, “You already signed it.”
“I did,” I agreed. “But this way those Trust lawyers know someone they already trust is checking my work until they learn to trust me without oversight. Want some tea or lemonade?” I asked pointing to the bag now sitting between my feet.
“No thank you. We got another stop and then we gotta head back.”
I let him drive for a minute before asking, “Did you get the referral you were looking for?”
“Maybe,” he answered thoughtfully. “They have more journeyman electricians than they have work for, but they’re short of master electricians.”
“Which are you?”
“Technically neither right now. I fulfilled my apprenticeship before I was out of high school. I was a journeyman from then until I left home to join the military. I haven’t been an ‘electrician’ since.”
“And?”
“It will be easy to pick back up as a journeyman. I’ve got experience in residential, commercial, and industrial work … just never took the test to get master status. I need to take a state exam before I can officially put it on my license.”
“Then do it,” I said thinking it was a no brainer.
He nodded. “I’m thinking on it, but it has a hefty price tag. Journeyman electricians don’t need a license in this state if the job is for under seventy-five hundred dollars, and that’s most jobs. If I do get my license it is through the Licensing Board of Contractors and there is a bunch more crap on the test than how to wire something up. Got to know all sorts of business stuff, labor laws and a bunch of damn nonsense that has nothing to do with the job itself. However, people with military training get preferential treatment.”
“I remember Dad grouching about the same stuff back home. He said it was stupid complicated, that you even needed a license to dig lint out of your own bellybutton.”
He finally smiled and said, “That’s bad all right.” He sighed, “I’m making a run to the library next week to see if they have a book with what is on the test.”
It gave me a thought. “Can I get a ride when you go? I guess I should find out what the GED takes.”
He nodded, “Sure … and yes you should. But you should be able to study for it online.”
“Do I look like someone that can afford a computer?”
“Well …”
“Deep subject so drop it. And why are we going back a different way?
He understood me to say I didn’t want to talk about the things I didn’t have and said, “We’re going by the Fruit Stand. Auntie wants some weird sweet potatoes she’s been hankering for … they’re white.”
“Sweet potatoes are orange.”
“These ain’t. They’re white. I ain’t sure that should be legal.”
“I saw a blue potato once only it was more purple-y. And I’ve seen purple carrots and yellow ones too.”
“Those should be outlawed too. They ain’t natural. Some of the stuff they used to feed us in the chow line … uh uh.”
I smiled and asked, “And how strange did they think you when you brought up eating crawfish and gator.”
“Welll,” he said with a laugh. “Gator ain’t bad, just gamey if you don’t cook it right. And crawfish are just little lobsters.”
“Said the poor man to the rich,” I told him quoting something my Dad would say. “They’re not lobsters, just oversized shrimp.”
“Lobsters,” he said disagreeing. Swinging into a parking lot he said, “Here we are. C’mon and I’ll get you a Delaware Punch.”
“A whut?” I asked suspiciously.
He chuckled. “It’s a soda you crazy girl.”
“Uh huh. And what does Delaware have to do with Louisiana?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“In other words you don’t know the answer,” I said with a grin.
“Mebee,” he said grinning back.
He’d pulled the door open for us to go into this little hole in the wall called “The Fruit Stand” as a girlish woman comes barreling out and right into Sarge. She jumps back like she’s about to snap in anger, sees who it is, then blares out, “Why Emerick Jeansonne, don’t you look good enough to eat!”
I nearly choke trying not to laugh at the look on Sarge’s face and go into the store to look around while he gets the full treatment from a woman whose name turned out to be Ursula. Yeah, I laughed at that too leaving Sarge to wonder just what my problem was. I mean if you don’t get it it isn’t worth explaining, but Disney villians can be funny. And that woman had plenty of tentacles.
He escaped and found me looking at a bag of butterscotch pecans and wondering if they were worth spending the dollars in my pocket on. I decided no right as Sarge came up behind me and said, “Thanks for nothing.”
I finally get my near giggles under control and nearly lost it completely because of Sarge looking at me funny. “Well you’re in a good mood.”
I told him between hiccups, “It was a pretty good show.”
“Ursula is an … er … old friend.”
“I just bet she is.”
“Smart ass,” he said finally grinning. “Let’s get Auntie’s order and get outta here.”
There was a gruff, “She causing problems?”
There went the sunshine. “Excuse me Sgt. Kramer, I hear a … uh … Delaware Punch calling my name.”
I make my way over to the drink area I the store and there was a guy a couple years younger than me cleaning the front of the coolers. I ask him, “Is this stuff a joke to catch the tourists with or are they drinkable?”
“Drinkable,” he answers. “They’re like a grape soda.”
“Oh. Okay. I …”
“Well if it isn’t Miss Thibodeaux. I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.” I turned and looked and there was Deputy Edgar and a woman, he was in plainclothes and she was in uniform.
“Miss Thibodeaux, this is Trooper Wylene Boudreaux.”
“How do you do ma’am,” I said to be polite.
“Fine thank you. I knew your uncle.” It wasn’t followed by “he was a good man” or anything even close so I gave her more of my attention.
“You did?”
“Hmm.” I wasn’t sure if she was being polite by saying nothing or she was waiting on me to make the first move.
Instead I just nodded and said to Deputy Edgar, “I think I’ve finally read all of those legal papers you left for me. Thank you for the licenses, they already came in handy. Um, who would you suggest I speak with regarding those accounts that are listed on the asset sheet?”
“You haven’t asked Emerick?”
“I try and keep business and personal separate so I don’t become a burden. He’s already helping me find out what I need for a GED.”
“You haven’t finished high school?” he asked like he was surprised. Yeah right. He knew, he was just fishing for some reason.
“The evacuation orders for south Florida got in the way.”
“Welll …”
From behind me I hear, “Deep subject.”
“Hi there Em.”
Sarge nodded at Deputy Edgar then said, “Wylene.”
Ol’ Wylene must have been another friend of Sarge because she gave him the same kinda look someone gives a car they’ve sold to see if it was better than they remember it or worse, and trying to decide whether they made a good decision or not.
“Good to see you up and walking,” she told him.
I’m trying to slide down another aisle when he nonchalantly puts the cart he was pushing in the middle of my getaway.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll tell Aunt Orélie I saw you.”
This time I nearly laughed at the Trooper because she was struggling not to look like she’d bit into a piece of tinfoil covered in powdered alum. The two LEOs go off to pay for what they had in their hands – there is a “to go” restaurant in the back of the store – and I’m still trying not to laugh.
“You little …” Sarge says with a gator growl.
I nearly lose it again and it was like being back home with all my friends when I hear, “Ava … cut the guy a break will ya?”
I’m snorting and chuffing into the crook of my elbow and finally get out, “Hey, do I look like anyone’s wingman?”
“That’s not it and you know it. You did the same thing to me when Cindy Rydell was trying to ask me out to the Sadie Hawkins dance. My gawd.”
“You looked like you were having a good time … at least after you figured out those eyelashes she was wearing were fake and not out to attack you.”
“Grrr …” he said before taking a couple of pseudo-menacing steps in my direction causing me to back up and keep laughing.
“You coulda helped me out,” he said laughing as much as I was.
“Oooh no. You guys can clean up your own messes. I had enough trouble dealing with Charlie when I found out it wasn’t his brother driving us but his grandmother in that old Monte Carlo she drives.”
Zeb went from laughing to dead man sober in a single blink. “Zeb?”
“Charlie … didn’t make it through basic.”
“What are you talking about Zeb. Charlie and Basic Training shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. He was the biggest momma’s boy on the planet and …”
“Even computer geeks have to go through basic Ava.”
“No.”
“Ava ..”
“No! Charlie is a couple of months younger than me. He couldn’t.”
“He … I heard he went in the day he turned.”
“He’s got asthma for gawd’s sake!”
“He didn’t tell them.”
“No! He’s Mom would have … would have …”
“She was real sick. Some kind of neurological disorder … turns out her migraines were for real. Charlie thought if he went in he could get priority medical care for her.”
“No.”
He stepped towards me and I stepped back. “Ava … c’mon.”
“No!” I snap and storm out of the store with Zeb on my tail.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Why didn’t any of you keep me in the loop?! What … what about his family?”
“His mom died a couple of days after Charlie.”
“Probably of a broken heart. He was the only thing she seemed to think important in life. Gawd, do you remember that year we went to Camp Barstow? Charlie forgot his raingear and she drove all the way to South Carolina to bring it to him. She brought all those cookies and gatorades too. You remember when she …?”
I refused to cry in public but it was close. I got ahold of myself and asked, “How did it happen?”
“The story I heard was they were on the firing range and something set off an asthma attack. They didn’t realize he wasn’t fooling around until it was too late. They got him to the hospital but everything just … shut down.”
I wanted to hit something but didn’t want to make more of a scene than I had already made. Instead I asked, “Have we lost anyone else?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?! That’s a hell of a way to say it!”
“Easy Ava. It’s the way things are.”
“Well the way things are suck!”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
I lean against Sarge’s truck and say, “Well from me to you to all the others … and you make sure they hear … they better damn sure fight to stay on this side of the cemetery sod – even on days they don’t feeeel like it – or I will come find them and stomp them hard. You got that?”
“Yeah Ava, I got it. Um … here,” he said handing me a napkin. “You kinda need it.”
“Oh hell no. I do not cry in public.”
Quietly he said, “Sometimes you do. Sometimes we all do.”
I turn away with the napkin and tell him, “Go on. Go. Before you get in trouble.”
“You going to be okay?”
“What choice do I have?” I asked. And really, what choice do I have?
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you is right.
Chapter 29
Zeb left. I told him to. Wanted him to. I didn’t really want to examine why I was angry at him for doing what I asked him to. When a shadow fell on me I thought it was Sarge. It wasn’t.
“You.”
At the sound of his voice I heard my mother’s voice praying to St. Monica whenever one of us would get on her last nerve. I’m not the sacrilegious sort but I was ready to try the same prayers if it meant getting through what was obviously coming.
I straightened up and turned around. “Is there something I can do for you Sgt. Kramer?”
“I thought I told you to stay away.”
“That’s enough Kramer. You’re out of line.” My hero. Sarge. Gah! I wish they would just all stop. I have to prove I can take care of myself. There isn’t anyone else. If I don’t stand up to Kramer he’s just going to keep coming at me.
“That’s okay Sarge. Sgt. Kramer can’t separate the majority of us females out in the world from the beotches he must normally hang out with.”
“Ava dammit. Don’t make this harder.”
“Seriously, stop running interference for me. I’m not used to it and … and yeah … I know you are just being a sheep dog, but I don’t want to seem like there is more to it than that. It is turning into a habit you don’t need and trouble neither of us wants.” Turning to Kramer I said, “Look, whatever else you think you know about me, forget it ‘cause you don’t know me anymore than I know you. What we do both know is I can’t fight what you could do to me and win. There. I admit it. You can throw me into a refugee camp and make me disappear. You’ve said it and I believe you can do it. But if I can understand that concept you need to understand one too. Whatever hang up you have because of the women you have chosen to have in your life … I am not them. I am me. And I do not do what you are thinking I do. I have guy friends … I do not have guy romantic friends. And it is going to stay that way for however long it takes.”
“And what about this Charlie? Why didn’t you warn him off of basic if he was so weak? Or were you trying to get him to …”
And pop goes the Wesel and Ava’s foot is trying to climb in her mouth. “YOU do not get to ask me about Charlie. Period!”
Zeb suddenly showed up out of nowhere. Another hero I don’t need or want. Obviously he’d heard and he was backing me up. I never fought Zeb. Never. I wanted to right then but I didn’t. Habit I guess.
“Ava? C’mon … lookit me. Breathe. Count. Something for gawd’s sake. You know you hate trouble. C’mon …”
“He doesn’t get to talk about Charlie. Not him!”
“Ava c’mon. Do that counting thing DJ always had you do. Ten, nine, eight …”
“I can count on my own dammit!”
“Then do it!”
I finally got myself under control, but I will still breathing through my nose like a bull that has been stampeding.
I was bent over, hands on my knees, finally getting rid of the ringing in my ears. I heard Sarge asking, “What the hell is going on?”
“Er …”
“Boy spit it out.”
“Sir … I mean Sarge … it’s … it’s kinda a long story. And … it isn’t really my story to tell. I don’t even know all of it. What … what I guess I can say is that Charlie … his … er … father … you know … abused him. That way. It was Ava who found out … who saw it. She kinda … we had just crossed over and … that’s a scout thing … anyway she was still blitzed out about her parents and then getting taken away from her uncle and all. She … she’s got real good aim.”
“She shot the man?!”
“Hell no Sarge,” Zeb yelped. “We were just kids, where the hell would we have gotten a gun?! Not to mention we'd just come back from a weekend camp out. We were cleaning up and catching our rides as they showed up. Charlie had forgotten his mess kit and she washed it and was taking it to him and was hanging some of the other kitchen stuff on a line we strung so they'd dry. She … she saw the guy … you know … feeling Charlie up. That's when Ava let's fly with what she's holding. She got him with the cast iron skillet in our Patrol Box. Was about to throw everything else that was drying on the line. The adults come running from all directions ‘cause she’s screaming and … and Charlie just kind of idolized her from that point on. See the thing is … was … that Charlie … he was a real high functioning autistic. Never medicated. And smart as hell when it came to electronic things, especially phones and computers. But hardly anything else just didn’t compute … especially social stuff … except for his close family. And Charlie’s mom … she was real protective. She wouldn’t let Charlie go camping or anything else unless Ava was there. I guess you know that … well about midway through our Junior year the place where Ava lived got shut down, eventually Ava had to change schools and … and Charlie kinda freaked out for a while but then he was okay because … I guess he finally reached a level of maturity because he had to. And … Ava’s right. He never should have gotten into basic. None of us know how he pulled it off unless it was his ASVABs. If they were high enough they were probably willing to overlook other stuff.”
I hear Kramer sneer, “That’s some story.”
“It’s not a story Sgt. Kramer. We were a tight crew. Ava looked after all of us at least once. There was one time on the Chattooga that one of our first years … you know, just crossed over to scouts from cubbies - that wasn’t a strong swimmer got swept out of the raft. Before any of us – including the guide – can make a move Ava is out of the raft and grabs him and takes most of the rocks in that set of rapids rather than let the little guy hit them. They keep going down river until they get to a calm spot where we could pull them back in. Ava was banged to hell and back but refused to show it. Made the little guy get back in the raft first and said it was like riding a horse, you fall off you get back on. He figures he’s hot snot after that ‘cause she spends the rest of the river trip talking him up and … you know how it can be. Next morning we wake up to find that they’d taken Ava to the nearest hospital. She’d cracked two ribs and bruised a kidney; no telling what would have happened to the little guy if she hadn’t protected him.”
I growl, “Knock it off. It’s ancient history.”
“It isn’t,” he said. “Did you tell them you got the lifesaving and meritorious award for going into that burning building and getting those kids out?”
“Will you shut up on my business already?!”
“No. Because it is worth telling. You just won’t because you couldn’t save Pinocchio.”
And just like that I wanted to smash something. “You got a damn big mouth Zeb.”
“It’s not your fault Ava. You have to stop blaming yourself because Rich couldn’t tell the truth if his life depended on it … and that time it did. And Charlie isn’t your fault. None of the bad things have been your fault.”
“Zeb!”
“I’m right here Ava. You don’t need to yell. And no, I’m not going to shut up. I …”
Then we all heard a female voice drawl, “I’m sure this is all very interesting but the Colonel would like to get back to his quarters. And Sgt. Kramer … I need a word with you when we get there.”
All three of the men who’d just been getting on my last nerve were standing stiff and saluting. “Yes Ma’am Major Broadhurst Ma’am,” belts Zeb before heading off at a trot and even Kramer loses some of his Eye of the Tiger look and heads off smartly as the woman turns after a nod to Sarge.
I follow her with my eyes and finally say, “I think I know what I’d like to be when I grow up.”
Sarge growls and says, “Oh no you don’t. Too many rules to follow. Find you something with a little more scope to it.” And that’s when I remember I’ve got something to be embarrassed about.
“I’ll walk back.”
“No you won’t. Besides, I promised you a Delaware Punch.”
“I … er … don’t think …”
“Then don’t think. Just do. C’mon. Help me grab the order then we’ll go. If I know Auntie she’s gonna have us both runnin’ as soon as we get back. Not going to be any time to take five then, so we do it now.
#####
Everything was loaded and Sarge pulled out only to pull us into a parking lot a little ways down the road.
“Here. Drink your Punch. It’s good for you.”
“If my luck holds true it’s going to give me zits.”
“No it won’t. It’ll be these Zapps you gonna help me eat.”
“What in the heck is a zap?”
“Potato chip smart ass. Bes’ damn chips on the planet. Here,” he said opening the bag and shaking it at me.
I gotta admit, they are pretty good. So, I’m sitting there eating chips and drinking a grape soda thinking that I dodged a discussion when I find out I’m wrong.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No. To all parts that you did or did not hear. Drop it.”
“Uh uh.” But he doesn’t say anything until he eats another chip. “So I’m in the presence of a hero huh.”
“No! I am not! I mean you’re not! And they forced that award on me during a surprise ceremony or I would have told them what they could do with it. Dammit. I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done. Why’d they felt it necessary to make all that fuss I don’t know.”
“Such as? And don’t count on being able to ignore me. I’ll pester the piss out o’ you until you tell me.”
“Oh my lord. Fine,” I snap realizing I’ve likely met my match when it comes to pig headedness. “Whatever. It’s … look, I had special privileges at the group home. I’d earned the right to work and depending on where it was I could bike or take the city bus … or both if the route had a bus with a bike carrier on the front. So long as I was home by eleven I kept the privilege. But I also had to be quiet because lights out was 9 pm at the group home, for most everyone anyway. We had to get up by five so usually, once they got used to it no one complained. It was routine. Anyway, I had a special key that let me in through the security gate and into any of the exterior doors. I’m trudging down the drive and I spot what I thought was a light on in the Kinder building. I’m thinking oh crap, Damaris the Dragon is going to take all their weekend privileges until they turn eighteen so I go over there to tell them to turn it off before they get in trouble.”
“I take it that it wasn’t a light on.”
“No. We’d had nearly an entire van of new kids the previous week and it turns out one of them is a firebug. He’d run some kind of homemade accelerant – like napalm kinda – all over the floor in their common room and around most of the windows and doors. I found that out when the fire extinguisher wouldn’t put it out. And he’d dosed the cocoa they’d had with the meds he shoulda been taking. They were all knocked out including Damaris and Don … they were the house parents for the Kinder dorms. I got in using my key and started pulling fire alarms … look, anyone would have done it.”
“What did you do?”
“I told you I pulled fire alarms.”
“After that.”
“Who says …”
“Ava, you don’t get a special award for just pulling a fire alarm.”
“Gawd you are so dang nosey. Look … the fire cut off the exit so I busted windows and tossed the kids outside. Other caretakers had come running by then but I was already in so … I just … you know … did it. The kids were no big deal. Damaris and Don were the hardest ‘cause they weren’t exactly what you would call small people but by then the fire department had showed up. The end. Enough already. Zeb and his big, fat mouth.”
Thankfully he didn’t say anything and we finished the chips and the drinks and after a minute he looks at his watch and says, “Time to get back to work.”
I wanted to shout, Thank you Jesus! But all I need is to get caught being sacrilegious like that so I kept my mouth shut. And I hope everyone else does too. I’d already made quite a fool of myself as it was.
Zeb left. I told him to. Wanted him to. I didn’t really want to examine why I was angry at him for doing what I asked him to. When a shadow fell on me I thought it was Sarge. It wasn’t.
“You.”
At the sound of his voice I heard my mother’s voice praying to St. Monica whenever one of us would get on her last nerve. I’m not the sacrilegious sort but I was ready to try the same prayers if it meant getting through what was obviously coming.
I straightened up and turned around. “Is there something I can do for you Sgt. Kramer?”
“I thought I told you to stay away.”
“That’s enough Kramer. You’re out of line.” My hero. Sarge. Gah! I wish they would just all stop. I have to prove I can take care of myself. There isn’t anyone else. If I don’t stand up to Kramer he’s just going to keep coming at me.
“That’s okay Sarge. Sgt. Kramer can’t separate the majority of us females out in the world from the beotches he must normally hang out with.”
“Ava dammit. Don’t make this harder.”
“Seriously, stop running interference for me. I’m not used to it and … and yeah … I know you are just being a sheep dog, but I don’t want to seem like there is more to it than that. It is turning into a habit you don’t need and trouble neither of us wants.” Turning to Kramer I said, “Look, whatever else you think you know about me, forget it ‘cause you don’t know me anymore than I know you. What we do both know is I can’t fight what you could do to me and win. There. I admit it. You can throw me into a refugee camp and make me disappear. You’ve said it and I believe you can do it. But if I can understand that concept you need to understand one too. Whatever hang up you have because of the women you have chosen to have in your life … I am not them. I am me. And I do not do what you are thinking I do. I have guy friends … I do not have guy romantic friends. And it is going to stay that way for however long it takes.”
“And what about this Charlie? Why didn’t you warn him off of basic if he was so weak? Or were you trying to get him to …”
And pop goes the Wesel and Ava’s foot is trying to climb in her mouth. “YOU do not get to ask me about Charlie. Period!”
Zeb suddenly showed up out of nowhere. Another hero I don’t need or want. Obviously he’d heard and he was backing me up. I never fought Zeb. Never. I wanted to right then but I didn’t. Habit I guess.
“Ava? C’mon … lookit me. Breathe. Count. Something for gawd’s sake. You know you hate trouble. C’mon …”
“He doesn’t get to talk about Charlie. Not him!”
“Ava c’mon. Do that counting thing DJ always had you do. Ten, nine, eight …”
“I can count on my own dammit!”
“Then do it!”
I finally got myself under control, but I will still breathing through my nose like a bull that has been stampeding.
I was bent over, hands on my knees, finally getting rid of the ringing in my ears. I heard Sarge asking, “What the hell is going on?”
“Er …”
“Boy spit it out.”
“Sir … I mean Sarge … it’s … it’s kinda a long story. And … it isn’t really my story to tell. I don’t even know all of it. What … what I guess I can say is that Charlie … his … er … father … you know … abused him. That way. It was Ava who found out … who saw it. She kinda … we had just crossed over and … that’s a scout thing … anyway she was still blitzed out about her parents and then getting taken away from her uncle and all. She … she’s got real good aim.”
“She shot the man?!”
“Hell no Sarge,” Zeb yelped. “We were just kids, where the hell would we have gotten a gun?! Not to mention we'd just come back from a weekend camp out. We were cleaning up and catching our rides as they showed up. Charlie had forgotten his mess kit and she washed it and was taking it to him and was hanging some of the other kitchen stuff on a line we strung so they'd dry. She … she saw the guy … you know … feeling Charlie up. That's when Ava let's fly with what she's holding. She got him with the cast iron skillet in our Patrol Box. Was about to throw everything else that was drying on the line. The adults come running from all directions ‘cause she’s screaming and … and Charlie just kind of idolized her from that point on. See the thing is … was … that Charlie … he was a real high functioning autistic. Never medicated. And smart as hell when it came to electronic things, especially phones and computers. But hardly anything else just didn’t compute … especially social stuff … except for his close family. And Charlie’s mom … she was real protective. She wouldn’t let Charlie go camping or anything else unless Ava was there. I guess you know that … well about midway through our Junior year the place where Ava lived got shut down, eventually Ava had to change schools and … and Charlie kinda freaked out for a while but then he was okay because … I guess he finally reached a level of maturity because he had to. And … Ava’s right. He never should have gotten into basic. None of us know how he pulled it off unless it was his ASVABs. If they were high enough they were probably willing to overlook other stuff.”
I hear Kramer sneer, “That’s some story.”
“It’s not a story Sgt. Kramer. We were a tight crew. Ava looked after all of us at least once. There was one time on the Chattooga that one of our first years … you know, just crossed over to scouts from cubbies - that wasn’t a strong swimmer got swept out of the raft. Before any of us – including the guide – can make a move Ava is out of the raft and grabs him and takes most of the rocks in that set of rapids rather than let the little guy hit them. They keep going down river until they get to a calm spot where we could pull them back in. Ava was banged to hell and back but refused to show it. Made the little guy get back in the raft first and said it was like riding a horse, you fall off you get back on. He figures he’s hot snot after that ‘cause she spends the rest of the river trip talking him up and … you know how it can be. Next morning we wake up to find that they’d taken Ava to the nearest hospital. She’d cracked two ribs and bruised a kidney; no telling what would have happened to the little guy if she hadn’t protected him.”
I growl, “Knock it off. It’s ancient history.”
“It isn’t,” he said. “Did you tell them you got the lifesaving and meritorious award for going into that burning building and getting those kids out?”
“Will you shut up on my business already?!”
“No. Because it is worth telling. You just won’t because you couldn’t save Pinocchio.”
And just like that I wanted to smash something. “You got a damn big mouth Zeb.”
“It’s not your fault Ava. You have to stop blaming yourself because Rich couldn’t tell the truth if his life depended on it … and that time it did. And Charlie isn’t your fault. None of the bad things have been your fault.”
“Zeb!”
“I’m right here Ava. You don’t need to yell. And no, I’m not going to shut up. I …”
Then we all heard a female voice drawl, “I’m sure this is all very interesting but the Colonel would like to get back to his quarters. And Sgt. Kramer … I need a word with you when we get there.”
All three of the men who’d just been getting on my last nerve were standing stiff and saluting. “Yes Ma’am Major Broadhurst Ma’am,” belts Zeb before heading off at a trot and even Kramer loses some of his Eye of the Tiger look and heads off smartly as the woman turns after a nod to Sarge.
I follow her with my eyes and finally say, “I think I know what I’d like to be when I grow up.”
Sarge growls and says, “Oh no you don’t. Too many rules to follow. Find you something with a little more scope to it.” And that’s when I remember I’ve got something to be embarrassed about.
“I’ll walk back.”
“No you won’t. Besides, I promised you a Delaware Punch.”
“I … er … don’t think …”
“Then don’t think. Just do. C’mon. Help me grab the order then we’ll go. If I know Auntie she’s gonna have us both runnin’ as soon as we get back. Not going to be any time to take five then, so we do it now.
#####
Everything was loaded and Sarge pulled out only to pull us into a parking lot a little ways down the road.
“Here. Drink your Punch. It’s good for you.”
“If my luck holds true it’s going to give me zits.”
“No it won’t. It’ll be these Zapps you gonna help me eat.”
“What in the heck is a zap?”
“Potato chip smart ass. Bes’ damn chips on the planet. Here,” he said opening the bag and shaking it at me.
I gotta admit, they are pretty good. So, I’m sitting there eating chips and drinking a grape soda thinking that I dodged a discussion when I find out I’m wrong.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No. To all parts that you did or did not hear. Drop it.”
“Uh uh.” But he doesn’t say anything until he eats another chip. “So I’m in the presence of a hero huh.”
“No! I am not! I mean you’re not! And they forced that award on me during a surprise ceremony or I would have told them what they could do with it. Dammit. I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done. Why’d they felt it necessary to make all that fuss I don’t know.”
“Such as? And don’t count on being able to ignore me. I’ll pester the piss out o’ you until you tell me.”
“Oh my lord. Fine,” I snap realizing I’ve likely met my match when it comes to pig headedness. “Whatever. It’s … look, I had special privileges at the group home. I’d earned the right to work and depending on where it was I could bike or take the city bus … or both if the route had a bus with a bike carrier on the front. So long as I was home by eleven I kept the privilege. But I also had to be quiet because lights out was 9 pm at the group home, for most everyone anyway. We had to get up by five so usually, once they got used to it no one complained. It was routine. Anyway, I had a special key that let me in through the security gate and into any of the exterior doors. I’m trudging down the drive and I spot what I thought was a light on in the Kinder building. I’m thinking oh crap, Damaris the Dragon is going to take all their weekend privileges until they turn eighteen so I go over there to tell them to turn it off before they get in trouble.”
“I take it that it wasn’t a light on.”
“No. We’d had nearly an entire van of new kids the previous week and it turns out one of them is a firebug. He’d run some kind of homemade accelerant – like napalm kinda – all over the floor in their common room and around most of the windows and doors. I found that out when the fire extinguisher wouldn’t put it out. And he’d dosed the cocoa they’d had with the meds he shoulda been taking. They were all knocked out including Damaris and Don … they were the house parents for the Kinder dorms. I got in using my key and started pulling fire alarms … look, anyone would have done it.”
“What did you do?”
“I told you I pulled fire alarms.”
“After that.”
“Who says …”
“Ava, you don’t get a special award for just pulling a fire alarm.”
“Gawd you are so dang nosey. Look … the fire cut off the exit so I busted windows and tossed the kids outside. Other caretakers had come running by then but I was already in so … I just … you know … did it. The kids were no big deal. Damaris and Don were the hardest ‘cause they weren’t exactly what you would call small people but by then the fire department had showed up. The end. Enough already. Zeb and his big, fat mouth.”
Thankfully he didn’t say anything and we finished the chips and the drinks and after a minute he looks at his watch and says, “Time to get back to work.”
I wanted to shout, Thank you Jesus! But all I need is to get caught being sacrilegious like that so I kept my mouth shut. And I hope everyone else does too. I’d already made quite a fool of myself as it was.
Old Gray Mare
TB Fanatic
Growing up we didn't send up a quick prayer of intercession to St. Monica. At our house, it was St. Jude who got the memo. He's the patron saint of hopeless causes and possibly my patron saint. 
Kathy that's what I love about your stories. It's so easy to identify with your characters. Thank you.
Kathy that's what I love about your stories. It's so easy to identify with your characters. Thank you.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
Siskiyoumom
Veteran Member
Sgt. Kramer will get his just reward! Please!
Chapter 30
“Sure thing Aunt Orelie!”
“Coming Aunt Orelie!”
“Yes ma’am Aunt Orelie!”
Good freaking grief. When Sarge warned me that Auntie could get a little bit … whatever the heck you call it … wanting things yesterday or sooner or faster … he sure as heck wasn’t kidding. The rest of Tuesday she had me totting and carrying and lifting and tugging and cutting and slicing and lots of other stuff that I can just barely remember. I know there was lunch, lunch clean up, supper prep, supper, supper clean up but there was also moving and prepping all of the fresh stuff so that it would fit in the freezers and ice boxes along with all of the stuff that was already there and in the pantry.
She also had me getting out and cleaning what she called canning equipment. And I wish someone would explain to me why they call it canning when you use jars, not cans. I nearly got the nerve up to ask Auntie a couple of times but then I’d get a look at that determined gleam in her eyes and nope, uh uh. Contrary to appearances I do have some sense of self-preservation. By the time she turned me loose to head back to my room I was too tired to do much more than regret that I’d promised myself that I’d do some more of Uncle Henley’s boxes.
I must have had a plague sign around my neck because people saw me coming and they found some place else to be. I can’t say it didn’t hurt but I’ve learned how to fake it so that people don’t know how much it hurts. I’d already cried once in public that day, I was absolutely not going to let it happen again.
Ha! Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha! Good thing the guys with the straight jacket weren’t around to see me trying to control myself as I emptied the boxes. Gawd. First box was full of old memories, and not particularly pleasant ones. A stoneware crock, a brass school bell that was Granmere’s great grandmother’s who was a teacher before she married, and a couple of glass milk bottles that Granmere had kept for sentimental reasons. I remember the stoneware crock because I accidentally turned it over during one visit and got covered in some very disgusting liquid. Lucky for me the sauerkraut that had been in the crock had already been emptied or there would have been heck to pay. I could say the accident wasn’t my fault, it was one of Granmere’s cats … but even back then I was stubborn when it came to people saying I lied. That cat hated me … and loved Lalli. Maybe it just picked up on my own jealousy. I’m old enough and mature enough to remember how I sometimes felt back then. But it also makes me feel bad because fate never gave me time to grow up … for any of us to grow up … before past transgression were covered in concrete and there was no way to fix them. You don’t think of that when you are a kid and adults never think to warn you because the idea of you dying before them is something most can’t handle.
The bell was just one of those things. Family history. I was a little kid and it just didn’t mean much to me and I didn’t have the sense to pretend it did. And that old lady held it against me I guess. Or so it feels even now. I just didn’t understand what it was like back then, to have nothing and no one and making your way in the world the best you can even at the cost of your own pride. I sure as heck do now, maybe better than Granmere. The nasty part of me was tempted to chuck that bell. The part that is growing up told the part that is still immature to get over it and that one day I might just be glad of that bell.
Those glass milk bottles are a reminder of the stories Granmere told of how things used to be in her parents’ day, of how poor she was after her first husband died, and how if it wasn’t for Pa-pere I might not even be here because the state almost took Dad and his siblings away and that it was Pa-pere that stole them and her away to the swamp where it is safe. That if we left the swamp and wasn’t careful maybe someone would come take me away. Looking back I know they were just stories made up by a lonely old woman to try and get us to behave, or to encourage us to stay with her, but hindsight is 20/20 and those stories used to give me nightmares for a while after my family was killed. And wouldn’t you know Uncle Henley would keep these damn family keepsakes and I have too little left of my family to have the nerve to chuck the stuff in the dumpster.
Gah. Life completely sucks.
But then again, maybe not completely. The other two boxes held more practical things. One was so heavy I didn’t know what it could be. Turns out it was full of cast iron cookware. Good stuff too. Definitely used and cleaned right. And nondescript enough they could have belonged to anyone except for on piece that had Pa-pere’s mark. It is a little skillet he kept on the porch for knocking his ash from his pipe into. There was a couple of chainmail scrubbers in with them so I knew I’d be able to keep them in the shape they are supposed to be kept in.
Last box I did Tuesday night held some jugs of lantern fuel – some plain, some colored, and some with citronella in it – as well as two liquid fuel lamps that ran on it. One was super plain and practical. That one I sat on the countertop in my room. The other was so pretty and ornate that I knew it had to be an antique, reminded me of the one that used to hang in Granmere’s “parlor,” the room I was never allowed in. Only special visitors and adults went in that room, not little girls who walked like an elephant in the old wooden house and made everything shake and jingle. The year Pa-pere died his casket had been set up in that room and I wasn’t even allowed in then. I never tried to go in again.
Lalli used to try and get to me and say it was because Pa-pere’s ghost was in there. DJ knew the real reason … I was mad, just plain mad. I had loved Pa-pere and wanted to say goodbye. Even though I was young I understood dead and not coming back – I had a puppy die when a neighbor’s dog had got it and pulled it through the fence. Mom had been horrified when she found out Dad had let me help bury it and plant a flower bed over the burying place in the back corner of the yard. But it helped me understand that life and death weren’t just abstract concepts. And it helped me to understand why God must have let the pup die rather than give me time to doctor it or take it to the vet. It also let me say my own goodbye. I was mad for a long time that I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to Pa-pere. Geez, the things that pop up and ‘cause you nightmares out of leftfield after you think you’ve dealt with them.
I almost accidentally on purpose dropped the lantern and then said to myself, “Ava, you don’t know for sure that this is the same oil lamp. Could be a different one. Could even be one that Pa-pere fixed up. Don’t be stupid and let your emotions run over your common sense.” But just like some of the other stuff I’m discovering in the damn boxes, I’m not ready to deal with that lamp so it is wrapped up and put away until I am … assuming I ever am. Seems at the rate life is throwing crap at me it isn’t going to be first in first out, but whack-a-mole at whatever crap is sticking its head up and in my way at any given time.
I finally got to sleep that night but it wasn’t the deep sleep of the innocent. I felt guilty for things that I shouldn’t have, and didn’t for things I know I should have. Next morning I was glad to have the pitcher of water and basin to try and find some human before I faced the rest of my species. I snuck out quiet and headed to the Big House.
“Girl, you feeling okay?”
I thought about lying but didn’t want to set my feet down that path. “Going through Uncle Henley’s boxes sometimes brings up things that …” I shrugged, unable to find the words to convey enough without revealing too much.
She nodded slowly then said, “It’s like a bandaid Sugar. Doesn’t necessarily matter how fast or slow you take it off, it’s still gonna hurt. When you get to my age you’ll have gone through it what you think is a few too many times. But, work will cure what ails you, or so Henley said enough times with enough gusto I’m pretty sure he believed it. Pretty sure I do too.”
I stretched and decided to put my best foot forward and said, “I definitely believe it so point me in the direction of what you need me to do right now, and list off the things you need me to finish before the day is over.”
She explained her plan for breakfast then said, “Today is the day that man is to come do the lawn. You may have to go sort something out but then again I’m hoping not. I want you here in the kitchen helping me and Adelle to preserve all this food we’ve been prepping. If we lose the ‘lectric for some reason it’ll be a disaster. I want everything out of the ice box and freezers. We’re overdue and if something happens, Emerick isn’t around to fix it and I know we’ve got a breaker going bad.”
“Sarge … I mean Em … isn’t here?”
“Nope. Just left to see his Momma and he’ll be there through Thanksgiving and the weekend. He wasn’t looking happy about it but there’s just things you can’t put off. Speaking of, you have Thursday through Sunday afternoon free. Got your pay from the lawyers when I went to my appointment. They’ve also approved letting me ordering in some supplies for the old place so long as you agree to do the work as part of your normal pay and check over this place for termites and the like. You good with that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. But that’ll have to wait for next week. Today our focus is food.”
“Prepping for Thanksgiving?”
“No,” she said and there was a whole lot of thankfulness in that single syllable. “The soldiers are all going off to some party or other they’re having over at the festival grounds. Fabrice and I will be eating with the family.” Under her breath I heard her mutter, “God give me patience.” Louder she said, “You’ve got yourself a couple of real days off to do with as you wish. How’s that for luck? Now let’s get busy.”
After telling myself how much I hated the holidays I sure didn’t have room to complain about having time off, especially not with a paycheck waiting on me. Plus I had things to do … but not until after I got through the day in front of me.
“Sure thing Aunt Orelie!”
“Coming Aunt Orelie!”
“Yes ma’am Aunt Orelie!”
Good freaking grief. When Sarge warned me that Auntie could get a little bit … whatever the heck you call it … wanting things yesterday or sooner or faster … he sure as heck wasn’t kidding. The rest of Tuesday she had me totting and carrying and lifting and tugging and cutting and slicing and lots of other stuff that I can just barely remember. I know there was lunch, lunch clean up, supper prep, supper, supper clean up but there was also moving and prepping all of the fresh stuff so that it would fit in the freezers and ice boxes along with all of the stuff that was already there and in the pantry.
She also had me getting out and cleaning what she called canning equipment. And I wish someone would explain to me why they call it canning when you use jars, not cans. I nearly got the nerve up to ask Auntie a couple of times but then I’d get a look at that determined gleam in her eyes and nope, uh uh. Contrary to appearances I do have some sense of self-preservation. By the time she turned me loose to head back to my room I was too tired to do much more than regret that I’d promised myself that I’d do some more of Uncle Henley’s boxes.
I must have had a plague sign around my neck because people saw me coming and they found some place else to be. I can’t say it didn’t hurt but I’ve learned how to fake it so that people don’t know how much it hurts. I’d already cried once in public that day, I was absolutely not going to let it happen again.
Ha! Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha! Good thing the guys with the straight jacket weren’t around to see me trying to control myself as I emptied the boxes. Gawd. First box was full of old memories, and not particularly pleasant ones. A stoneware crock, a brass school bell that was Granmere’s great grandmother’s who was a teacher before she married, and a couple of glass milk bottles that Granmere had kept for sentimental reasons. I remember the stoneware crock because I accidentally turned it over during one visit and got covered in some very disgusting liquid. Lucky for me the sauerkraut that had been in the crock had already been emptied or there would have been heck to pay. I could say the accident wasn’t my fault, it was one of Granmere’s cats … but even back then I was stubborn when it came to people saying I lied. That cat hated me … and loved Lalli. Maybe it just picked up on my own jealousy. I’m old enough and mature enough to remember how I sometimes felt back then. But it also makes me feel bad because fate never gave me time to grow up … for any of us to grow up … before past transgression were covered in concrete and there was no way to fix them. You don’t think of that when you are a kid and adults never think to warn you because the idea of you dying before them is something most can’t handle.
The bell was just one of those things. Family history. I was a little kid and it just didn’t mean much to me and I didn’t have the sense to pretend it did. And that old lady held it against me I guess. Or so it feels even now. I just didn’t understand what it was like back then, to have nothing and no one and making your way in the world the best you can even at the cost of your own pride. I sure as heck do now, maybe better than Granmere. The nasty part of me was tempted to chuck that bell. The part that is growing up told the part that is still immature to get over it and that one day I might just be glad of that bell.
Those glass milk bottles are a reminder of the stories Granmere told of how things used to be in her parents’ day, of how poor she was after her first husband died, and how if it wasn’t for Pa-pere I might not even be here because the state almost took Dad and his siblings away and that it was Pa-pere that stole them and her away to the swamp where it is safe. That if we left the swamp and wasn’t careful maybe someone would come take me away. Looking back I know they were just stories made up by a lonely old woman to try and get us to behave, or to encourage us to stay with her, but hindsight is 20/20 and those stories used to give me nightmares for a while after my family was killed. And wouldn’t you know Uncle Henley would keep these damn family keepsakes and I have too little left of my family to have the nerve to chuck the stuff in the dumpster.
Gah. Life completely sucks.
But then again, maybe not completely. The other two boxes held more practical things. One was so heavy I didn’t know what it could be. Turns out it was full of cast iron cookware. Good stuff too. Definitely used and cleaned right. And nondescript enough they could have belonged to anyone except for on piece that had Pa-pere’s mark. It is a little skillet he kept on the porch for knocking his ash from his pipe into. There was a couple of chainmail scrubbers in with them so I knew I’d be able to keep them in the shape they are supposed to be kept in.
Last box I did Tuesday night held some jugs of lantern fuel – some plain, some colored, and some with citronella in it – as well as two liquid fuel lamps that ran on it. One was super plain and practical. That one I sat on the countertop in my room. The other was so pretty and ornate that I knew it had to be an antique, reminded me of the one that used to hang in Granmere’s “parlor,” the room I was never allowed in. Only special visitors and adults went in that room, not little girls who walked like an elephant in the old wooden house and made everything shake and jingle. The year Pa-pere died his casket had been set up in that room and I wasn’t even allowed in then. I never tried to go in again.
Lalli used to try and get to me and say it was because Pa-pere’s ghost was in there. DJ knew the real reason … I was mad, just plain mad. I had loved Pa-pere and wanted to say goodbye. Even though I was young I understood dead and not coming back – I had a puppy die when a neighbor’s dog had got it and pulled it through the fence. Mom had been horrified when she found out Dad had let me help bury it and plant a flower bed over the burying place in the back corner of the yard. But it helped me understand that life and death weren’t just abstract concepts. And it helped me to understand why God must have let the pup die rather than give me time to doctor it or take it to the vet. It also let me say my own goodbye. I was mad for a long time that I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to Pa-pere. Geez, the things that pop up and ‘cause you nightmares out of leftfield after you think you’ve dealt with them.
I almost accidentally on purpose dropped the lantern and then said to myself, “Ava, you don’t know for sure that this is the same oil lamp. Could be a different one. Could even be one that Pa-pere fixed up. Don’t be stupid and let your emotions run over your common sense.” But just like some of the other stuff I’m discovering in the damn boxes, I’m not ready to deal with that lamp so it is wrapped up and put away until I am … assuming I ever am. Seems at the rate life is throwing crap at me it isn’t going to be first in first out, but whack-a-mole at whatever crap is sticking its head up and in my way at any given time.
I finally got to sleep that night but it wasn’t the deep sleep of the innocent. I felt guilty for things that I shouldn’t have, and didn’t for things I know I should have. Next morning I was glad to have the pitcher of water and basin to try and find some human before I faced the rest of my species. I snuck out quiet and headed to the Big House.
“Girl, you feeling okay?”
I thought about lying but didn’t want to set my feet down that path. “Going through Uncle Henley’s boxes sometimes brings up things that …” I shrugged, unable to find the words to convey enough without revealing too much.
She nodded slowly then said, “It’s like a bandaid Sugar. Doesn’t necessarily matter how fast or slow you take it off, it’s still gonna hurt. When you get to my age you’ll have gone through it what you think is a few too many times. But, work will cure what ails you, or so Henley said enough times with enough gusto I’m pretty sure he believed it. Pretty sure I do too.”
I stretched and decided to put my best foot forward and said, “I definitely believe it so point me in the direction of what you need me to do right now, and list off the things you need me to finish before the day is over.”
She explained her plan for breakfast then said, “Today is the day that man is to come do the lawn. You may have to go sort something out but then again I’m hoping not. I want you here in the kitchen helping me and Adelle to preserve all this food we’ve been prepping. If we lose the ‘lectric for some reason it’ll be a disaster. I want everything out of the ice box and freezers. We’re overdue and if something happens, Emerick isn’t around to fix it and I know we’ve got a breaker going bad.”
“Sarge … I mean Em … isn’t here?”
“Nope. Just left to see his Momma and he’ll be there through Thanksgiving and the weekend. He wasn’t looking happy about it but there’s just things you can’t put off. Speaking of, you have Thursday through Sunday afternoon free. Got your pay from the lawyers when I went to my appointment. They’ve also approved letting me ordering in some supplies for the old place so long as you agree to do the work as part of your normal pay and check over this place for termites and the like. You good with that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. But that’ll have to wait for next week. Today our focus is food.”
“Prepping for Thanksgiving?”
“No,” she said and there was a whole lot of thankfulness in that single syllable. “The soldiers are all going off to some party or other they’re having over at the festival grounds. Fabrice and I will be eating with the family.” Under her breath I heard her mutter, “God give me patience.” Louder she said, “You’ve got yourself a couple of real days off to do with as you wish. How’s that for luck? Now let’s get busy.”
After telling myself how much I hated the holidays I sure didn’t have room to complain about having time off, especially not with a paycheck waiting on me. Plus I had things to do … but not until after I got through the day in front of me.
Texican
Live Free & Die Free.... God Freedom Country....
Kathy,
Posting a chapter today at 12:03 am is very kind of you....
Ava has grown up to fast and definitely needs friends that will help her with her journey thru life....
You bring a lot of joy and a little sadness with "AVA" which mirrors life.
Thank you.
Texican....
Posting a chapter today at 12:03 am is very kind of you....
Ava has grown up to fast and definitely needs friends that will help her with her journey thru life....
You bring a lot of joy and a little sadness with "AVA" which mirrors life.
Thank you.
Texican....
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Nice find today, thank you.
Chapter 31
Oh my lord, it was like having two aunties giving me instructions in both ears at the same time and I had to remember everything and in what order to do them in and for who. On the other hand, I got all the scraps of food and I’m starting to save up for just in case. It seems the prudent thing to do as a bonafide adult. Getting fed as part of my pay is good and all, but there are still going to be times I need to take care of myself. I’ll never forget the lessons I learned during the evacuation. I never want to be in that position again.
Momma LeBlanc … Adelle only to her closest age-mates … is a woman that can be feisty but she can also be quiet and watchful. Kinda creepy until I realized it wasn’t against me personally, she just wanted to figure me out for herself based on my actions and not the words of others. I could appreciate that so I let her, as much as I would let any stranger, get to know me. Not that I really had much chance otherwise because Aunt Orélie was being a pistol and I had to dig up a lot of patience I wouldn’t normally bother digging up.
“Girl, didn’t I tell you last night to chop up all these vegetables?!”
“Yes ma’am and I did … except for the ones you told me to hold back for the week ahead. I cleaned and put that bunch in a separate location from the stuff I chopped up for today.”
“Don’t sass. It’s unbecoming.”
I had to bite my tongue on asking unbecoming of what. Something must have showed on my face though because Mr. Julius had just come to the back door asking for me and I could see his skinny shoulders shaking under his work shirt.
“Yes Mr. Julius?”
“Tib says he’ll be bringing your deer by this afternoon. It’s finished at the processor.”
I drawled, “And what is Tib gonna want for that favor?”
Mr. Julius wheezed out a laugh and told me, “Just feed the boy somethin’ and he’ll likely wonder what ye’re be wanting. He’ll take off quick after that rather than risk findin’ out.”
I made a face and he laughed some more and in a tone that must have surprised her told Auntie that he’d have the front lawn finished shortly and did she want him to keep Fabrice outside when he arrived home from school.
When she got her breath she said just as civilly back to him, “If you wouldn’t mind it would be a kindness. You know how he is after a visit.”
I caught a concerned look, quickly hidden, as Mr. Julius remarked, “I do. Shame too. He’s been a lot better since he started staying with you.”
Well at that Aunt Orélie looked about ready to drop her teeth in the cabbage she was shredded.
Momma LeBlanc stared at her brother’s back then looked at Auntie and asked, “What’s he up to now?”
“Have no idee. He’s been like this ever since she went hunting with the men.” She being me that she pointed at with a wicked looking paring knife making me wonder if I needed to run.
Momma LeBlanc then gives me a steely eyed look and asked, “You put a gris gris on my brother?”
“Have I put a whut?”
Then her face straightens out and she laughs. “Never mind. Obvious you haven’t. But whatever you have been doing, keep it up. ‘Bought time Orélie and I had some help with all these useless mens. And they gets more useless every year. Give me one of them bags of okra. I think we need to pickle some of these. Jars look low in the pantry and that surprises me.”
I snorted a laugh and Aunt Orélie finally gets the gobsmacked look off her face and laughs too. “Seems Ava here has taught them young boys all about pickled okra and now they beg so sweet that I just can’t tell ‘em no.”
Momma LeBlanc raised an eyebrow and asked, “Like pickled okra do you?”
“Yes ma’am. I used to …” It was a bittersweet memory.
“Used to?” Obviously my shrug wasn’t a sufficient answer for the her.
“Pa-pere … my dad’s stepdad … and I would eat them when we went fishing. When I was real little.” I shrugged again. It had been a long time since I’d had them until I spotted them in the pantry the previous night and asked if I could have some before I’d thought about it.
I’d taken them out on the back porch of the Old House to eat them to make myself feel better. Or replace thinking of good memories for the hard ones. And Zeb found me there and before I thought about it I dared him to eat one. If you’ve ever seen a pickled okra you know they look kinda like an aborted science experiment covered in snot. And most people have trouble swallowing them because their texture can be slimy. Well Zeb was used to me daring him and the crew into trying some of the most confounded things … and then them finding out it wouldn’t kill them and they could turn around and tease other people with it. Pickled pigs’ feet was another one of those things. So were frog legs and squirrel.
Some of the Privates placed bets – which I thought was stupid but whatever – whether Zeb would be able to keep it down. Of course he did. And then some of the other of them had to try it and I didn’t’ know it until afterwards but they snuck back over to the Big House and bribed Auntie for another jar and she sent over three and … we sat on that back porch eating Pickled Okra and popcorn until the bugs drove us back in. And I come in to find out the Junior Officers had gotten wind of it and couldn’t be out dared by a bunch of lowly Privates and soon enough everyone in the house had been eating Pickled Okra and popcorn. Sgt. Kramer was one of the last and I kept my distance from him … and luckily him from me. Is this what they call detente? Or is it the quiet before the storm. Got reason to believe that it could be either one.
After Auntie and Momma LeBlanc were over laughing at “the boys and what all they get up to” we really got down to business and I learned that it might be called “canning” instead of “jarring” but it was all good and preserving is something I’m going to start looking into.
Broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, and okra got pickled. Cabbage was put in jars and called “canned slaw.” It also got made into sauerkraut. Carrots got cut in spears and nickels and canned that way, some plain and some sweet. Collards, kale, chard, and spinach got canned like most people buy it frozen. I like spinach – good thing since we had to eat it a lot at the group home – so I figure the others can’t be too bad. Turnips we canned both the green tops and the round roots. Momma LeBlanc canned some broccoli as an ingredient for quiches and soup.
“It don’t come out as pretty as when you freeze it Sugar, it but it lasts longer,” she told me. “You should writ it down.”
It took me a minute to figure out she wasn’t just talking, but encouraging me to do what she said. I did indeed “writ” it down along with a lot of other things that I had ideas about. One of these days I hope to have a real place of my own even if it is just an apartment over someone’s garage or behind someone’s utility room. When that happens, I’m going to need to be able to feed myself on the cheap but I don’t necessarily want to feel like I’m having to eat cheap. This canning stuff just may help me out.
After the veggies there was only fruit left. The lemons I’d been squeezing for a bunch of things … like juice to add to the veggies to bring the acid level up, juice to save for some other time that it was needed, and then a canned lemonade base that they said would get used by the gallon when the heat started back up. They also preserved whole lemons though they said they weren’t doing as many as usual as salt was a rationed commodity. Tangerines and mandarins were peeled and broken down into parts and canned with juice, kinda like fruit cocktail with only orange segments in them.
The pomegranates were a little nerve-racking. Seriously. Who knew a fruit could come close to causing a mini breakdown? You have to get them open without splitting all the seeds or spilling them all over the place (that was fun, not). The seeds are where the juice actually is. They “let” me help … translation they gave me all the grunt work and hovered while I did it. We made pomegranate jelly, and pomegranate syrup which is the same thing as what is in the bottle of that stuff called grenadine.
About the only thing I know about grenadine is it is what they use to make Shirley Temples with. You can drink it in boozy drinks too, however I guess that falls under the heading of nothing I need to know about right now. Or so those two old ladies declared … with a capital declaration. Man oh man, like I’m interested in getting blitzed at some party and getting “taken advantage of.” I don’t know who they think I am but I’m not Serafine that’s for dang sure. And who says I want to know all the TMI they were spewing about their family members … especially that Serafine. She’s not that much older than me but apparently she gets around if you know what I mean. And let me tell you it was not a treat to listen to two olderish ladies discussing someone’s sex life. The who. The when. The where?! Oh my gawd. Uhhhh … no. Just no.
I’ve seen too many girls both in and out of the system pull that kind of stupid. Not the old ladies, I mean girls/women like Serafine. Lalli could be boy crazy but she wasn’t just plain crazy. Mom would have fixed that real fast, and Dad would have fixed the boy … permanently. Like the Vet did a neighborhood cat when he wouldn’t stop marking his scent and stinking up our front porch welcome mat. All Dad would say is, “One down, a harem of huzzies to go.” I decided a long time ago that kind of stupid wasn’t for me. Just complete and total nope. I eventually got over having to prove to people I wasn’t a belt notch away from changing my mind. You either take me as I am … or don’t. Your choice, not my problem.
The persimmons were the last thing we messed with and great googly moogly, they were nearly as much trouble as the pomegranates. First you have to sort them into good and bad. The “bad” ones are the ones too smashed and going off and luckily for Maurice there weren’t too many of those. The “good” ones got washed and capped and put into this thing called a food mill. To me it looks like a hand-cranked grater but what it does is smoosh the fruit down through this thing that slices them and then forces it through small holes at the bottom. What’s left is a “pulp” with all of the skins and seeds removed. For every three gallons of fruit that was put through the food mill, we wound up with 12 cups of pulp. My arm is sore as all get out. There’s also a lot of waste left over and Momma LeBlanc takes that home to her chickens. I carried bags of that stuff out to Mr. Julius’ truck and it seems the chickens get more of the persimmons than we did. What they did with the persimmon pulp was stuff like persimmon butter, persimmon jam, and just plain pulp since it gets used in other recipes as is. They froze some bags of the pulp too since we were hip deep in other stuff during the second half of the day.
We did all of this “preserving” and “canning” through lunch – PoBoys and sweet potato fries – and then I ran smack into Tib bringing a lot more meat than I expected. Not only had the deer finished at the processor but the two hogs were done and cut up too … with the rangers and processor taking their cut but it was still more than would fit into the freezers. I gave Tib a roll of sausage and some bacon to keep his mouth shut and a PoBoy of fried shrimp for doing the hauling. Mr. Julius was right, he took off like a bat out of hell when he started wondering what I wanted in return. What a hoot.
Rather helpless I looked at the ladies. “I have no idea what to do with this. But you tell me and I’ll do it.”
They wanted the story of where it came from and Auntie rolled her eyes. “Ain’t that just like Em to forget to tell the whole tale. Well, let’s see. We’ll use the ribs for supper if Julius will stay long enough to cook ‘em for us outside. He can take home some in exchange. The sausage can just stay in the back freezer. Adelle?”
“The hams and shoulders I’ll take home and hang in the smokehouse. I’ve got nearly a herd that need to come out and be divided up to who they belong to so there’ll be room. If I were you I’d take these roasts and cut them up into stew meat and can that up and then take the ground, brown it up and set it aside ‘til you can make you up some soups and such. Make it go futher to my way of thinking.”
Auntie nodded and said, “Sounds like a plan I can get behind.”
Argh! I wasn’t that tired after biking 30+ miles in a day. And worse, I’d looked at what the inside of a pig looked at so much I wasn’t in the mood to eat any meat and normally nothing comes between me and a good pork rib, not even BBQ sauce. Auntie laughed and sent me off with the remnants of all the veggies and fruits we’d worked on (including the citrus peel I dug out of the garbage) and told me to eat ‘em up over the next couple of days. I took them with gratitude but I wasn’t planning on eating them, at least not right that moment.
Oh my lord, it was like having two aunties giving me instructions in both ears at the same time and I had to remember everything and in what order to do them in and for who. On the other hand, I got all the scraps of food and I’m starting to save up for just in case. It seems the prudent thing to do as a bonafide adult. Getting fed as part of my pay is good and all, but there are still going to be times I need to take care of myself. I’ll never forget the lessons I learned during the evacuation. I never want to be in that position again.
Momma LeBlanc … Adelle only to her closest age-mates … is a woman that can be feisty but she can also be quiet and watchful. Kinda creepy until I realized it wasn’t against me personally, she just wanted to figure me out for herself based on my actions and not the words of others. I could appreciate that so I let her, as much as I would let any stranger, get to know me. Not that I really had much chance otherwise because Aunt Orélie was being a pistol and I had to dig up a lot of patience I wouldn’t normally bother digging up.
“Girl, didn’t I tell you last night to chop up all these vegetables?!”
“Yes ma’am and I did … except for the ones you told me to hold back for the week ahead. I cleaned and put that bunch in a separate location from the stuff I chopped up for today.”
“Don’t sass. It’s unbecoming.”
I had to bite my tongue on asking unbecoming of what. Something must have showed on my face though because Mr. Julius had just come to the back door asking for me and I could see his skinny shoulders shaking under his work shirt.
“Yes Mr. Julius?”
“Tib says he’ll be bringing your deer by this afternoon. It’s finished at the processor.”
I drawled, “And what is Tib gonna want for that favor?”
Mr. Julius wheezed out a laugh and told me, “Just feed the boy somethin’ and he’ll likely wonder what ye’re be wanting. He’ll take off quick after that rather than risk findin’ out.”
I made a face and he laughed some more and in a tone that must have surprised her told Auntie that he’d have the front lawn finished shortly and did she want him to keep Fabrice outside when he arrived home from school.
When she got her breath she said just as civilly back to him, “If you wouldn’t mind it would be a kindness. You know how he is after a visit.”
I caught a concerned look, quickly hidden, as Mr. Julius remarked, “I do. Shame too. He’s been a lot better since he started staying with you.”
Well at that Aunt Orélie looked about ready to drop her teeth in the cabbage she was shredded.
Momma LeBlanc stared at her brother’s back then looked at Auntie and asked, “What’s he up to now?”
“Have no idee. He’s been like this ever since she went hunting with the men.” She being me that she pointed at with a wicked looking paring knife making me wonder if I needed to run.
Momma LeBlanc then gives me a steely eyed look and asked, “You put a gris gris on my brother?”
“Have I put a whut?”
Then her face straightens out and she laughs. “Never mind. Obvious you haven’t. But whatever you have been doing, keep it up. ‘Bought time Orélie and I had some help with all these useless mens. And they gets more useless every year. Give me one of them bags of okra. I think we need to pickle some of these. Jars look low in the pantry and that surprises me.”
I snorted a laugh and Aunt Orélie finally gets the gobsmacked look off her face and laughs too. “Seems Ava here has taught them young boys all about pickled okra and now they beg so sweet that I just can’t tell ‘em no.”
Momma LeBlanc raised an eyebrow and asked, “Like pickled okra do you?”
“Yes ma’am. I used to …” It was a bittersweet memory.
“Used to?” Obviously my shrug wasn’t a sufficient answer for the her.
“Pa-pere … my dad’s stepdad … and I would eat them when we went fishing. When I was real little.” I shrugged again. It had been a long time since I’d had them until I spotted them in the pantry the previous night and asked if I could have some before I’d thought about it.
I’d taken them out on the back porch of the Old House to eat them to make myself feel better. Or replace thinking of good memories for the hard ones. And Zeb found me there and before I thought about it I dared him to eat one. If you’ve ever seen a pickled okra you know they look kinda like an aborted science experiment covered in snot. And most people have trouble swallowing them because their texture can be slimy. Well Zeb was used to me daring him and the crew into trying some of the most confounded things … and then them finding out it wouldn’t kill them and they could turn around and tease other people with it. Pickled pigs’ feet was another one of those things. So were frog legs and squirrel.
Some of the Privates placed bets – which I thought was stupid but whatever – whether Zeb would be able to keep it down. Of course he did. And then some of the other of them had to try it and I didn’t’ know it until afterwards but they snuck back over to the Big House and bribed Auntie for another jar and she sent over three and … we sat on that back porch eating Pickled Okra and popcorn until the bugs drove us back in. And I come in to find out the Junior Officers had gotten wind of it and couldn’t be out dared by a bunch of lowly Privates and soon enough everyone in the house had been eating Pickled Okra and popcorn. Sgt. Kramer was one of the last and I kept my distance from him … and luckily him from me. Is this what they call detente? Or is it the quiet before the storm. Got reason to believe that it could be either one.
After Auntie and Momma LeBlanc were over laughing at “the boys and what all they get up to” we really got down to business and I learned that it might be called “canning” instead of “jarring” but it was all good and preserving is something I’m going to start looking into.
Broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, and okra got pickled. Cabbage was put in jars and called “canned slaw.” It also got made into sauerkraut. Carrots got cut in spears and nickels and canned that way, some plain and some sweet. Collards, kale, chard, and spinach got canned like most people buy it frozen. I like spinach – good thing since we had to eat it a lot at the group home – so I figure the others can’t be too bad. Turnips we canned both the green tops and the round roots. Momma LeBlanc canned some broccoli as an ingredient for quiches and soup.
“It don’t come out as pretty as when you freeze it Sugar, it but it lasts longer,” she told me. “You should writ it down.”
It took me a minute to figure out she wasn’t just talking, but encouraging me to do what she said. I did indeed “writ” it down along with a lot of other things that I had ideas about. One of these days I hope to have a real place of my own even if it is just an apartment over someone’s garage or behind someone’s utility room. When that happens, I’m going to need to be able to feed myself on the cheap but I don’t necessarily want to feel like I’m having to eat cheap. This canning stuff just may help me out.
After the veggies there was only fruit left. The lemons I’d been squeezing for a bunch of things … like juice to add to the veggies to bring the acid level up, juice to save for some other time that it was needed, and then a canned lemonade base that they said would get used by the gallon when the heat started back up. They also preserved whole lemons though they said they weren’t doing as many as usual as salt was a rationed commodity. Tangerines and mandarins were peeled and broken down into parts and canned with juice, kinda like fruit cocktail with only orange segments in them.
The pomegranates were a little nerve-racking. Seriously. Who knew a fruit could come close to causing a mini breakdown? You have to get them open without splitting all the seeds or spilling them all over the place (that was fun, not). The seeds are where the juice actually is. They “let” me help … translation they gave me all the grunt work and hovered while I did it. We made pomegranate jelly, and pomegranate syrup which is the same thing as what is in the bottle of that stuff called grenadine.
About the only thing I know about grenadine is it is what they use to make Shirley Temples with. You can drink it in boozy drinks too, however I guess that falls under the heading of nothing I need to know about right now. Or so those two old ladies declared … with a capital declaration. Man oh man, like I’m interested in getting blitzed at some party and getting “taken advantage of.” I don’t know who they think I am but I’m not Serafine that’s for dang sure. And who says I want to know all the TMI they were spewing about their family members … especially that Serafine. She’s not that much older than me but apparently she gets around if you know what I mean. And let me tell you it was not a treat to listen to two olderish ladies discussing someone’s sex life. The who. The when. The where?! Oh my gawd. Uhhhh … no. Just no.
I’ve seen too many girls both in and out of the system pull that kind of stupid. Not the old ladies, I mean girls/women like Serafine. Lalli could be boy crazy but she wasn’t just plain crazy. Mom would have fixed that real fast, and Dad would have fixed the boy … permanently. Like the Vet did a neighborhood cat when he wouldn’t stop marking his scent and stinking up our front porch welcome mat. All Dad would say is, “One down, a harem of huzzies to go.” I decided a long time ago that kind of stupid wasn’t for me. Just complete and total nope. I eventually got over having to prove to people I wasn’t a belt notch away from changing my mind. You either take me as I am … or don’t. Your choice, not my problem.
The persimmons were the last thing we messed with and great googly moogly, they were nearly as much trouble as the pomegranates. First you have to sort them into good and bad. The “bad” ones are the ones too smashed and going off and luckily for Maurice there weren’t too many of those. The “good” ones got washed and capped and put into this thing called a food mill. To me it looks like a hand-cranked grater but what it does is smoosh the fruit down through this thing that slices them and then forces it through small holes at the bottom. What’s left is a “pulp” with all of the skins and seeds removed. For every three gallons of fruit that was put through the food mill, we wound up with 12 cups of pulp. My arm is sore as all get out. There’s also a lot of waste left over and Momma LeBlanc takes that home to her chickens. I carried bags of that stuff out to Mr. Julius’ truck and it seems the chickens get more of the persimmons than we did. What they did with the persimmon pulp was stuff like persimmon butter, persimmon jam, and just plain pulp since it gets used in other recipes as is. They froze some bags of the pulp too since we were hip deep in other stuff during the second half of the day.
We did all of this “preserving” and “canning” through lunch – PoBoys and sweet potato fries – and then I ran smack into Tib bringing a lot more meat than I expected. Not only had the deer finished at the processor but the two hogs were done and cut up too … with the rangers and processor taking their cut but it was still more than would fit into the freezers. I gave Tib a roll of sausage and some bacon to keep his mouth shut and a PoBoy of fried shrimp for doing the hauling. Mr. Julius was right, he took off like a bat out of hell when he started wondering what I wanted in return. What a hoot.
Rather helpless I looked at the ladies. “I have no idea what to do with this. But you tell me and I’ll do it.”
They wanted the story of where it came from and Auntie rolled her eyes. “Ain’t that just like Em to forget to tell the whole tale. Well, let’s see. We’ll use the ribs for supper if Julius will stay long enough to cook ‘em for us outside. He can take home some in exchange. The sausage can just stay in the back freezer. Adelle?”
“The hams and shoulders I’ll take home and hang in the smokehouse. I’ve got nearly a herd that need to come out and be divided up to who they belong to so there’ll be room. If I were you I’d take these roasts and cut them up into stew meat and can that up and then take the ground, brown it up and set it aside ‘til you can make you up some soups and such. Make it go futher to my way of thinking.”
Auntie nodded and said, “Sounds like a plan I can get behind.”
Argh! I wasn’t that tired after biking 30+ miles in a day. And worse, I’d looked at what the inside of a pig looked at so much I wasn’t in the mood to eat any meat and normally nothing comes between me and a good pork rib, not even BBQ sauce. Auntie laughed and sent me off with the remnants of all the veggies and fruits we’d worked on (including the citrus peel I dug out of the garbage) and told me to eat ‘em up over the next couple of days. I took them with gratitude but I wasn’t planning on eating them, at least not right that moment.
AlaskaSue
North to the Future
As a died-in-the-wool Alaskan I have to vouch long-distance for pickled okra...more's the pity it cannot grow up here. But two of my cousins are farm wives in Kansas...they and their grown daughters all put up a lot of food - and one of my favorites of theirs that I get to take home is their pickled okra (right up there with their sand-plum preserves). Not that I can keep much of it for myself, as everyone wants me to share! Loved the chapter Kathy, thank you so much!
Loved the chapter Kathy, thank you so much!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.