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Show Blue Run/51 careful. Then he climbed in and we almost all went under. When O.W. was on board, we all sat quiet for a minute, the sun filtering through the trees. A flock of geese passed overhead in a big V, there feathers all lit up and shining like angel's wings Daddy said, "Knock'em out, John," and fired up the Mercury A low branch slapped O.W. when we turned into the channel. "Goddamn it" "Sorry Charley," Daddy said, that Stepwell grin. And that was that. If the men didn't exactly hit if off, they tolerated each other. O W , Daddy no doubt knew, was not somebody to mess with. He'd make Joey a father and Buddy'd never dare come around, I believe my daddy knew this. Daddy'd never bought Buddy Washer's load of crap, he'd seen through him up front and I'd married against his wishes. He'll do, what my daddy said That night we ate a king's feast, roast mallard with gravy and dirty rice, turnips steeped in butter and bread crumb and purple hull peas Ruby'd canned herself. I was pregnant with Jimmy, gorging for two. The men got snockered on bourbon and played poker on the big wooden table. The fire burned all night while they told their hunt stories and their waders hung upside down leaking blood. 1966 rolled in, us all singing dance all night, dance a little longer out under a haloed moon that predicted snow. And it did snow-six inches on New Year's Day. Stepwells tradition necessitates going outside barefoot on morning's like this, don't ask me why. All my life, it's been Daddy and Uncle Waylow dancing around whatever clapboard renthouse we're living in. MaMa Stepwell, my grandmother even, the snow curling her hair. And |
