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Show page 165 The boys rushed off. To them Annie was the witch of our town. Thev were afraid of her. Her severe admonitions left them whitefaced. On many occasions, with strange, frustrated fears in t h e i r chests, they had sworn to get even with her, without once considering themselves at fault. Annie shuffled toward her house with Holder's suitcase. Holder followed, appraising her. Annie was more tightwound than anyone he had ever seen. He wondered why she was like she was, why the degrading name Moonshine Annie. Annie preceded Holder into a musty and shadedrawn room, a room that had not been occupied for years. Holder could smell the sourness of mothballs and the staleness of roadheavy dust. He stood near a rusty heater while Annie patted at her shapeless dress and jumped from shade to shade l e t t i n g light cannonade into the long unused room. She flapped the last shade to a s t a n d s t i l l, came to the big Ironposter bed, threw back faded spread with a sweep of authority, revealing yellowish muslin sheets and the long-undisturbed imprint of the mattress cloves. She looked at Holder, caught the blandness of his country face, plunged her arms into the mattress unrestrainedly, wild and gleeful. She bounced while t e s t i n g the springs. Her stringy hair flew backward and forward, as though she were using a long washboard. "Ben, I'm glad you came, boy. You getting the cheapest room in t h i s town, three dollars a week because you're a Holder. You getting t h e same bed my son slept in, Ben. Eight, no, ten years ago. Look here, Ben. Oh, heaven, I ' v e heard so much about you, how you managed those boys up at t h a t summer camp. I t ' s a shame jobs Ukytfaat^doiTt l a s t ^' |
