blowing up against their windows—that, and the welcome sound of the giant maintainer in their driveway.
As I did my work, trying to properly grade the road, thoughtsof Thorne and his proposition turned over in my mind, though Mr. Fisher’s reaction gave me second thoughts. Still, what harm would it do if I got a couple of bottles for Thorne? If I didn’t, he would find someone else to get them for him. If I did, maybe I could get Tucker back.
On this, my third full day on the job, I worked straight through lunch, pulling off bits of my sandwich as I watched the road, and by 3:00 that afternoon, I was a little ahead of schedule.
If I went west six miles and two miles north to Crossing Trails, maybe I could get the road cleared for the dairy truck, but there was Mrs. Slater to worry about, so I decided not to risk it. She lived to the east, so I headed the maintainer in her direction, pushing snow out of the way as I went.
I had my eyes open, wondering if fate might put Tom Turner in my path. Like most people looking for trouble, I quickly learned that it is seldom hard to find.
There was no answer when I knocked on Mrs. Slater’s door, and I wondered if she was staying with neighbors. After knocking again and waiting, I circled around the house and tried to look in some windows. I could see Mrs. Slater, who lived alone, lying on her sofa. Considering the medicine more important than her nap, I rapped on the window. She stirred and turned her head to the noise but didn’t get up, so I rapped again. She looked confused.
I went around to the back door, which was unlocked. I stepped inside.
“Mrs. Slater. It’s George McCray. I have your medicine.”
“Please come here.” Her voice was weak, like she was sick.
I found Mrs. Slater perspiring despite the cold, and a little shaky.
“Do you have my insulin?”
Digging into my pocket, I gave her the small glass vials. “Yes, right here.”
“Thank goodness you made it. I was all out.”
After inoculating herself, she said she was feeling better. I went out to the maintainer and brought her back some milk and other groceries and promised that either my grandfather or I would look in on her again soon. She gave me a big hug and just would not stop thanking me.
As I made my way home on the maintainer, coming from the other direction, I noticed an overturned mailbox sticking out of the snow and a remnant of a driveway—more of a dirt trail and one I’d never noticed before. Then I saw the black lettering on the mailbox, U R N E R . This was it. A long lane wandered off the county road and up a hill covered in timber and brush. I was to clear all the driveways and this looked like a driveway to me. I backed up the maintainer and slowly climbed Blackberry Hill, moving snow as I went.
Chapter 23
AT THE TOP of a hill was a trailer, set amid a tangle of steel barrels, tires, and junky-looking car fenders protruding from beneath the deep snow in the front yard. I turned the maintainer around and sat for a second, trying to get up my nerve to either get out and go to the door or just put the maintainer in second and head back down the hill. Before I could decide, an old man came banging out the door, two scrawny black-and-tan coon dogs on his heels. Wild Tom Turner wore filthy jeans and cowboy boots, and spat brown tobacco juice into the white snow.
As he approached, I turned the engine down to idle and opened the door of the maintainer, staying put in the cab. He looked up at me, as if he were sizing me up.
“My name is George McCray. My grandfather asked me to check in and make sure you were all right. If you need food, I’ve got milk and groceries to tide you over.”
He smiled shrewdly, flashing yellow-stained teeth, seemingly pleased to be getting something for free. “Neighborly of you, son.”
“Also, wanted to ask if you could stay off the roads for therest of today and tomorrow. We’re going to try to clear one lane first for emergency traffic.
As I did my work, trying to properly grade the road, thoughtsof Thorne and his proposition turned over in my mind, though Mr. Fisher’s reaction gave me second thoughts. Still, what harm would it do if I got a couple of bottles for Thorne? If I didn’t, he would find someone else to get them for him. If I did, maybe I could get Tucker back.
On this, my third full day on the job, I worked straight through lunch, pulling off bits of my sandwich as I watched the road, and by 3:00 that afternoon, I was a little ahead of schedule.
If I went west six miles and two miles north to Crossing Trails, maybe I could get the road cleared for the dairy truck, but there was Mrs. Slater to worry about, so I decided not to risk it. She lived to the east, so I headed the maintainer in her direction, pushing snow out of the way as I went.
I had my eyes open, wondering if fate might put Tom Turner in my path. Like most people looking for trouble, I quickly learned that it is seldom hard to find.
There was no answer when I knocked on Mrs. Slater’s door, and I wondered if she was staying with neighbors. After knocking again and waiting, I circled around the house and tried to look in some windows. I could see Mrs. Slater, who lived alone, lying on her sofa. Considering the medicine more important than her nap, I rapped on the window. She stirred and turned her head to the noise but didn’t get up, so I rapped again. She looked confused.
I went around to the back door, which was unlocked. I stepped inside.
“Mrs. Slater. It’s George McCray. I have your medicine.”
“Please come here.” Her voice was weak, like she was sick.
I found Mrs. Slater perspiring despite the cold, and a little shaky.
“Do you have my insulin?”
Digging into my pocket, I gave her the small glass vials. “Yes, right here.”
“Thank goodness you made it. I was all out.”
After inoculating herself, she said she was feeling better. I went out to the maintainer and brought her back some milk and other groceries and promised that either my grandfather or I would look in on her again soon. She gave me a big hug and just would not stop thanking me.
As I made my way home on the maintainer, coming from the other direction, I noticed an overturned mailbox sticking out of the snow and a remnant of a driveway—more of a dirt trail and one I’d never noticed before. Then I saw the black lettering on the mailbox, U R N E R . This was it. A long lane wandered off the county road and up a hill covered in timber and brush. I was to clear all the driveways and this looked like a driveway to me. I backed up the maintainer and slowly climbed Blackberry Hill, moving snow as I went.
Chapter 23
AT THE TOP of a hill was a trailer, set amid a tangle of steel barrels, tires, and junky-looking car fenders protruding from beneath the deep snow in the front yard. I turned the maintainer around and sat for a second, trying to get up my nerve to either get out and go to the door or just put the maintainer in second and head back down the hill. Before I could decide, an old man came banging out the door, two scrawny black-and-tan coon dogs on his heels. Wild Tom Turner wore filthy jeans and cowboy boots, and spat brown tobacco juice into the white snow.
As he approached, I turned the engine down to idle and opened the door of the maintainer, staying put in the cab. He looked up at me, as if he were sizing me up.
“My name is George McCray. My grandfather asked me to check in and make sure you were all right. If you need food, I’ve got milk and groceries to tide you over.”
He smiled shrewdly, flashing yellow-stained teeth, seemingly pleased to be getting something for free. “Neighborly of you, son.”
“Also, wanted to ask if you could stay off the roads for therest of today and tomorrow. We’re going to try to clear one lane first for emergency traffic.
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