Page 4 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

Bailey Rae could already imagine the headline in next week’sBent Oak Weekly:Pig Stages Protest at Hot Dog Stand.

She’d had more than her fair share of experiences with the feral pigs that wandered out of the woods to tear up Winnie’s garden. Usually, they meandered off on their own. Unless agitated. No doubt, those boys had agitated the piss right out of this beast.

Her heart rate kicked up a notch.

At the other end of the field, the cop car doors swung wide. Two officers piled out, tossing aside their snow cones as they sprinted past stalls and toward the teens. The police shouted a jumble of commands: “Don’t do it, boys ... Everybody stay back ... Somebody find the game warden ...”

With a whoop, the camo-clad duo opened the kennel before scrambling to safety on top of the truck cab. The pig—a.k.a. Angry Wilbur—launched out of his cage and soared over the tailgate. He hit the ground, tumbling and squealing.

Drawing all eyes in his direction.

Not. Good. Bailey Rae’s pulse slugged harder as she searched for the fastest path to load Libby back into the safety of the minivan.

Skeeter came to life in a roll of gangly hound legs, shooting out from his shady spot under the pickup. He tipped back his head and howled. Every ounce of hound dog in his mixed DNA roared to life, his baying battle cry piercing the air.

The wild pig—or maybe it was a hog, she didn’t intend to get close enough to identify—made a slow turn in their direction. Skeeter and Wilbur locked eyes across the distance. The hog’s were beady. Skeeter narrowed his glacier-blue eye.

Outright terror for Skeeter and the three vulnerable women kicked her feet into high gear.

“Skeeter, stay!” Bailey Rae ordered, lunging to grab his collar, not trusting the strength of his tether. “Where is that game warden?”

Not in her wildest dreams would she have imagined praying for the new game warden’s help. That man had been a spur in her side since writing her a ticket for fishing without a license—on her own land. He’d informed her that while the land was hers, the water and fish were under the state’s purview.

Andriiiiip. He’d torn off her ticket.

A ticket she still needed to pay. Or had he just given her a warning? She really shouldn’t have stuffed it to the back of her kitchen junk drawer in a fit of irritation.

Down by the 4-H booth, an engine roared to life just before a truck peeled out across the field. The muddy black pickup sported a SCDNR logo—South Carolina Department of Natural Resources. Tires chewed up the earth as the game warden drove straight toward the wild pig charging onto the field. Cloven hooves plowed the earth as the beast upended a table of watermelons and toppled the garden club’s flower sale.

The pickup bore down, closer, until only a couple feet shy of hitting the pig, the game warden blared his sirens and laid on the horn. Startling the pig. Angry Wilbur turned into Confused Wilbur. Accelerating, the truck took tight turns like a horse herding cattle, guiding the pig away from the crowd and into the woods.

Seconds later, three gunshots echoed from the tree line.

The stampeding crowd froze for a heartbeat, then burst into a round of applause for the hero of the day before melting right back into their setting up and shopping. Another normal day in Bent Oak.

Thea dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief. “Wild pigs can be eaten if cooked properly.”

Legs wobbly, Bailey Rae sank down beside Skeeter. “Is the councilman planning to dig a trench for a pig pickin’ party?”

Thea looked over the rims of her glasses. “Someone needs to let Game Warden Perez know there are a couple of single moms in the area who could use some help putting a meal on the table.” She dug in her purse for her cell phone. “I’ll call Howard to come field dress the pig.”

Her navy-blue pumps punched holes in the earth as she marched across the field, sidestepping split melons.

June patted Libby’s hand. “Could you stay here with Bailey Rae and package up purchases?” she asked, navigating Libby’s pride and loss of independence. “Thea may need my help.”

A smile teased at Bailey Rae. Thea rarely needed assistance.

Bailey Rae pushed to her feet just as Libby’s son shouldered through the growing crowd. Apparently, the pig incident was already ginning up extra traffic and potential buyers.

“Mom? Mom,” Keith said breathlessly, kneeling beside his mother’s wheelchair. “Are you okay?”

Libby patted his cheek. “Of course I am. Did you get the job? With a construction company, right?”

“I start on Monday. Of course, there aren’t a lot of hours available ...” Approaching sixty, Libby’s son wore the disappointments of his life like someone dragging a tractor tire.

Up a hill.

In summer.

---