Page 41 of Always to Remember
“We surely do hope so ‘cuz we’re gonna need him come harvest time. We planted us a cash crop this year. Lucian only ever planted enough for us to eat ‘cuz we didn’t have no help with the fields. But Clay said if we all worked a little harder, we could have some extra to sell. So we planted some extra acres of corn. When it comes up, we’ll be pert’ near rich, and we’ll have biscuits every mornin'.”
Meg glanced over the furrowed fields. The Holland acreage had always paled in comparison with everyone else’s. Clay’s father had more interest in stone than in soil.
The twin stopped walking and the entourage halted. He tilted his face back so he could meet Meg’s questioning gaze. “You ain’t gonna tell Clay that I swore yesterday when I was talkin’ about his biscuits, are you? He says we can’t swear till we’re sixteen. If we swear before then, he’ll wash our mouths out with soap, and we ain’t never supposed to swear in front of a lady. Yesterday, that ‘damn’ just sorta slipped out of my mouth, and then I couldn’t shove it back in.”
“I don’t imagine I’ll be telling him about your swearing.”
“Well, if you decide you gotta tell him, just remember that I’m Joe.”
“You sure as heck ain’t!” the other twin yelled, voicing his thoughts for the first time.
“I am, too. You can even count my freckles. You’ll see that I got the most.”
He stretched so he stood on the tips of his bare toes, and she could see his freckles more clearly. From the corner of her eye, she watched the other twin struggle with his dilemma: to prove he was Joe without confessing to having the most freckles.
“I’m not going to tell him,” she said.
“Cross your heart?”
Meg drew a cross over her heart. “Cross my heart.”
“See, Joe. I knew she wouldn’t want your mouth to get washed out with soap.”
“And what if you’d been wrong? You were the one that said ‘damn,’ not me,” the quieter twin stated.
“But I wasn’t wrong. Come on, Miz Warner. Clay’s in the shed waitin’ on you. He’s been there since dawn. Reckon he thought you’d be early again this mornin'.”
She’d wanted to be here at dawn, but she’d waited until her father and brother had left for the fields. They seldom returned home before dusk so she wasn’t concerned with their noticing her absence during the day. “Has he started carving on the stone yet?”
“No, ma’am, but I think he was sorely tempted to. He keeps pickin’ up his tools, but then he just puts ‘em back down.”
They neared the shed, and the twins veered away from her. “Don’t worry about your horse none,” Josh said, smiling.
She watched the twins and horse disappear around the corner. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the shed. Clay stood beside the low table. The wind ruffled his hair, dragging it across the collar of his worn flannel shirt. He wiped his hands on his trousers. “Morning.”
Pursing her lips, holding her return greeting captive, she tilted her head slightly.
“Thought I’d start this morning,” he said.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Nodding, he turned his attention to the table. He picked up a tool and set it down.
He gazed out the window.
He touched the tools.
He looked out the window again.
Meg wasn’t familiar with the implements. Tools that plowed into stone were a little different from those that plowed into earth, but she did know that in order for Clay to use them effectively, he had to hold them longer than it took to sneeze.
She crossed her arms and shoved them beneath her breasts. The man must have taken lessons in moving from his mule.
He walked slowly around the granite, studying it as though he’d only just seen it. He stopped and looked at her standing in the doorway. “I’ll get you a chair.”
With long strides, he quickly left the shed. Stupefied, Meg glanced around. She could have sat on the empty stool nestled in the comer.
He returned moments later and set a hard-backed wooden chair beneath the threshold. Meg picked it up, carried it closer to the stone, and sat.
