Weeping Willow by Ruth White Read Free Book Online Page A

the rhythm of the bridge.”
    So we took off after her, laughing. But that bridge was a trick you didn’t learn just by watching somebody else. Every time you thought it was going to swing to the right, it went left. And every time you thought it was going to dip, it rose up at you instead. After about ten steps, Bobby Lynn and I had the silly giggles so bad we just stood there hanging on to each other, and to the cable. Rosemary had to come and get us. A few steps at a time, she guided us across the river and up onto the railroad tracks on the other side.
    Rosemary’s house was comfortable and clean. They had a big fire going in a fireplace in the living room, and in front of it was a huge round thick rug. I could smell some good sweet thing baking—probably a birthday cake. A television set was turned on in the corner of the room.
    Hassell came out of the kitchen with a glass of milk and an enormous sandwich in his hands, and his mouth was pooched out and running over.
    “Hi, Hassell!” we said, and he waved his full hands around, while trying to do justice to the load in his mouth.
    We laughed. We were prone to laugh at anything.
    Mrs. Layne came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. She was a warm, friendly woman who looked like a middle-aged version of Rosemary.
    “Come in, girls. Take off your coats. Ain’t it awful out there?”
    “No, no, we’re going to build a snowman,” Rosemary said. “I just came in to ask you to make us some hot tea to drink with the cake.”
    “Fine, fine,” Mrs. Layne said.
    We went back outside.
    “I want to go on the bridge again,” Bobby Lynn said when the snowman was almost finished.
    “Me too!” I said.
    “Sure we will,” Rosemary said.
    The bridge probably was not that much fun for Rosemary, but she was always agreeable.
    “After that we’ll go in and have some cake and tea and watch television,” Rosemary said.
    “Yeah!”
    We finished our snowman and went on the bridge. Back and forth we traipsed, lunged, swayed, giggling all the time until suddenly Bobby Lynn and I discovered the secret, picked up the rhythm, and waltzed across without missing a step.
    We met in the middle, hung on to the cable for balance, and gazed out at the half-frozen river and the white hills. The sun was out by then, and we knew the snow wouldn’t last long under its brilliance.
    “Yodel for us, Bobby Lynn,” I said.
    “Oh, do!” Rosemary squealed.
    “I’m not too good at it yet,” she said.
    “We don’t care. Do it,” I said.
    “Okay,” Bobby Lynn conceded. “Y‘all sing ‘When I Lived in the Valley,’ and when you get to the yodeling part, I’ll do it.”
    So we did.

    When I lived in the valley,
And my sweetheart in the hills,
Our signal was
Odel … odel … le … di … whoo!
     

    Off she went. She wasn’t Aunt Evie, but her yodeling sounded pretty.

    One day I went to call upon
My pretty little miss,
And I didn’t hear her
Odel … odel … le … di … whoo!
     

    Rosemary and I applauded for her. We were in the mood and we sang some more. We did “It Don’t Hurt Anymore,” “Oh Baby Mine,” and “The Great Pretender.” Then we started on “I’ll See You in the Spring.” I really loved that song, and let loose. I threw back my head and looked at the sky where the sun was dancing, and I was thinking what a wonderful day it was.

    I’ll see you in the willow
Weeping in the stream.
I’ll see you in the newborn fawn
Soft as in a dream.
I’ll stand high on a mountain
And watch young birds take wing.
And though you won’t be there,
I’ll see you in the spring.
     

    That’s when it occurred to me that I was singing all by myself. I clamped my mouth shut and jerked my head toward Bobby Lynn and Rosemary. They were just looking at me with these goofy, dumbfounded expressions. I felt the blood rush to my face. What kind of blunder had I made this time?
    “What’sa matter?”
    “What’s the matter?” Bobby Lynn said