A Redbird Christmas by Fannie Flagg Read Free Book Online Page A

moment.”
    “Now that you’re here we have to stick together and not let any of those gals catch us off guard. Unless, of course, you’re in the market for a wife.”
    “Noooo, not me,” said Oswald. “I’ve already made one poor woman miserable. That’s enough.”
    Roy liked this little guy right away. “Come on back to the office and let me get you a cup of coffee, and I’ll introduce you to my partner.”
    As they walked back, Roy whistled and called out, “Hey, Jack!”
    Jack, who had been busy all morning running up and down the round plastic bird wheel with bells that Roy had ordered through the mail, heard the whistle, flew out of the office, and landed on Roy’s finger.
    Oswald stopped dead in his tracks. “Whoa. What’s that?”
    “This is Jack, my partner,” Roy said, looking at the bird. “He really owns the place. I just run it for him.”
    “My God,” said Oswald, still amazed at what he saw. “That’s a cardinal, isn’t it?”
    Roy held Jack away from him so he could not hear and confided, “Yes, officially he’s a cardinal, but we don’t tell him that; we just tell him he’s just a plain old redbird. He’s too big for his britches as it is.” Then he spoke to the bird. “Hey, Jack, tell the man where you live.”
    The bird cocked his head and Oswald swore the bird chirped with the same southern accent Roy had. It sounded exactly like he was saying, “Rite cheer! . . . Rite cheer! . . . Rite cheer!”
    When Roy was busy waiting on some customers, Oswald wandered around the store, examining the mounted fish and stuffed animals that covered the walls. They looked almost alive. The red fox seemed so real Oswald jumped when he first saw him up on the counter. He later remarked to Roy, “That’s really nice stuff you have here. For a second I thought that damn fox was alive. And those fish up there are really great.”
    Roy glanced up at them. “Yeah, I guess so. My uncle put them up there. He won most of them in a poker game.”
    “Who did them, somebody local?”
    “Yeah, Julian LaPonde, an old Creole, lives across the river.”
    “A Creole? What’s that? Are they Indians?”
    Roy shook his head. “Who knows what they are—they claim to be French, Spanish, Indian, you name it.” He indicated the mounted animals. “And in that guy’s case, I’m sure there’s a little weasel thrown in.” He changed the subject. “All those fish you see up there were caught by our mailman, Claude Underwood. That speckled trout is a record holder. Do you fish? ’Cause if you do, he’s the man to see.”
    “No,” Oswald admitted, “I’m not much of a fisherman, or a hunter either, I’m afraid.” He wouldn’t have known a speckled trout from a mullet.
     
    Oswald had spent about an hour roaming around the store and watching that crazy redbird of Roy’s run around on his wheel when the phone rang. Roy put the phone down and called out, “Hey, Mr. Campbell, that was Betty. She said your lunch is ready.”
    Oswald looked at his watch. It was exactly twelve o’clock, on the dot. “Well, I guess I’d better go.”
    “Yep, you don’t want to get her riled. Hey, by the way, have you met the mother?”
    “Oh, yes,” Oswald said, rolling his eyes.
    “They say she’s harmless, but I’d lock my door at night if I were you.”
    “Really? Do you think she’s dangerous?”
    “Well,” said Roy, looking up at the ceiling, “far be it from me to spread rumors, but we don’t know what happened to the daddy, now, do we?” By the look on Oswald’s face, Roy could tell he was going to have a lot of fun kidding around with him. He would believe anything he told him.
    As he left the store and headed back, Oswald realized he had been so busy looking at Jack and talking he forgot to notice if the store sold beer.
    Oh, well, there was always tomorrow.
     
    When he got home he asked Betty about the woman with the bangs at the post office who had waved at him, twice now. “Oh, that’s