Leaving Cold Sassy (9780547527291) by Olive Ann Burns Read Free Book Online Page B

those Yankee boys.”
    â€œI bet they never heard of a buckeye,” he said.
    We shook hands, man to man. But then I hugged him. Hard.
    â€œYou’ll do fine, big boy. Just remember where you’re from and who your folks are. Act proud.”
    He went inside, trying to be brave.
    ***
    Aunt Loma was in the backyard out near Mama’s flower pit, digging up a magnolia seedling. It was only a foot high, but it had five or six big waxy green leaves.
    Lighting a cigar, I watched a minute, then asked, “What you doin’, Aunt Loma?”
    â€œI’m gettin’ me a magnolia tree.” She didn’t sound Yankee at all. Her short red hair, damp with sweat, had shrunk into tight curls.
    â€œYou go’n carry it on the train?”
    â€œIn my lap all the way, if I have to.”
    I took the trowel out of her hands. “Let me do that. You need a bigger pot.”
    â€œI cain’t hold too big a pot,” she protested.
    â€œBut if it’s too little a pot you won’t have enough dirt to nourish the tree. I’ll get one out of the flower pit. And we need some good black dirt instead of this red clay.”
    She stood there watching, rubbing her hands together to get off the dirt, while I dug up the seedling and potted it with black dirt from out by the cowshed. “Don’t let it dry out,” I said, watering it from the rain barrel, “and give it plenty of light. Do you have a window facin’ south?”
    â€œHow do you tell south?”
    I explained as simply as I knew how. “If sun comes in a window in the mornin’, that’s the east side of the buildin’. If it’s sunny in the afternoon, that’s the west side. If it doesn’t come in at all, that’s north. The best exposure is southern. Come winter, sunlight will flood into a south window.” I didn’t say how dumb it was for anybody to be thirty-one years old and not know such, though I was tempted. “I hope you don’t expect to show off this li’l old thing. It won’t impress anybody.”
    Brushing dirt off the pot with my hands, I looked at Aunt Loma. She was wiping her eyes. “I’m not takin’ it to impress anybody,” she said, her lip quivering. “I’m takin’ it for myself. It...I need somethin’ to remind me of home.”
    I handed her the seedling. “Mama has a scrap left over from that new oilcloth on the kitchen table. Tie some around the pot, why don’t you? So it won’t get your dress dirty. Well, good-bye, Aunt Loma.” I put my arms around both of them—her and the baby magnolia. “Look after this good, hear, and look after your boy. And you look after yourself.”
    â€œYou too, Will. Do you still see Trulu?”
    â€œNo,” I said firmly.
    â€œJust asking. You’re too good for her anyway. Well, good-bye, Will.”
    â€œYou haven’t said when you’re gettin’ married.”
    â€œSome time next month. In New York, of course. Not here.”
    â€œMama will have a conniption fit.”
    â€œIt can’t be helped.” Her tone was formal, defensive.
    â€œI don’t know as I can get off work long enough to make the trip.”
    â€œIt won’t be a family kind of wedding,” she said quickly. “Just the two of us, and a justice of the peace. And Campbell Junior, of course, and two of our friends for witnesses.”
    I was about to say nobody in our family had ever got hitched in a courthouse when she added, “Pa and Miss Love did it that way, remember.” Raising her chin, she said again, “Good-bye, Will,” and started up the back steps with her magnolia tree.
    Campbell Junior wasn’t the only one trying to act brave.
    â€œAunt Loma?” I called after her. “Uh, take the oilcloth off when you get there, hear? The roots’ll rot if it cain’t drain.”
    She nodded.
    I called again. “Don’t