Remembering the Bones by Frances Itani Read Free Book Online Page A

side of beef provided one good reason for Ally to hate winter, but even before that she dreamed of living in a warmer climate. Perhaps it was something she had read, or something she’d heard at school. She was convinced that “south” would be an improvement over Ontario winters. “We could move south, Georgie,” she said, as we climbed down off the carcass. “The whole family. We could start by renting a villa and work our way up. Do odd jobs. Anything. We could pool our money and buy a place.”
    “Then what?”
    “We’ll rent rooms at one end of the villa and live at the other end. Everyone will have something to do. That’s how it works in life—haven’t you figured it out? Every person in life gets a function. Mother will keep the books because she’s used to stretching the money. Mr. Holmes can look after security and shout away intruders. He can also barricade the villa against storms. Grand Dan will cook. If it’s too hot to light the stove, we’ll buy her a hot plate. And she can deliver any babies that come along. Our four cousins can join us if they want to. They’ll be in charge of maintenance. Uncle Fred will inspect their work—and hold their heads under the pump if they don’t do a good job.” We laughed uproariously. “And he can tell ghost stories after dark.
    “Aunt Fred will wash dishes, and sing country-and-western to entertain us. She can also start a fight ‘when we get bored. You can be peacemaker. And set the table,” she added, as if the additional assignment of practical ‘work ‘would convince me. “You can also tend any bones that get broken. Put on splints. Grand Dan can wrap them with her cottons.”
    “What will you do?” I was surprised that she had everyone’s functions figured out.
    “I’ll lie in the sun and get warm. I’ll read aloud to everyone—and be in charge of good cheer. I’ll draw, and maybe sell my art.” She looked away. Despite her dislike of winter, Ally had a drawer filled with pencil-crayoned drawings of snow: our stone fence, its outline buried but distinct beneath waves of white; the tilting shed with white drifts sliding into its angle of leaning; the swollen surface of the creek with a spring skin of ice.
    “Every household needs a lady,” our mother piped up. She was on her knees in front of the coal stove, shaking down the ashes before the steaks were cooked. She stood, and hung the shaker on its hook.
    Ally was not deterred. She laid her plans, adding, deleting, adjusting. But I was in no hurry to go anywhere. Nor was anyone else. And no one was more shocked than I when, sixty years later, my beloved sister and her husband, Wade Trick, packed their bags and moved south to Florida.

TWELVE
    W hoever is in charge of this rescue, please hurry up! I’m not an eighth of the way to the car, which is what I’m aiming for. Car as refuge. Car as haven. Car has a horn. Horn could save my life.
    Courage, Georgie. Don’t be morbid. It’s only a matter of time.
    I’m losing track. I’m old and stiff. An old stiff. Come on, bones, don’t let me down!
    It wasn’t so long ago that I read about a woman who lived alone in the country and fell backwards into her own garbage barrel and couldn’t get out. Her head and arms stuck out, her feet stuck out, but the rest of her was tucked down inside. She was rescued after several days—alive. The humiliation must have been unthinkable.
    There should be something I can remember about survival, something from books. We had a pamphlet on survival in our home for a long time—it belonged to Harry. I leafed through it after he died, and packed it off to a book sale. Cover the head and neck , that’s all I remember, probably because the wordswere in bold print. Cover with what? Surely the advice was meant for someone stuck in a snowbank in winter.
    Grand Dan said one day when we were sitting in her kitchen—it was a Saturday in the fall and Aunt and Uncle Fred were visiting—“When I’m finished