The Fence My Father Built by Linda S. Clare Read Free Book Online Page B

hall and sat down at the dinette table. The kitchen sink was tidy and clean. Aunt Lutie had washed the mountain of dirty dishes from the night before.
    A sweet aroma wafted through the trailer, so tempting that even Nova might have a hard time resisting. Tiny brought ina platter of his biscuits. “Careful, they’re still hot,” Tiny said, sliding them onto small plates. He set out a jar of the plum jelly and a tub of margarine, along with a pitcher of orange juice. In his chef's apron he looked as huge as a mainsail. Lutie pulled up a chair, and Tiny ate leaning against the counter.
    “Yum,” Tru said, crumbs falling from his mouth.
    “Yes, they’re delicious,” I agreed, adding, “Is there coffee? I could make it myself.”
    “Sorry,” Lutie said. “We only drink tea. Herbal tea. Tiny can pick you up some coffee next time he heads into town, can’t you Tiny?” I plunged a tea ball into my cup of steaming water, yanking it up and down like a poor soul on a dunking stool.
    “Yes, I can see that I’ll need to make you a list. And while I think of it, I’ve got some ideas for sprucing things up,” I said. “We could do a lot with the place.” I poured myself a cup of orange juice, too, trying not to grimace at the lumpy feel of the pulp. My head, screaming for caffeine, pulsed like a neon sign.
    “What do you mean, spruce things up?” Tiny asked. His voice sounded defensive and Lutie was eyeing me. “I know it's not a mansion,” he said, waving a spatula expansively. “But it's not done yet. I got a guy in Murkee going to bring down a whole truckload of siding for the sun porch.” He folded his arms across his apron.
    “I always wanted a sun porch,” Lutie said, looking over at Tiny.
    “But what about building codes? Permits? If we’re going to stay here, the kids really need their own rooms.”
    “Now you sound like city folk,” Lutie said, snorting. “They’re mostly the reason why Joseph is dead.”
    “Why did Grandpa die?” Tru asked, reaching for another scone.
    “I’ll tell you why your granddad died,” Tiny said. “He was sick, all right; but I think he just got tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of guarding the ruins.”
    “Ruins?” Tru said.
    Lutie gestured in the general direction of the creek. “Artifacts from the creek bank. It's a sacred place for our people.”
    Tru wiped his mouth without any prompting and pushed back his chair. “What people?”
    Tiny answered. “Native people. Your grandpa and Aunt Lutie here are half Nez Perce. Your granddad was named after their famous chief.”
    Tru looked incredulous. “You mean I’m partly Indian?”
    “A part of you, anyways,” Tiny said. “You can be proud.”
    “Joe always said if we’re not careful our heritage will be gone forever,” Lutie said and nodded at her husband.
    Tru glanced over at me. “Mom, can you learn calf roping even if you’re an Indian instead of a cowboy?”
    “Of course you can. We don’t even know if Mr. Jackson was serious about teaching you to rope.”
    “He was too! I know it!” Tru was getting anxious, I could tell. “He said he would. I believe him, Mom. Don’t you?”
    I sat for a few moments, not knowing the best thing to say. “I don’t know what to believe yet,” I finally said. I picked up crumbs with my forefinger, squishing them like ants. I ate the crumbs one by one and smiled bravely. Before I could explain myself, the pigs squealed outside, and Tiny rushed to see why. Truman jumped up to follow him and I was left with Lutie and the sounds of the water pipes rattling shut.

 
     
5
    “O h God, no, come quick!” Tiny's yell had that edge to it that gives you goose bumps—the kind you know instantly is not about some minor inconvenience. Lutie must have known it too. We stared at each other for about two seconds before we jumped up and ran outside. Tiny held in his arms the pig that had caused all the trouble, the one he called Jim.
    Sobbing, he cradled the pig like a