CHAPTER
30
Mary woke to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing. Uncle Jonathan had been up before dawn as usual. She slipped into her clothes and made her way toward the tantalizing odor wafting down the hall. She got to the kitchen and peered in. Uncle Jonathan’s massive back was to her. He was frying eggs. Bacon and toast were finished and piled on plates. Without turning around, he said, “You finally up? Well, get in here. You should know your way around kitchens, workin’ with Jim.”
Mary helped finish preparing breakfast. When they were finished, she cleared away the dishes. She washed and dried the dishes while Uncle Jonathan watched. “When you’re through, we’ll tour the place,” he said.
December chill had penetrated Alabama. Mary donned her plaid jacket, but Uncle Jonathan went stubbornly in short sleeves. “It ain’t that cold,” he groused.
The fields looked even more desolate in daylight. It looked as though they hadn’t been productive in years. Weeds had grown up around the rusty tractor and farm implements strewn carelessly over the ground. Mary didn’t ask about the condition of the farm or lack of hands.
The
barn didn’t improve the farm’s economic outlook. There was little
hay saved for fodder. In a stall was one broken-down horse that
looked even sadder than the tractor. In one room there were rusty
chains and pulleys that didn’t seem to have any practical
application. They looked more like medieval torture machines.
Uncle
Jonathan led the way out of the barn and down a crooked, thorn-lined
path to the stagnant pond. “Used to grow catfish,” he said.
“Market turned sour. Damn birds ate up the profits.” The tour
next went to an abandoned chicken hatchery. “Some durn disease got
‘em.” Then they went down the deeply rutted dirt road to a wide
gate. Inside the fence three cows moped around the meadow.
“Well,
that’s my whole empire,” Uncle Jonathan said, his voice heavy
with sarcasm. “Since you’ll be stayin’ here, you can help with
the chores.”
By
the time they got back to the farmhouse it was time for lunch; greasy
pork chops and country fried potatoes.
After
lunch, Uncle Jonathan went outside and sat on the front porch swing.
“Time to get drunk,” he announced. “I’m good at it.” He
looked at Mary. “Want to join me?” Mary shook her head. “Suit
yourself. Not much to do in winter.”
While
Uncle Jonathan emptied a whiskey bottle, Mary sat inside watching TV
and thinking. She wanted to call Joe, but couldn’t. Why didn’t he
call? Why didn’t he come?
She
ate supper alone. Uncle Jonathan was still outside, too drunk to
care.
Tired
and depressed, Mary decided to take a bath. She tried unsuccessfully
to lock the bathroom door. While sitting in the old-fashioned
porcelain bathtub, she heard his sluggish, halting steps in the
hallway. Several times he stopped, propping himself against the wall.
Mary was terrified he would open the door and look in at her, but he
continued on down the hall and went into his bedroom. She heard the
ancient springs creak when his bulk landed in bed.
Mary
stayed up as long as she could, fearing to go to sleep. Sleep won.
