Mighty Old Bones
Authors: Mary Saums
Jane Thistle and the Bad Sign
I
t wasn’t the sight of blood that disturbed me. The gelatinous pool took me by surprise, yes, certainly, but I had seen that much and quite a bit more in my time. Still, coming upon it in the woods on my morning exploration gave me a bit of a start. I stopped, listened. Nothing but birdsong and the rustling of leaves could be heard. Weak daylight found its way through the canopy and down to the forest floor. Its dull reflection on the puddle of thick red liquid grew larger. As the shadows receded, something much more ominous came into view and riveted me to the spot.
I clicked on my flashlight to see more clearly. Its beam dashed all hope that the blood was due to the natural cycle of animal predator finding prey. As much as the thought of a rare prowling bobcat or coyote distressed me, I’d have preferred either to the evidence of a more dangerous species. Near the puddle, beside an exposed tree root, the impression of a large boot indented a patch of fresh mud.
I looked around me, slowly turning in all directions, remembering the early evening rain the day before. With another look at the shoe’s imprint, I shivered. Sometime in the night, an intruder, a trespasser on my land, had left behind a grisly calling card.
I squatted for a closer look. Warm breath blew on my outstretched hand and a cold nose moved down to snuffle quietly around the footprint. “Good boy,” I whispered to my trusty companion, Homer, a large black Lab mix whom I inherited along with this parcel of woods.
Since moving to this, my own private forest, almost eight weeks earlier, I must say I expected trespassers to come along eventually. Still, I hadn’t expected them so soon. The hot summer days stretched into October, cooled for a night or two, and returned to eighty-and ninety-degree temperatures, thus making me forget that hunting seasons would be here soon. My woods would be strong temptation for the unscrupulous.
Settling into my new home at the edge of a wildlife refuge, which itself borders Bankhead National Forest, had taken on a most welcome sameness. Small rituals of exercise and relaxation, my daily excursions through the woods, the beauty of nature that surrounds me, all these things were so new and wonderful that I’m afraid I allowed them to lull me into a state of complacency.
No more. The blood served as a reminder that I must be vigilant in my duty as caretaker of this wood. I watched Homer move away, slowly at first then picking up speed, his nose still to the ground. He moved left to right and around one spot before trotting off in a straight line.
“What is it, dear?” I said, and followed to see what we might find.
A few minutes later, it became clear our search would be in vain. We found nothing else. My flashlight alone was not enough to see well so early in the morning. For all I knew, Homer and I were stamping about over the very things we might be looking for. I shone the light on my watch.
“Ah, well. Come, Homer. We’ll try again this afternoon.” He pretended not to hear me speak or turn and walk back the way we had come. I laughed. “Stay if you like, then. But I need to shower before I go to Phoebe’s house. She has quite a morning planned for us.”
His large head, barely visible in the early dawn, rose and swiveled in my direction, the rest of his body completely still. He understood the operative word, as I knew he would.
Phoebe. My best friend. How she puzzles Homer. He loves everyone and wants so much for her to like him. But I’m afraid it is not to be. She tolerates him for my sake but has no wish to become overly fond of any animal.
We’re quite different in that. I love all animals, particularly those on my own land, from the families of deer down to the smallest bug. It isn’t that Phoebe is coldhearted, not at all. The problem is she is fastidious. She keeps her house in spotless condition. Throughout my life, I worked in the dirt, on archaeological digs around the world, wherever my late husband, the Colonel, might be stationed. Dirt and sweat, and now leaves and mud from my walks with a bit of dog hair mixed in, don’t bother me in the slightest. Pets and the natural world in any form cause great concern for Phoebe so she avoids them as much as possible.
At sixty-five years old, she’s two years younger than I am and has lived in Tullulah all her life. Her personality might be described as that of a typical redhead. For her age, she has a remarkably thick head of hair, which she wears pulled up with curls on top. It’s quite becoming.
Her best quality is her ability to make me laugh. She tries to hide her soft heart behind a sarcastic façade much of the time. I see through her though, and she knows I do. She kids me quite a bit. What great fun we have together. And in our short acquaintance, it has already become clear she is a strong ally. I trust her with no reserves, for she has proven herself to be as honest and brave a person as anyone I’ve ever known.
“Ah. There you are.” Homer, having given up his search, bumped into my leg and kept pace on the trail that would take us home. He looked up at me, his teeth gleaming inside a wide smile. Poor fellow. Dogs are such optimists. I hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed that Phoebe wouldn’t be coming to visit.
It was odd for me to have a best friend. Something new, possibly since I was a teenager. The frequent moves that my husband’s job in the military required, never staying very long in one location or even in one part of the world, meant my friends were never close. I also held a part-time government job that, for the most part, was solitary work. The persons I did happen to meet in that line of duty, sadly, weren’t around for very long.
After the Colonel’s passing, I came to Tullulah to retire and quietly fade away. To my surprise, the town and the woods rejuvenated me. At sixty-seven, I am stronger and more at peace than any other time in my life. From the age of eighteen, when the Colonel and I married, we traveled to places just as beautiful all over the globe. Yet it is only here, in a tiny secluded town in northwest Alabama, far from almost anywhere else, that I have found serenity in the deep untainted woodlands I love so much.
Phoebe Twigg and the Woolly Mammoths
W
hen Jane knocked on my kitchen door, my hands were in dishwater, so I hollered for her to come on in. I didn’t have to ask her what she had been doing that morning. Whenever she has a good walk through the woods she gets this look, like she has been snorting helium and is about to float up into the sky any minute.
I just don’t get it. I mean, the exercise and fresh air and all, that part I get. My question is, what’s wrong with nice, flat pavement where you don’t have to sink your good tennis shoes two or three inches down in old mucky leaves and mud? Who wants to spend a half-hour scraping that gunk out of the treads with a toothpick? Why not walk where there are no trees so you don’t have to duck and push back branches that whip you across the face from out of nowhere? That hiking and camping stuff is beyond me. No, thank you. I like my air conditioner.
Mind you, I’m not criticizing. I would never do that to my friend. I’m just saying. There’s nobody smarter than Jane, and if she wants to deal with ticks and snakes, I say more power to her.
I let the dishwater out of the sink and then sprayed the last of the suds down the drain. I picked up a cup towel to dry my hands and said, “Looks like you’ve had a good day so far. Did you have fun talking to all the happy little animals and trees?”
Jane smiled. “I did indeed. They send you their best.” She plucked a grape from the fruit bowl and tossed it in her mouth. If she wasn’t gray-headed, she would’ve looked like a kid scooting onto the bar stool at my counter. She’s tiny and has the face of an elf. Just looking at her, you’d never guess she’s the type who could pick you off at a hundred yards. Yeah. She looks and talks like your sweet granny in England but she don’t allow no foolishness. Anybody that messes with Jane is liable to get shot or smacked cross-eyed, Asian-style.
“Well, my morning has just been wrong.” I told her all about it while I took my dishes out of the rack and dried them.
When it’s pretty outside like it was that day, I like to walk down to the town square, which is just a few blocks down the road. The square is the regular kind. Old buildings, I’d say from the twenties or thirties, and the same shops like you see everywhere. We’ve got some furniture stores, a bakery, the City Grill, and Lloyd’s Drugs, where you can still get a mighty good soda-fountain cherry Coke or milk shake. In the middle of the square, we’ve got the courthouse where the sheriff’s office is and the jail underneath.
I was on my way to the hardware store. When I got to Fein Brothers Real Estate, I stopped to read the flyer in their window about our library’s Halloween party. That’s when I heard a deep voice go “Oof!” and the next thing I knew, a Saint Bernard the size of an elephant planted his big fat body right in front of me. He
oofed
again and before I could take a breath or a step backward, he reared up and smacked his muddy paws on my shoulders like this: one, two, blap, blap, just like that.
Before I could push him off or holler, that Saint Bernard had licked my face plumb clean. His tongue was so wide it only took him three swipes to get me from ear to ear and forehead to neck. And here I’d spent twenty good minutes, all wasted, putting on my makeup.
“Get your smelly self down off of me right now!” I hollered. His mouth closed and his big sticky nostrils went into overtime, sniffing real fast all around my face.
“Brutus, heel! Heel!” a man said. I couldn’t see who he was since he was on the other side of the woolly mammoth.
“I’m sorry. Oh, Mrs. Twigg, it’s you. I’m so sorry. He’s never done that before. I apologize.” It was a scrawny guy in a jogging suit. I couldn’t think of his name right off, but I knew his face. He used to bring his little girl to the library every week for story time.
“They all do it,” I said. “Every one of them. Not to anybody else, just me. Dogs know I can’t stand them and so they come straight to me and get all over me.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
I rubbed my shoulders and rotated both arms around. “It depends on whether or not that slime is full of diseases and soaks into my skin and kills me in the night.”
Brutus, who had settled down next to his master, must have misunderstood me because he started smiling real big again and panting with his tongue hanging out. He lunged at me, both paws hitting with one big
blap,
right back to my shoulders like he was going to start hugging and kissing me.
I screamed. This time, his owner yanked him down, apologizing over and over, and the two of them took off down the sidewalk. I was happy to see the back end of Brutus, wagging his big tail as he trotted off with his nerd master.
I took my pack of antibacterial wipes out of my purse and used every last one of them. The drugstore was right there, so I went in and used the mirror behind their big long counter to fix my hair back into place and dab on some more powder and lipstick.
“Hey, Phoebe.”
“Hey, Betty.” Betty Raines works the cash register there full time, has ever since she caught her husband with another woman last spring. Betty didn’t divorce him. She decided she would rather work at the drugstore. That way, she would either catch him buying that Viagra or keep him from buying it since he wouldn’t want her to know. He quit the other woman so I reckon it worked. Sure, he could go out of town to get his pills, but at least Betty made her point.
“Can I help you with anything?” she said.
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Betty when she wasn’t dressed up and fully accessorized. She always looks like she stepped out of a magazine ad from the fifties. She keeps her hair dyed strawberry blond, flips it up on the ends and lacquers it to death, just like we all used to do years ago. She still favors those tight cashmere sweaters and pointy bras, which says something else about that kooky husband of hers.
“Well,” I said, “now that I’m here, I may as well get some more antibacterial wipes. The purse size, if you’ve got them.”
I thanked her and went on to the hardware store for a new fluorescent bulb to replace the dead one over my kitchen sink. After that, I walked on around the square to get a little exercise.
I kept an eye out for the Saint Bernard. It was a good thing. I saw him up on the next block. He saw me and jerked against his leash, like he was fixing to charge across and down the street to me. I made a quick right and cut through the alley behind Braxton’s Furniture Store and took the long way home.
I got to within a block of my house before I came upon the second dog. I was admiring Julie Huntsinger’s pretty red maple tree and thinking how all those leaves would be on the ground the next day if we got the storm the weatherman was predicting. All of a sudden, a howling commenced. I nearly jumped out of my skin and swirled around to see where it was coming from because I did not want to get slimed again.
There it was, in front of the Reeds’ house. A big solid-white dog about the size of a Shetland pony stood in the yard, facing the house. The sight of it must have made my body’s instincts flip on because I had jumped sideways behind the nearest tree before I even realized it. I didn’t remember the Reeds having a dog. I thought it might be a neighbor’s, though I’d never seen it before.
Whoever it belonged to, it was as big as Brutus. And Lord have mercy, what a howl that thing had, like nothing I’d ever heard. I wished I had a tape recorder on me. It would’ve been a good spooky sound for the Trail of Terror at the library’s haunted house that would be coming up soon. I ran the other way over to another tree.
But it was the funniest thing. When I turned to look at him again, he was gone. That was one fast dog because he didn’t have time to run away, not without me catching sight of any part of him either in the street or off on the other side of the yard. I didn’t hang around. I cut through and made for the Nelsons’ yard because I knew it didn’t have a fence in back.
Across the alley was old Mrs. Ensley’s house. I cut through her yard, too, and though I didn’t see her, I knew she would be peeping through her living room window to see what I was up to, so I waved in that general direction as I passed and stepped onto my own street, Meadowlark Lane. I couldn’t wait to get in my house and bolt the door behind me.
Jane laughed through the whole story up until the part about the white dog disappearing. She went from a big smile and twinkling eyes to a dead stare, first like she was thinking hard and then like she remembered something. She wouldn’t tell me what. Said she was thinking of something unrelated and tried to laugh it off. I know one thing. Whatever it was, it was a bad memory, and it scared her.