Bent Road - Lori Roy [119]
Laying one hand on Aunt Ruth’s hard, round belly, Evie cradles Aunt Eve’s Virgin Mary statue in the other. In less than a month, Aunt Ruth will have a baby instead of a big belly. Evie holds her breath, waiting for a gentle nudge from Elisabeth.
“Get ready,” Aunt Ruth says, squeezing Evie even tighter.
Evie clutches the statue to her chest, presses one ear against Aunt Ruth’s stomach, and covers the other with her free hand. Near Grandma’s barn, Daniel is wadding up old newspaper as kindling for the fire Dad asked him to start in the old trash barrel. Across the driveway, Jonathon sits behind the wheel of Grandpa’s tractor, his hat pulled low on his forehead. Standing nearby, Daddy gives a nod and after a few chokes and coughs, the tractor starts up. Daniel leaves the barrel, smoke drifting up into the air and walks a few feet to stand behind Mama, Elaine and Grandma, his arms crossed, his hat pulled low like Jonathon’s.
Aunt Ruth touches the Virgin Mary’s head. “I’m glad you fixed her up,” she says, leaning down and talking into Evie’s ear so she can hear over the tractor.
Aunt Ruth wraps both arms around Evie as the tractor rolls across the drive. First, the wheels crush the tall grass that Daddy never lets Daniel mow, and when the tractor crashes into the small shed, Aunt Ruth’s chest shudders. Daddy said the wood wasn’t worth saving. He’d rather burn it and all the overgrown grass, too. He said what’s past is past and it’s time the Scott family puts it to rest. Aunt Ruth lowers her head, and when it’s over, when Jonathon has backed away and turned off the tractor, she stands straight and takes a deep breath.
“Smells like green, doesn’t it?” Evie says.
Daniel tugs on his hat when the dust settles and walks back to the barrel. Using one of the longer branches he gathered from Grandma’s front yard, he pokes at his fire. It’s going good now, burning strong, so he drops the branch, walks past Dad who is still staring at the empty spot where the shed used to be, and loads himself up with an armful of splintered wood. When he turns, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t toss the wood on the fire, Dad gives him a nod and a pat on the back.
“Thank you, son,” he says and, lowering himself to his knees, he fills his own arms, stands and follows Daniel to the barrel. The two men stop a few feet from the fire and toss in the wooden planks. Soon their arms are empty. They stand together watching the ash and sparks float up into the air and disappear. Mama, Grandma Reesa and Aunt Ruth have gone inside to make Grandma’s fried chicken. Dad still says it’s the best in the Midwest, but mostly he says it when Mama isn’t around to hear. Jonathon has gone off with Elaine, probably so Elaine can make him write his share of thank-you notes for their wedding gifts, and Evie is sitting on the top stair with the Virgin Mary at her side. When the sparks have settled and only smoke is drifting up, Dad and Daniel return for another load.
Celia sits across from Ruth, a paper bag placed between them on Reesa’s table where she usually keeps the salt and pepper shakers. Grease sizzles and pops in the black skillet on the stove, and the chicken broth begins to boil, drops of it hissing as they splash on the gas burner. With a wooden spoon in one hand, Celia cracks an egg into the dumpling dough and starts to stir again. Reesa looks at Celia as if to tell her no more eggs but clears her throat instead and goes back to poking her chicken. Reaching across the table, Ruth touches the brown