Clock Winder - Anne Tyler [9]
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I’ll be indoors more. They won’t be stopping by so much.”
“It’s more likely they’ll just start invading my kitchen,” Mrs. Emerson said.
Benny Simms picked up the axe that was leaning against the toolshed. He ran a finger down the blade and whistled. “I just did sharpen it,” Elizabeth told him. “I guess you did.”
“Did you know the Emersons have a whetstone wheel? The old-fashioned kind, that works with a foot pedal. I found it in the basement.”
“Nothing about the Emersons would surprise me at all,” Benny said.
“I like things like that. Things without machinery to them. Machinery is something I don’t understand too well.”
“I would’ve thought you’d know all about it,” Benny said.
“No. Yard work now, or carpentry, or plumbing—things that you can see reason to right on the surface …”
“Then why can’t you kill the turkey?” asked Benny.
“Well.”
He handed her the axe. Elizabeth turned it over several times, studying the glint of the blade very carefully but moving no closer to the turkey. She was wearing what Mrs. Emerson called her uniform—moccasins, dungarees, and a white shirt, and a bulky black jacket with a rib-knit waist now that the weather had turned cool. A wind from the east was whipping her hair around her face. She kept brushing it back impatiently without lifting her eyes from the axe. “I’m not too certain about that bevel,” she said. “It looks a little bluish. I hope I didn’t go and ruin the tempering.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Benny. “What’d you take this job for, if you can’t kill turkeys?”
“Well, how was I to know? Would you expect that to be a part of my job? First I heard of it, in she walked yesterday carrying the crate by the handle. Passed it over to me without even slowing down, walked on through the house peeling off her gloves. Said, ‘Here you are, Elizabeth, take care of this, will you? Have it ready in time for Thanksgiving dinner.’ Tomorrow! I didn’t know what to say. I suspect,” she said, setting down the axe, “that she planned it all on purpose, to turn me to housekeeping.”
“Most people get their turkeys from the supermarket,” Benny said.
“Not her.”
“All plucked and wrapped in plastic.”
“Not Mrs. Emerson. She won it at a church bazaar.”
“Oh, is that what you win? I’ve heard of prize turkeys before but I thought they’d have their feathers off.”
“Nope. You do it all yourself.”
“Do you know how to pluck them?”
“Oh, sure,” said Elizabeth. “The feathers and the innards, that’s no problem.”
Benny was brushing his crewcut on end, over and over. “Innards. Jeepers,” he said, “I’d forgotten them. You’ll have to fish out all those half-made eggs.”
“I tend to doubt that,” Elizabeth said. She smiled suddenly and shut the toolshed door, dropping the wooden crossbar into place. “Oh, well, I don’t know why I asked you anyway. If you can’t, you can’t.”
“I’m awful sorry.”
“That’s all right.”
They started up the hill toward the front yard—Elizabeth ahead, with her hands deep in her jacket pockets, Benny still brushing up his crewcut as he walked. “What I stopped by for,” he said, “was to ask if you wanted to come with me this afternoon.”
“I’d love to.”
“I’m going—don’t you want to know where you’d be coming with me to?”
“Where am I coming with you to?”
“I’m going out to the country for my mother. Picking up some pumpkins for pumpkin pie.”
“Oh, good,” said Elizabeth. “Maybe I’ll get Mrs. Emerson a pumpkin too. Big as a footstool. Drop it in her lap and say, ‘Here you go, take care of this, will you? Have it ready in time for Thanksgiving.’ ” She laughed, but Benny didn’t.
“I don’t know why you stay with that woman,” he said. “Couldn’t you find someone else to work for?”
“Oh, I like her.”
“What for? The whole family’s crazy, everyone knows that.”
Elizabeth had stopped to empty bits of leaves from one moccasin. She shook it out, standing one-legged in the grass. “Other people have said so too,” she said, “but I don’t know yet if they’re right. So far I’ve only seen Mrs. Emerson and Matthew.”
“Matthew. Well, he’s