So when Doanie came out bringing the collard greens and
meat and coffee and buttermilk-and all the sheets and quilts and
stuff Mama had gathered up-she had to pack the whole works in
front. The sack of eggs she set up on the seat by me.
Mama told me to prop my feet up on the pile of quilts. The
thickest one she slid out and unfolded to wrap around our legs.
Even that heavy cotton quilt didn't keep us from shivering and
shaking as we drove down the road.
After we crossed Rocky Head Creek, we turned right on a
little side road. Mama said it was a short cut, a different road
from the one we took Sunday when Papa went with us to Miss
Ophelia's.
We heard a gunshot way off up the creek.
"Who's that shooting, Mama?"
"Just somebody hunting squirrels, or maybe partridges. I sure
wish your papa had time to kill us some. We haven't had a
partridge on the table since Thanksgiving Day! And not many
squirrels."
As soon as we got out of the creek bottom, we crossed over a
steep ridge, and then I could see fields and two houses-one was
Ned's house, and the other one, with two chimneys, was Miss
Ophelia's.
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