The Run for the Elbertas Read Online Free PDF

bull-bats soared overhead when we reached Shoal Creek in the late afternoon; I recollect Mother looked at the house, and all she had feared was true. The building stood windowless, board ends of walls were unsawn, and the chimney pot barely cleared the hip-roof. But Fern and Larkand I were awed. We could not think why Mother dabbed her eyes with baby’s dress tail.
    â€œHit’s not finished to a square T,” Father said uneasily. “After planting they’ll be time in plenty. A late start I’ve got. Why, field corn and a garden ought to be breaking ground. Just taste a grain o’ patience.”
    Mother glanced into the sky where bull-bats hawked. She was heartsick with the mulligrubs. Her voice sounded tight and strange. “A man’s notions are ontelling,” she said, “but if this creek’s a fitten place to bring up chaps, if good neighbors live nigh, reckon I’ve got no right to complain.”
    â€œThe Crownover family lives yon side the ridge,” Father said. “Only folks in handy walking distance. I hear they’re the earth’s salt. No needcessity o’ lock or key on Shoal Creek.”
    The wagon was unloaded by dusk dark. Father lighted the lamp on coming from stabling the mare, and we hovered to a smidgen of fire. We trembled in the night chill, for it was foxgrape winter. Mother feared to heap wood on the blaze, the chimney pot being low enough to set sparks to the roof. She knelt by the hearth, frying a skillet of hominy, cooking it mortal slow.
    Father saddled the baby on a knee. “Well, now,” he said, buttoning his jump jacket and peeping to see what the skillet held, “reckon I’ve caught a glimpse o’ neighbors already. I heard footsteps yon side the barn in a brushy draw, though I couldn’t see for blackness till they’d topped the ridge. There walked two fellers, with heads size o’ washpots.”
    Lark crept nearer Mother. Fern and I glanced behind us. Nailheads shone on the walls as bright as the eyes of beasts.
    â€œI figure it to be men carrying churns or jugs on their shoulders,” Mother spoke coldly.
    â€œI saw a water-head baby in the camps once,” Fern said. “I did.”
    â€œHit might a-been Old Bloody Tom and some’un,” Lark said.
    â€œOdd they’d go by our place,” Father mused, “travelingno path.” He joggled the baby on his knee, making him squeal. “But it’s said them Crownovers can be trusted to Jordan River and back ag’in. I’m wanting to get acquainted the first chance.”
    â€œA man’s fancy to take short cuts,” Mother replied, nodding her head at the boxed room. “They’re men cutting across from one place to another, taking the lazy trail.”
    Fern’s teeth chattered. She was ever the scary one.
    â€œI hain’t a chip afraid,” I bragged, rashy with curiosity. “Be they boys amongst them Crownovers? I’m a-mind to play with one.”
    â€œGee-o,” Father chuckled, “a whole bee swarm o’ chaps. Stair-steppers, creepers, and climbers, biddy ones to nigh growns. Fourteen, by honest count. A sawyer at Beddo Tillett’s mill says they all can whoop weeds out of a crop in one day.”
    â€œI be not to play with water-heads,” Lark said.
    â€œThat sawyer says every one o’ Izard Crownover’s young ’uns have rhymy names,” Father went on. “He spun me a few, many as he could think of. Bard, Nard, Dard, Guard, Shard—names so slick yore tongue trips up.”
    â€œAre there girls too?” Fern asked.
    â€œBeulah, Dulah, Eulah. A string like that.”
    Mother stirred the hominy. “Clever neighbors I’ve allus wanted,” she said, her voice gloomy, “and allus I’ve longed for a house fitten to make them welcome.”
    â€œBe-jibs!” Father spoke impatiently. “A fair homeseat we’ll have once the