Free Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa (Tufa Novels) by Alex Bledsoe Page B

know too many of the same tunes. Can you play ‘Hares on the Mountain’?”
    Rob knew that the same folk song could have half a dozen different titles. “No, not as such.”
    Rockhouse closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His voice was surprisingly high and clear.
    Young women they’ll run
    Like hares on the mountains,
    Young women they’ll run
    Like hares on the mountains
    If I were but a young man
    I’d soon go a-hunting.
    Hicks smiled smugly, and then the old woman, without looking up from her quilt, sang:
    “Young women they’ll sing
    Like birds in the bushes,
    Young women they’ll sing
    Like birds in the bushes.
    If I were but a young man,
    I’d go and rattle those bushes.
    This made Hicks grin even wider. “Do you know that one?” he challenged.
    “I do now,” Rob said, and bent to open the guitar case.
    A heavy foot slammed down on it. “This the boy you said was bothering you, Grandpa Rockhouse?”
    Rob looked up. The backlit figure looming over him was broad shouldered, square headed, and the size of a portable toilet. Slowly Rob sat back in the chair until he could make out the face, and realized this was a woman.
    “Yeah, he’s one of them song-catching Yankees, I think,” Hicks said dismissively.
    “Huh,” the woman said. Derision filled the single syllable.
    “Ma’am, would you please take your foot off my guitar?” Rob said. His stomach began to tighten with fear. He hadn’t heard the old man say anything about being bothered, let alone summon help. Where had this woman come from?
    “I’ll take my foot off when I goddam feel like it,” the woman said, and for emphasis leaned more weight down until Rob heard the thin case start to crack. “Who the hell you people think you are, coming into town and bothering folks, anyway? Bet you even dyed your damn hair black, thinking we’re too stupid to tell.”
    “You tell him,” agreed the old woman without looking up from her quilting.
    Rob realized this creature outweighed him, and her huge hands looked as if they could twist off his head like a bottle cap. She wore a crew cut, a loose T-shirt with no bra, and jeans with splits in the knees. She was fat, but clearly there was hard muscle beneath it. A musty, sweaty smell surrounded her.
    He pushed the rocking chair back and stood. He looked up into her dark, opaque eyes. Quietly, careful not to sound belligerent, he said, “If the gentleman doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll be on my way. I’m not trying to start any trouble here.”
    Hicks laughed and shook his head. “Lordy, you done said the wrong thing.”
    This distracted Rob just enough so that he didn’t see the punch coming. A ham-sized fist slammed into his left eye and knocked him back between two rocking chairs into the brick wall. His head struck with a solid, melon-sounding thunk . Stunned, he would’ve slid to the concrete porch, but the immense woman grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward. She slapped him, both flat- and back-handed. The blows seemed to come from far away. He never lost consciousness, but he was too dazed to defend himself.
    The woman dropped him back in his chair. His entire head felt numb, and his vision wavered. For an instant it was like two different TV signals battling for the same channel. Then he heard an off-key twang, and his sight cleared just as the woman grabbed his guitar from its case and raised it like a club.
    My guitar, he thought calmly. Then the pain and rage hit simultaneously, and he was suddenly back in the moment. With no time to think, he reflexively kicked her in the groin as hard as he could.
    It felt like trying to punt a sack of wet cat litter. The big woman let out a squeak and dropped the guitar; Rob caught it in midair. She took a step backwards off the porch and sank to her knees in the grass beside the flagpole.
    Rob checked his guitar for damage, and when he looked back, the woman was on her feet. She snapped open a large pocketknife with a practiced toss