Free Kathryn Magendie by Sweetie

She reached up and pulled leaves from a tree, crushed them in her hand, held them to her nose.
    “So, where is he now?”
    “After his boat was full of wondrous things, he tried to get back to the mountains so we could all live together, but a big storm come and tossed him all over the sea so’s he got lost.”
    “Like a shipwreck?”
    “Uh huh. Grandpaw said he was on a island all alone, living off coconuts and monkey brains.”
    “Eeeww. That’s nasty.”
    “Not nasty if you got to fill your belly.”
    “Oh. Yeah. So, what next?”
    “Daddy got sick and didn’t know where he was. A island native took him in.”
    “Sick from monkey brains, I bet.”
    She huffed out her air, then, “ Like I was telling , they kept him until he got well. After that, he remembered about us.”
    “But, how did your grandfather know the stories? I mean, if your father was lost at sea and couldn’t get home and couldn’t remember anything, how?”
    “Well, Smarty-Prissy-Pants, Daddy sent a letter to Mama soon as he got well.” She walked with her arms stiff.
    “Did she show the letter to you? It might have a return address to know where he was.”
    She shrugged.
    “Well, what then?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “Sweetie? What then?”
    “He had to go to the war to save America .”
    “He went to war?”
      “He got in the jungle and his friend was about to get kilt. When he went to help his friend, he got kilt himself.” Sweetie stopped walking; put her hand over her heart. “He loved my mama and me so much, when he died he had a locket with our pictures in his fist.” She held up her fist. “They buried him right there in the jungle with the locket still held in his hand. A fella brung Mama his army jacket, and that’s all we got of him.” She smiled, and walked again, her arms loose as she swung them.
    “Wow. It’s so romantic how he held the locket at the end.”
    “Nothing romantic about getting blowed the hell up.” She jumped over a log in the middle of the trail.
    I stepped over the log so I wouldn’t bust my backside for the millionth time. “Tell me more about Zemry and the Indians.”
    “Do we got to talk the whole way? I never talked this much in my whole life.” She stooped and picked up a rock. “This here rock’s shaped like a owl. I’ll give it to Zemry.” She stuffed it into her pocket, jumped high into the air, grabbed a handful of leaves from a bush, and just as she had before, crushed them in her right hand. She held out the crushed leaves to me. “Smell that.”
    I put my nose to the crushed leaves, said, “It smells like summer after the sun’s dried the rain.”
    “You got a way of saying things.” She tossed the leaves. “You orter be telling me stories.”
    We turned a curve in the trail and came upon a tiny shack with an old mule grazing in front. She said, “That there’s Miss Annie.”
    “Miss Annie the mule?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “A mule right in front of us.”
    “She don’t like to be called a mule. Just call her Miss Annie.”
    “Oh. Okay.” I looked at the shack. It was made of old wood and had a tin roof. “Does Zemry mind us coming?”
    Sweetie stopped to pet Miss Annie. “Nuh uh, he don’t mind.”
    Miss Annie stood in front of me. “Hey. The mule won’t let me by.”
    “You got to pet her or she won’t get out your way. And you got to quit calling her a mule.”
    I gave Sweetie a you’re kidding look.
      “For spit’s sake, just give her a pat.”
    When I touched her soft and satiny muzzle, she didn’t bite. “I’ve never petted a mule before, I mean, a Miss Annie.”
    Sweetie pranced up to the door and knocked once. “You in there, old man?”
    A voice boomed from the other side. “That you, Sweetie?”
    “Yup.” She turned to me and winked.
    The door swung open and I out-right stared, even though it was rude. A real mountain man mixed with Cherokee. Right in front of me.
    Sweetie said, “Miss-Lissa here thought you was my boyfriend