Free Aim by Joyce Moyer Hostetter Page A

school, he could sure count on double trouble when I got ahold of him. Ten licks at school meant twenty at home.”
    Momma stared into the gravy she was stirring. AndI could tell she was feeling sorry for Pop—back when he was a boy. “Axel Bledsoe,” she said, and she let out a long, ragged-sounding sigh. “God rest your poor tormented soul.”
    Hearing her fret over Pop just added to my guilt. I didn’t like her being disappointed in me. After all, the two of us had always stuck together when he didn’t come home or was in one of his dark moods. Now that he wasn’t here, it seemed like we were starting to be on opposite sides.
    â€œHow many licks did she give you?” Granddaddy headed toward me fingering his belt, like he was fixing to take it off and help Momma out.
    â€œHammer, you stay out of this,” said Momma. “Axel never laid a hand on that child, and I sure won’t let you do it.”
    Granddaddy stopped in his tracks. “It figgers,” he said. “Children nowadays are spoiled plumb rotten. Watch and see if you don’t regret this.”
    Since Pop wasn’t there to punish me, I figured I’d do it for him. I could show Momma I wasn’t trying to be mean and ornery. “I’m gonna chop wood,” I told her. “There’s a big tree down behind the barn that needs cutting up.”
    Momma nodded. But she didn’t look at me. “I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”
    The ax felt real good in my hands. And bringing it down on the log and sending chips flying felt even better. But it didn’t take long before I started hankering afterthat two-man saw hanging on the wall inside the shed.
    â€œCome on, Pop!” I yelled. “You expecting me to do this all by myself? You never did. No siree! You always had me there helping out. So what in tarnation makes you think you can run off and leave me here with all the work?”
    I wore myself slap out before supper and got only three sections of that log chopped off. Looked like Momma would have to put on extra layers this winter. Or pray for mild weather. Because firewood sure didn’t cut itself up, and Granddaddy wouldn’t have helped even if he had two good hands.
    Pop was right when he said he could stop me from playing baseball. Maybe he wouldn’t have let me play if he was still living. But one thing for sure. With him dead, there wasn’t a chance of me having time for fun and games.

15
THANKSGIVING
    November 1941
    Saturday morning before Thanksgiving, I was in the woods just behind the barn chopping away at that log and wishing I was out hunting. But much as Momma would’ve loved to have some venison to put in jars or squirrel to stew, those things wouldn’t keep us warm.
    After working for an hour, I threw a few short sections of the log onto the wagon. “Grover,” I said, slapping him on the rump, “you might want to catch yourself some shut-eye. This is going to take a while.”
    I worked for another hour and then I heard voices. Coming around the corner of the barn was Leroy Honeycutt with a two-man saw. Of course Ann Fay was with him.
    She ran ahead, waving a newspaper. “Look, Junior. Somebody famous was in town this week. Alvin York. He’s a war hero. They made a movie about him.”
    â€œI know that,” I said. “I heard about the movie on the radio.”
    â€œWell, he stayed at Hotel Hickory last week—on hisway to Statesville for a movie premiere. I bet you know all about that too, don’t you?”
    â€œNope,”I said. “Don’t know much about Hollywood.”
    â€œPeggy Sue says a premiere is the first showing of the movie. When Sergeant York comes to Hickory, me and Peggy Sue are going to see it.”
    That figured. Her and Peggy Sue. “Well, y’all have yourself a good time,” I said.
    â€œWanna go? I bet her momma’ll take you too.”
    Of