Free Aim by Joyce Moyer Hostetter Page B

course I wanted to go. And Mildred probably would take me. But I sure didn’t want to be beholden to anybody. So I just shook my head. “I don’t have time for picture shows. I’ll be cutting firewood every Saturday between now and Christmas.”
    â€œWe’re here to help with that,” said Leroy. “You got right smart of a load there, Junior. But the biggest part of that tree is still on the ground. We best get to work.”
    Well, I could just hardly believe I had help. Things went a lot faster with me and Leroy using the crosscut saw. Ann Fay climbed onto the wagon and started stacking the sections I’d already loaded—even the hefty logs that still needed to be split. If she couldn’t pick it up, she’d roll or shove it into place. I’ll say one thing for that young’un. She sure knew how to work.
    By noon we had a wagonload. “Ready to take this back to the house?” asked Leroy. “We should head home, and I ’spect you’ve worked up an appetite.”
    We led Grover back to the house and unhitched himby the chopping block in the backyard. “I sure do thank you both,” I said. “Maybe Momma will rest easy now that we have a good start on the firewood.”
    Of course I still had to split it, but I could do that, a little at a time, on weekdays after school.
    Granddaddy was waiting for me at the back door. “Where you been? I need a haircut. And my toenails have to be trimmed.”
    I guessed he thought I was actually going to trim his toenails! But he was sure wrong about that. Momma had dinner dished up and I sat down to eat.
    Granddaddy tagged along. “Mind if I join you? After dinner we’ll get right on that haircut. And then maybe I’ll take me a bath. I could use one.”
    I could’ve agreed about him needing a bath. As usual he had tobacco stains running down his neck. But ignoring him was my best bet.
    â€œHammer, I already filled you a plate,” said Momma. “It’s in your room.”
    â€œCan you bring it here?”
    â€œI could,” said Momma. “But then what would you do?” She waited for Granddaddy to leave the table, and then she sat down. “Miss Dinah came by,” she said to me. “It looks like we have an invitation for Thanksgiving.”
    I dropped my fork. “You made plans to go to the Hinkle sisters’, Momma? I can’t! I put up with Miss Pauline five days a week already.”
    Momma squinted. “You need to climb down off your high horse. Nobody said a thing about having Thanksgiving at the Hinkle sisters’. Your Uncle Tag called to invite us to China Grove for a few days. Miss Dinah just delivered the message. If you can arrange for milking and someone to tend to the animals, we’ll do it.”
    â€œGarland Abernethy will help with the animals,” I said. Garland’s farm was only a mile away, and he and Pop often helped each other out when one of them was away from home. We used to go regular to China Grove for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but the last few years it seemed like Pop ended up drunk around any holiday. Momma wouldn’t visit her family if he was intoxicated. Or “sick,” as she always called it.
    Before I had time to get used to the idea of leaving for a few days, I heard Granddaddy coming up behind me. Singing. “Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go …” He plopped his plate on the table, pulled out Pop’s chair, and sat beside me. “Yipee!” he said. “We’re going out of town. Yup, I’m definitely going to need a haircut.”
    I looked at Momma. She was sitting there staring at her plate. Ignoring him. I hoped she knew that if she intended on taking him to China Grove, I would stay home and enjoy every minute of peace and quiet.
    â€œI’ll give you a haircut after we eat,” Momma told Granddaddy. “And I’ll