Free Man of the Family by Ralph Moody Page B

How’s your maw?”
    â€œI’m kind of worried about her,” I said. “She had to walk clear down here with me this morning to go to the dentist, and she’s all tuckered out. She’s in Shellabarger’s Market, but I thought if I stood out here I might see somebody with a rig that was going our way and would give us a ride home.”
    The sheriff looked up and down Main Street, but the only rig in sight was Gunther’s express wagon backed up to Kinkel’s Market. “By George, you picked one hell of a time-a-day for gettin’ a lift. Ain’t a team in sight no place. Why’n’t you come around mail time, or why’n’t you let me know you was comin’? Tell you what you do, by George, you start your maw a-walkin’ slow along the highroad, somebody’s apt to come along.” He jerked the front of his hat down over his forehead and kicked the spurs into his horse just the way I’d thought he would.
    Mother and I hadn’t gone as far as the gristmill corner before I heard wheels rattling behind us, and the fast spank of shod hoofs on the hard dirt road. I didn’t have to look around; the sheriff hollered before he was within fifty yards of us, “Mornin’, Miz Moody. Fine mornin’, ain’t it?”
    He pulled the front wheel into the gutter beside us, and cramped the team way around so it would be easy for Mother to get in. “By George, it’s right good to see you lookin’ so pert,” he said. “Thought you looked a mite peaked when I seen you couple of weeks ago. How’s your garden doin’?”
    He didn’t give Mother a chance to say a word, but swung his reins around the whip socket and climbed out of the buckboard with his big hat in his hand. He was still hollering as if we were half a mile away when he put one hand under Mother’s elbow and said, “Step right in, step right in, Miz Moody. Happens I’m a-goin’ right out past your place. Gotta see what damage them last cattle done Horn’s and Lenheart’s fences.” He turned his head a little and winked at me as he said it.
    Mother never did guess that I had anything to do with the sheriff driving us home, or if she did she never let me know it. She just bowed her head the least little bit, smiled as she got in, said, “Thank you so much, Mr. McGrath. It’s very nice of you to stop and pick us up. The garden is doing splendidly. We haven’t lost a single tomato plant.”
    She said it just as quietly as could be, but that was about all she had a chance to say. The sheriff didn’t holler any more, and he just let the team amble along, but he kept talking all the way to our house. It was mostly about me being full of vinegar and needing a man to look after me a little, and about how good Mother’s beans and brown bread were—he’d told me to leave him a quart of beans and a loaf of brown bread at Shellabarger’s every Wednesday and Saturday.
    After Sheriff McGrath helped Mother down at our front gate, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go. He pushed his hat back on his head and put one foot up on the wheel hub. “Nice little layout you got here, Miz Moody,” he said. “A whit too clost to the edge of town and the railroad for a widda woman to be livin’ alone. Ain’t been troubled none with hobos, have ya?”
    Mother had opened the gate. She went through and closed it with me still on the outside. Then she smiled and bowed her head just a little bit toward the sheriff before she said, “No, we haven’t had a bit of trouble. I feel very safe here with my children. Thank you again, Mr. McGrath.” Then she turned toward the front steps.
    He twisted his mustache back from his mouth, and said, “Don’t you go tryin’ to walk down to the village no more, Miz Moody. Jest let me know any time you feel a hankerin’ to go and I’ll pick