Free The Queen of Sleepy Eye by Patti Hill Page A

sand and moss into the refrigerator. “I collected these fresh this morning. If you don’t think they’re the finest eggs you ever ate, I’ll bring you a dozen store-bought eggs to replace them tomorrow.” She looked up from her work and smiled. “I’ve promised that to lots of people, but I’ve never had to replace one egg.”
    The girl wore a peasant blouse cinched tightly at the neck and wrists, but still the blouse hung to her knees over a pair of baggy pants hemmed with a chain of embroidered daisies. A hippie girl? The last thing I needed was a know-it-all hippie feeding me bad information and filling the refrigerator with rotten eggs. As the telephone at H’s house rang, I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand. “I didn’t ask the lady’s name.”
    â€œThat was Leoti Masterson,” the girl said. “She’s been tending her sick husband for as long as I can remember. Cancer of some kind.”
    I scowled at the girl, aggravated by her composure, and because she knew the lady’s name. How dumb was that?
    The girl shrugged and turned for the door. “I listen is all.”
    I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “What’s your name?”
    â€œFeather.”
    â€œIs that an Indian name?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou know, like Black Kettle or Crazy Horse, something like that.”
    â€œOh that. I have a birth certificate name same as you, but I keep that name secret. It has nothing to do with who I am. Once my parents saw how good I was with the hens, they named me Feather. My annoying twin brothers are Mule and Frog, and you can probably guess why once you meet them. Sometimes I think their names should be Good-bye and Long-Gone. The baby just has his birth certificate name—so far.”
    * * *
    H STOPPED THE hearse in front of a two-story house with a swooning front porch and weathered siding. White geraniums planted in a rusted bucket sat by the front door. From around the side of the house, a dog as big as a pony charged the frail fence with bared teeth. I stepped behind H who offered his hand to the dog.
    â€œBarlow, don’t make me look bad in front of the lady.” At the sound of H’s voice, Barlow rolled onto his back. H leaned over the fence to rub the dog’s spotted belly. “He’s blind and dumber than a post, but he won’t let strangers inside the fence.” He patted the dog’s belly. “Good boy.”
    H offered a dog biscuit to Barlow as he opened the gate. “It pays to be prepared.”
    â€œYou got another one of those biscuits?”
    â€œIt’ll cost you,” he said, winking.
    I pushed past H to the front door. From inside, a woman astenuous as a newly hatched chick pushed open the screen. She spoke to H. “I called Will and George to help you carry Arthur out, dear. Do you think I should call anyone else?”
    H extended his hand to Mrs. Masterson, and she stepped into his embrace.
    â€œI’m already lost without him.”
    H patted her shoulder. “There, there now Mrs. Masterson.”
    She backed out of his embrace to blot her tears with a hankie. She looked down and flinched with surprise. “Look at me. I can’t even decide what to wear.” She clutched her robe to her neck and combed her hair with her fingers. She said, “Arthur and I met at a dance. He paid every boy on my dance card two bits so he could dance with me all night. I fell in love with him long before the last waltz.”
    I would have too. “I’m so sorry—”
    â€œDo you know the time?” she asked, looking from me to H.
    H popped his pocket watch open. “It’s 2:30, ma’am.”
    Mrs. Masterson sighed. “Oh dear, it’s almost time for tea.” Her eyes had gone sleepy. H and I exchanged glances.
    â€œMrs. Masterson?” H prodded.
    She blinked and that seemed to restart her motor.
    â€œCan you take us to Dr.