Free Skip Rock Shallows by Jan Watson Page A

juice in the same manner that she and her childhood friends once dipped feather quills into the purple ink of the pokeberry plant. She’d spent many a hot summer afternoon with her friend Kate decorating rocks and writing notes on the underside of sycamore leaves to send to make-believe pen pals in foreign lands.
    “Drink up,” the man said. “Lynn here mellows the juice with honey.”
    Lilly took a small bottle of wine of opium mixed with anise and sweet oil and set it on the table. “Let me write instructions for treating your earache first.” She never liked to leave medicine of any type without specific written directions. When she was a student, she’d left a glycerin suppository bedside only to have her patient swallow it whole. No harm done; everything came out all right in the end, as the saying goes, but it scared her silly nonetheless.
    Shake well, she printed on a pad, and drop three to five drops into the affected ear. If no relief in five or ten minutes, repeat, and follow along as needed.
    Lynn studied the script as seriously as if she were memorizing a Bible verse. Carefully she unscrewed the dropper from the glass bottle and drew up a minute amount. Watching her mother intently from Lilly’s lap, the little girl opened her mouth wide as a baby bird’s.
    “Do I put it on her tongue?” Lynn asked.
    “Goodness,” Lilly said, “I forgot the most important part.” She uncapped her fountain pen again and drew a picture of the dropper and three drops dripping into an exaggerated ear canal. “This should be clearer.”
    Lynn treated her husband first, letting the little girl watch. The toddler turned up first one ear and then the other in perfect imitation of her daddy.
    “Good job,” Lilly said, picking up the white stoneware mug full of pink sumac-ade. Surprisingly, it tasted refreshing, but too sweet for her taste.
    After half an hour of nonstop dialog, Hiram pushed back his chair and retrieved the shotgun from behind the door. “Come on, Cleve; supper ain’t catching itself.”
    “I saw a squirrel big as a fattening hen on that pin oak by the spring, Daddy,” Cleve said, pulling a shirt on over his head.
    “Let’s go get him, Son. Time’s a-wasting.”
    “You’ll have to make a spit to cook him on outside,” Lynn said. “I ain’t going to have the stove put back together before suppertime.”
    “Be on the lookout for apple trees, Son. Meat roasted over dried apple wood will flat out melt in your mouth.” He slid shells into the breech, allowing Cleve to pocket extras. “You might not think it, but an apple tree drops a lot of wood—branches fall off in the slightest wind.”
    The screen door slapped closed behind Hiram and Cleve. Lilly was glad to have a moment alone with Lynn, and she was glad for a break from Hiram. The man surely loved the sound of his own voice.
    “Ye can go if you need to,” Lynn said. “Hiram’s careful where he shoots.”
    “I’d love to visit a moment. I could help you black the stovepipe.”
    “That’s real nice, but you’d ruin your clothes. It can wait. Want some more ade? There’s plenty.”
    Lilly held her palm over her mug. “No, I’m good.”
    “So where are you from?” Lynn asked. “I heard tell there was a new doctor in Skip Rock, but I never figured on a lady.”
    “I grew up on Troublesome Creek, in Breathitt County. Do you know of it?”
    “I can’t say as I do. We come from Virginia. We ain’t been here a year yet.”
    “Do you have someone to help with your confinement?”
    “Hiram’s a pretty good help.” Lynn dropped her eyes, busying herself by making circles around the rim of her cup with her thumb. “I don’t want to put anybody else out.”
    “I would be more than happy to help you.” Lilly laid her hand over Lynn’s. “It’s my job, you know.”
    When Lynn raised her eyes, Lilly saw the sparkle of tears.
    “Ain’t God good?” Lynn said. “I was praying for an angel just this morning and now here you