NUMBER SEVEN? A little sunshine peeks through the clouds as she slowly walked back from the cemetery. “Sakes alive, dang it anyhow. Just get a man all broke in and he ups and dies on me. Dang, dang, dang,” Missy Lou said as she now had six simple graves, with husbands in them, there on locust hill. Slowly she entered the little church house and sat down on one of the hand-hewn pews. She untied her bonnet and lay it beside her, then slowly clasp her hands and knelt. “Oh Lord, why me? Why is it I get a good decent man and then he ups and dies on me? Lord give me a strong man this time, give me another Jim or Sam, or Elmo, or Pete or George. But Lord, no more Terrances, for he was one miserable man. Never could make biscuits worth a damn, errr I mean he just never could make biscuits." After praying for half an hour or so, she rose, put her black bonnet on, and left the churchhouse. Slowly she walked back up the hill to the little cemetery there on locust knob, where she untied Old Ben, her mule. She fed him a few cups of grain, then gave him a good drink afore she got into the creaky old wagon and started off toward home. The next afternoon she was out fixing the fence where her bull Ferdy had gotten too rambunctious with those two young heifers and broken down the fence. “Dang Ferdy, I surely wish you were a man, fer we could make sweet music.” She grinned as she spoke and swung the hammer with a sure stroke. “Howdy Maam, I be a looking fer a bed for the night. I be a going over to Rural Retreat looking for work. You or your mister got any work fer me, so I can earn my supper and a place to sleep?” She turned to see a young feller with some light corn silks on his chin and a great big smile standing there on the side of the road. She slowly put her hammer down and sized this young buck up. “Got some good stew a simmering and made some fresh salt rising bread today, along with a black berry cobbler,” she said with a smile. “Iff’n you can split some wood I do have a spare pallet there in the front room.” She grinned as she picked up her tool box and slowly walked back toward the house, all the while a grinning and a looking up saying, “Oh Lord, let him outlast the others.” © Tom (tomWYO@aol.com) March 2004 BACK All poems and short stories on this website have a copyright. If you wish to use one or more on your website, contact the author for permission. If you enjoyed this page, check these out: Spring Is Here An Irish Tale Humor Click the image and visit my business website. And.......for many others, click the link for HOME. Home: Writers' Early Spring 2004 Index