“Mother, it’s me,” Pearl said. “I have someone here who wants to say hello.”
The woman answered back, “Who’s on the line? Is that you, Mrs. Barry? Oh, hold, Pearl, one of the Barrys is on the party line again. Mrs. Barry, please hang up, it’s for me… Hang up, it’s my Pearly! Mrs. Barry?” There was a short pause, then a loud click. Pearl shoved the earpiece into my hand.
All I could do was stare at it, my hands darkening, washed in blue. But if Pearl noticed, she didn’t say anything. “Put it up to your ear, and speak into the bottom here,” Pearl whispered, tapping the mouthpiece.
“Oh! Hello, hello, this is Honey Lovett, Mother, uh, Mrs. Grant, ma’am, from Troublesome Creek, Kentucky.”
Pearl’s mother said, “This is Elizabeth Grant, Honey, over in Somerset.” I stared out the windowed room, across the vast hills, forest, and streams, imagining the countless miles, then looked at the earpiece and back to the windows again. “She’s in Somerset,” I said to Pearl and turned around slowly, stretching the coiled cord, gazing out the sheets of window glass that climbed up the cab’s walls, the fog outside ghosting up and over the woodlands and creeks. “Clear over in Somerset, Kentucky, Pearl, and talking to me like she’s standing right here.” I pressed a palm over my mouth. “Somerset,” I said, muffled.
Pearl laughed, gently lifted the telephone back to my ear.
“Honey,” Pearl’s mother chatted on, “I want to thank you for giving my Pearly a place to stay while her cab was being repaired.”
“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Grant, anytime.” Dumbfounded, I handed the handset back to Pearl, my mind dizzy from the thought of talking to someone that far away. I slid sweaty hands down my britches and leaned my head closer to Pearl’s, listening.
Never before had I understood when Mama told me about the first time she’d seen an aeroplane flying overhead. I felt the same way about this telephone.
I glanced around at Pearl’s icebox, stove, record player, and telephone, pondering it all. The Wonders. And other than in magazines, I’d never seen such, the likings of machinery tethered to a mind like that, and I gasped, realizing the notions were just that.
From below, Junia brayed into Pie’s sudden neigh. Pearl said goodbye to her mother and hung up the telephone, rushing out to the catwalk. I followed and saw her eyes fearfully searching the trees. “Mother is sending my .410, and if I catch him breaking in here again, I’m going to pepper his hairy ass with birdshot.” Her jaw twitched.
Twelve
While Retta napped Sunday afternoon, I would read a few pages and pause when she’d jerk in her sleep, troubled by the amount of time she was spending in bed, worrying she was in pain.
When she finally stirred, I went over to check on her. She’d been sleeping a lot lately. “Retta, Retta.” I gently shook her shoulders, then laid the back of my hand on her forehead. Cool. She roused long enough to flutter her eyes and turn over. I frowned. How much was too much sleep for a ninety-one-year-old woman?
Later that evening, Retta staggered out of bed holding on to me. She stayed up for a supper of corn bread, hot tea, and even more unusual, little talk. Soon, she was back in the bed, waving away my worries. “Don’t fret none, child. I’ll be good as new by morn’。”
I needed to find Doc or one of the frontier nurses and ask them to come check on her.
On Monday morn’， I fried Retta up some sage sausage and boiled corn for hominy with a jar of pinto beans I’d brought over from my root cellar, then dressed to go to town.
I picked up my coat and found the hidden zipper and reached inside and pulled out some money. I counted out five one-dollar bills, tallied them twice, and stuffed the rest back inside, and wrote down the directions for the nurse to find Retta’s home.
“Child, travel safe,” Retta said, holding onto the porch beam. “And you”—she shook a stiff finger at Junia—“take care of my Honey, you cantankerous ol’ cuss,” she warned.