Unto These Hills by Emily Sue Harvey

Author:Emily Sue Harvey [Harvey, Emily Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61188-026-7
Publisher: The Story Plant
Published: 2011-10-07T04:00:00+00:00

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We threw Nana an eighty-fifth birthday party at the Tucapau Methodist Church Fellowship Hall. With arthritis, she could hardly get around without assistance. Timmy’s and Noreen’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Gale, who was quite talented, sang the yodeling Western song, I Want to Be a Cowboy’s Sweetheart and brought down the house. Singing was the one thing on which Gale — diagnosed at seven with ADD — focused long enough to follow through. Otherwise, she was a tornado in the making.

“Poor Noreen always looks like she’s just two steps ahead of the undertaker,” Francine muttered as we cut homemade chocolate cakes to serve. “That Gale makes me thank the good Lord I don’t have any kids. I don’t see how Timmy and Noreen stand it.” She shuddered.

“Hey,” I nudged her, grinning hugely, “she’s ours.

“Don’t remind me,” she snapped and walked away to greet Doretha and Alvin. Their daughter, Tammy, rushed to join Gale, whose vigorous ambiance always attracted the fervent, heartier youth. Alvin’s only evident genetic transference to Tammy was the blonde one. From Doretha came the sweetness. The origin of Tammy’s exuberant spirit remained a mystery. She was the apple of her Gramma Tina’s eye. However, her gentle kindness was not spoiled by Aunt Tina’s obsessive adulation. Indeed, her reciprocal respect and affection for Aunt Tina encouraged me to take a second look at the woman who had, in days past, been unkind to me.

Nana huddled in a rocking chair, a pale, ancient little gnome who seemed to be in another time and place for the festivity’s duration. Only when spoken to did so much as an eyelash flicker separate her from the dead. That she was hugged and kissed endlessly, fawned over, and pandered to seemed not to impress her. Only when Timmy sank to his haunches to ask if she wanted to go home did any life spark the dried-apple features.

Five minutes later, as I said good-bye to the guests, I was thankful Nana had left before the racket started. When a familiar strident voice began to rise in anger, overriding the dwindling conversational cacophony, I grew alarmed. Immediately a knot formed in my stomach and I turned to meet it head-on.

Across the social hall, Aunt Tina shook her long, arthritic finger in Sheila’s face, fairly spitting out her diatribe. “You can’t be happy unless you’re tearing somebody down, can you? You little slut!”

Sheila’s lips slowly curved into feline smugness and my breath grew labored. Dear God. What now? I rushed to where they stood planted in sparring stance. “What’s going on?” I asked, noticing Doretha, pale as a specter, trembling, and Alvin, beside her, his flabby features a pasty green. Don’t know who looked closest to fainting. My alarm shrilled.

My gaze swung to Sheila, “What?” I asked sharply.

“She’s been tellin’ lies on Alvin,” Aunt Tina snarled under her breath, glaring at Sheila, “and I ain’t gonna have it, I tell you. What’re you grinning about, you hussy? I’ll wipe that smirk off your —” She lunged, claws bared. I managed, just in time, to block her, getting my foot stepped on in the process.

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