Hideaway Home by Hannah Alexander

Author:Hannah Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Published: 2008-03-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Red stepped out of the barbershop, reeking of aftershave and itching around the collar of his shirt. He’d never liked going to the barber, so he always let his hair grow a little too long before getting it cut. In the Army, that hadn’t been much of a problem.

As he walked from the barbershop to the MFA Exchange for some grain for Seymour, short hairs continued to poke at his neck. Time to take a bath as soon as he got home—if he could get past all the visitors without being drawn into some conversation or other.

As usual, when he reached the MFA Exchange, he saw a handful of farmers loafing around the large dock where the farmers unloaded their excess crops and loaded up with things they didn’t have. Some would’ve brought grain in to sell, others, like Red, were there to buy it.

The MFA Exchange, the barbershop and the diner down the street were the three favorite places for the men to catch up on local news, find out the going price for grain and let off some steam every once in a while.

A telltale haze of pipe smoke greeted Red before he caught sight of Gramercy Short sitting on a hay bale, jawing at anybody who’d listen.

Not many ever did. Gramercy’s word was about as dependable as a cow pie in a hailstorm. But Red did eavesdrop on several conversations as he limped along the aisles of farm supplies, sniffing the sweet grain laced with molasses, the sun-baked hay, the smoke from various cigarettes and pipe tobacco.

“…sure keepin’ to himself since he got back…”

“…thought they were sweet on each other before he left. Think they’ll get married now that he’s home for good?”

“…going to try to run that farm all by herself?”

“…oughtn’t to be buryin’a Nazi in a Christian graveyard…”

He stopped and looked sharply toward the sorry soul who’d made that last remark. Of course. Gramercy Short was still hunched down low on the hay bale, muttering to his wife, Drusilla, who stood beside him. Far be it from ol’ man Short to let his wife have the only available seat.

True to form, Dru didn’t seem to be listening to a word her husband said, but stood thumbing through last year’s copy of the Farmer’s Almanac.

Red’s hands clenched at his sides. Gramercy Short, that old hog-nosed bully, had always been a few rows short of a plowed field. What right did he have to call anybody a Nazi? Or complain about who was buried in the church cemetery? He never went to church, or even funerals, unless the dead person was close family, and no Shorts had died around here in a coon’s age.

Not that Red wanted harm to come to any of them, but they sure did cause a heap of trouble for the rest of the town with their constant bickering and their troublemaking ways. Dru was the one that had upset Ma so badly, accusing Red of being AWOL on his last leave from the war.

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