Truelove & Homegrown Tomatoes by Julie Cannon

Author:Julie Cannon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2001-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Loutishie’s Notebook

The end of August was so miserably hot that Imo made a gallon of tea every morning, and by supper time it was gone. She ran in and out of the house, harvesting the vegetables, and then freezing or canning them.

She was energized by garden abundance, as if a freezer and pantry full of food was the answer to life’s questions. That’s about all she did. She’d stopped going to those Help-the-Farmers meetings. At least Imo’s tearful nights were over. She talked about our Florida trip every chance she got, and she seemed happier.

My aunt was so busy putting by the garden that I was 100 percent positive she wasn’t on a manhunt, and I figured that the ugly gossip would just dry up.

Watching Jeanette begin to bloom, I had a vision of the impending storm. I was so scared sometimes I could barely swallow. To me, Imo’s happiness at that point was like a delicate, glistening bubble teetering on the edge of its life and about to burst into smithereens.

One afternoon, Jeanette said she felt the baby move, and she called it Peanut and started crying and rubbing her stomach.

“Don’t cr y,” I begged, sitting at the bottom of the sofa, rubbing her feet.

“You haven’t said a thing to Mama about me, have you?” Jeanette sniffled.

“Nope, Jeannie, I promised. But she’s going to find out sooner or later,” I said. “You can’t hide being pregnant.”

“I can hide me. Go away somewhere. Give the baby away.”

I didn’t know what to say back. That was what happened to her and look how it messed her up. Up till she was twelve or so, she nursed the insides of her upper arms at night so bad she had continual bruises on them.

“I’m sleepy.” Jeanette settled down onto the sofa with a cigarette. Her face was pale. Everybody knew each cigarette took one minute off your life, and so I knew it couldn’t be good for the baby.

I spent the next two days trying to get her to eat something healthy. I offered her fresh blackberries and a lot of vegetables. I decided to walk to the clinic and pick up some of the pamphlets on having babies that the school nurse showed us in health class.

I set out on foot toward town with Bingo. The clinic was literally in the heart of downtown Euharlee, below and to the left of City Hall. “Seven miles is nothing,” I said to Bingo as we passed the Dairy Queen. He was panting and walking so slowly I figured we’d never make it. I turned around and stuck out my thumb at a blue Ford pickup coming toward us.

It kicked up a cloud of dust that settled all over Bingo and made him sneeze when it stopped. It was Mr. Royce Sosebee, a man I knew from riding out to his farm with Uncle Silas.

“Hi, Mr. Sosebee.”

“Get in.” He scraped a tangle of paper, styrofoam cups, and candy bar wrappers off the seat.

“Mighty nice of you to stop,” I said.

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