Part 35 (1/2)

He'd get Belle and Puddin' Foot unhitched and backed away from our oak tree and headed toward the main road; then he'd give the mules a light slap with the reins and say, ”Belle! Puddin'

Foot! Quit moving like mola.s.ses! There's such a thing as getting home 'fore dark!” Then he'd look around at Mama and say, ”Nannie, looks like on preaching days you invite everybody and his dog to go home with us for dinner!”

And every single time, Mama would smile up at Papa and say, ”Well, ain't you glad the dogs don't come!”

Then they would laugh, and we'd ride on home. Mama would start putting all the Sunday good things on the dinner table, and Papa would leave the wide gate open so the company folks could drive their wagons and buggies into the well lot, where a long time ago Grandpa Thad had wedged hitching rings deep into the trunks of the black walnut trees. And before the company men could unharness their teams, Papa would have his feed trough filled with fodder and corn.

But the first Sunday after Christmas, I knew Papa wouldn't tell Mama a thing about inviting dogs to come eat dinner. Our wagon was the last one leaving the church grounds, and n.o.body was going home with us, not even Mierd and Wiley. Jenny Goode had begged Mama to let Mierd go to her house to eat dinner and spend the evening, and Mama had said she could. Wiley had gone home with the Hansen boys, and Wallace Goode went there too.

Papa climbed into the wagon, gave Belle and Puddin' Foot a light slap with the reins, and told them about how slow cold mola.s.ses moves in wintertime. As usual, they paid no attention.

”You didn't ask anybody to take dinner with us today, Nannie?”

”I asked several, Jodie. But Miss Maime had already invited Vic and the schoolteacher to go with her and Doctor Elton. And January is always their turn to take the preacher, you remember.”

”Yeah, I bet Doctor Elton's looking forward to that! It'll half kill the man to sit all evening and talk to Brother Milligan!”

When we got home, I climbed down from the wagon and skipped on toward the front porch. Mierd's old Nero came around the corner of the house and met me at the yard gate. When I stopped to pet him, he purred and rubbed his back up against my legs.

Mama called to me from the kitchen and told me to run and tell Grandpa and Grandma that we were home from church. ”Tell them I'll have Grandma's tray ready in just a little bit-soon as I can warm up the chicken and dumplings.”

In a few minutes I was back, and I found Mama in the kitchen already setting things on Grandma's dinner tray.

”Mama, you know what Grandma Ming said?”

”No, there's no telling 'bout your grandma. What'd she tell you this time?”

”She said if I stand 'hind the door and eat a chicken foot, it'll make me pretty!”

”Goodness me! I'd forgotten that old saying.”

”Can I do it, Mama?”

”You can try it, if you want to. That is, if the old rooster's feet haven't boiled all to pieces.”

I followed Mama over to the cook stove and watched her lift the cover off the stew pot. White steam whoofed up, but she jerked her head back before it could get on her face. With a big spoon, she started stirring through the hot simmering dumplings.

”Here's one foot. Well, here's the other one. You may as well have both of them. But now, Bandershanks, don't be expecting too much.”

Mama put the chicken feet on a saucer and handed it to me.

”Careful now. They're hot.”

”Which door, Mama?”

”It won't matter. Try that one.”

She pointed to the door between the kitchen and the fireplace room. I slid myself in behind it and squatted down to wait for all the steam to float away from the saucer. Then I happened to remember that Grandma Ming had said if I wanted to get pretty to stand behind the door and eat a chicken foot, so I stood back up again.

As I got up, one piece of my chicken slid off the saucer and fell to the floor. That was all right. I just wiped it off good with the tail of my underskirt.