Pappy's House

Yet another of life's lessons. This one is about friendship.

Pappy’s House

 

I had no idea what to expect that fall day when you called and invited me to go with you out into the country to Pappy’s. “Who is Pappy,” I asked.

“He is a good ole hunting friend of mine,” you said. “You’ll like him. You’ll like his family, too.”

“I will? How can you be so sure,” I asked, jokily.

“Dunno,” you said, thoughtfully then adding quickly, “because they’re good people. You’ll see what I mean when we get there. They’re looking forward to meeting you. Trust me. You‘re gonna like them.”

You and Pappy had met up town at the cafe one late night, drinking coffee.  You said that Pappy was not fond of "college kids" and let it be known to you right off.  After drinking a lot of coffee and doing some talking, however, Pappy found out that you were a hunter, like him, and an alright kid.  He invited you home to go rabbit hunting with him the very next day.  You enjoyed a good hunt with Pappy, that first time, but as the sun began to fade you thought about heading home. You said that Pappy quickly invited you to stick around for dinner with the family but when you started to pass on the invite, Pappy just as quickly said, "If our home and food isn't good enough for you then don't bother coming back". 

You said that you took off your jacket and asked, "what's for dinner," and that

Pappy took you hunting many times after that.

I was glad, when you called, to get out of our busy college town and away from the university and happy to get to spend a nice day with you. I couldn’t help but wonder what Pappy’s country home was like and imagined a large comfortable house surrounded by good old Midwestern woods. Maybe it had a screened deck with rocking chairs and a porch swing and maybe a nearby pond full of fish waiting for fat worms. Maybe they’d had a garden and a barn where great big blackberries made their way, thorny vines trailing upward, free to roam until pie time. I was excited thinking about it because I love the country and had always hoped that I could live in the country myself. I knew that you and your old friend, Pappy, enjoyed hunting together and I thought maybe he had some good woods around his house that offered up an excellent place for hunting rabbits and other gamey things.

Together, we rode in your prized pickup through the winding countryside to Pappy‘s house. For me, the ride was fun because it was an adventure and I liked that the trees were beginning to change into their fall colors, some already floating to the ground. It was nice riding cuddled up next you with fall all around us and it was a good day for hunting rabbits. Outside, the breeze was chilly and as we pulled up to Pappy’s house I saw leaves twirling in the wind like tumbleweeds in a dust storm way out West.

I was surprised, taken aback really, as we turned into Pappy’s yard and came to a stop under the Sycamore tree that stood tall beside of the house, a loaded clothesline nearby. It was not at all as I had imagined, not even close. There were Beagles running loose and barking as they dashed toward us. I stiffened but you told me not to worry about them.

“They are all good hunting dogs,” you said.

A lot of kids, happy as little puppies, came rolling out of the dreary-looking house to greet us. They were as curious as I was that day, gathered around your pickup, but ready and willing to drag me into their home and into the family as soon as my feet hit the ground.

“Come inside,” they shouted, happy for our visit and for the chance to invite a new guest into their home.

“You and Daddy going rabbit hunting,” one of the girls asked, looking at you.

“You bet we are, Kiddo,” you answered . “What do you think we came for?”

“To eat dinner with us,” the older girl laughed. “Ma made an apple pie.”

“My favorite,“ you squealed excitedly but untruthfully, for you had already told me that peach was your favorite.

Pappy, a rumpled -looking older man, walked over to us and shook your hand. “And who is this,” he asked bluntly.

“This is Kathleen,” you said, “the girl I told you about”.

“Yes you did tell us about her,” Pappy laughed. “You’re the college girl,” he said, looking my way.

I nodded my head up and down smiling but thinking that there was something in Pappy‘s tone that bothered me. It was something about the way he said, “college girl,” and I wondered what else you may have told them about me. You and pappy chatted about rabbits for a moment and I tried to sneak a look at the house out of the corner of my eye. The poor old house was definitely in need of a paint job, large patches of gray showing through the discolored yellow paint. There was junk scattered around the yard. I hoped the kids didn’t think I was staring.

“Now come on in the house,” Pappy said. “Ma made us an apple pie.”

“We’re having fried rabbit and Ma’s mashed potatoes and white gravy and corn for dinner, “ the older boy added, proudly.

“…and apple pie,” said the little girl. She looked happy.

“We gotta go shoot us some rabbits first” said Pappy.

I’ll admit that my stomach was beginning to feel queasy. I had always had a thing about eating other people’s food if I had any sense at all that they were, well….dirty. I was beginning to wonder if I even liked the idea of eating fresh bunny rabbit, never having tasted it before.

Ma Smith was standing in her less than tidy kitchen when we all walked in. “Well,” she said, “I was hoping you would bring your college friend.

“I told you I would ask her,” you said, giving her a warm hug.

“Well, welcome to our home,” Ma said, looking straight at me. She had a kind face. I took a hold of her hand when she held it out to me.

“Thank you for having me,” I said.

“Just call me Ma,” she said, “and you can call him Pappy,” pointing at your old friend. “Now you men go and get your rabbits and me and the girls will get things going here. Do you like to cook?” She was looking me right in the face, again.

“Ah, I like to make cookies, “ I said. “I haven’t really had much of a chance to cook at school but I help my mother when I am at home. I know how to make Sinckerdoodles and peanut butter cookies pretty well though.”

Ma laughed and said the men always like cookies. "The kids do, too. You can sit there at the table while the girls and me start on dinner,” she said.

I sat down at the long table, which took up most of the kitchen, and my elbow found a sticky spot right away. Ma saw me rubbing my arm.

“Is there something on that table,” she asked.

“Well, maybe,” I stammered.

“Here, let me get a rag and wipe it down. I thought those girls cleaned it up after breakfast”.

“We cleaned it Ma,” said one of the girls. “It was Pappy and the boys done that when they had them some syrup bread a while ago.”

I began thinking that Ma Smith might have decided I was not going to be of much help in her kitchen and that I was a prissy college girl so I said, “You know,” getting up from the sticky table, “this is nothing. I’ve met a lot stickier tables than this. Let me wipe it off and then let me help you fix dinner. Just tell me what to do here.”

Ma looked pleased. She handed me a small knife and a large bowl of Idaho potatoes, forgetting all about the sticky table.

“Can you peel these potatoes,” she asked.

I told her that I could and that I would be happy to do it. Then, I heard the guns going off somewhere behind the house.

The rabbits were cleaned outside and brought into the kitchen where Ma Smith fried them up crisp and greasy.

“Just like fried chicken,” you said, as we all took our places at the still-sticky table. I got myself settled next to you, trying to keep my elbows to myself. My stomach was churning just thinking about the rabbits arranged prominently in the middle of the long table, resting on Ma’s dingy plastic tablecloth. I was trying, on the sly, to check my plate and mismatched silverware for any left over debris, from a former meal, when Pappy told the girls to pass me the fried rabbit. Since I was the newest guest at the Smith family dinner table, I was given the honor of digging in first. I looked over at you, feeling queasy. You were smiling.

“Dig in,” you urged me.

I took a piece of rabbit and put it on my yet- to- be inspected plate. It was a small piece and I hoped I could handle it.

“Pass her the potatoes and gravy,” someone shouted.

“Give her that corn and them biscuits,” Pappy ordered, passing the gravy my way.

My plate was full. No chance of finding out, now, if it had been properly washed down after probably hosting the syrup bread. It was time to dig in.

The rabbit was good. It was tasty, in fact, just like fried chicken. Ma had prepared it perfectly, never mind that her stove looked like it had fried a lot of things prior to today‘s bunnies. I loaded up on the mashed potatoes because I had helped to prepare them. There was a lot of chatter and laughter while we ate and with dinner finished, Ma Smith brought over the apple pie. We each got a fresh plate but had to keep our dinner forks. I was still rubbing mine clean with my paper towel napkin when Ma placed the first slice of warm pie in front of me. It smelled amazing, the mixture of fresh apples right from the tree outside, cinnamon and brown sugar with just a hint of nutmeg…maybe. The crust was flaky and delicious. My mouth was happy and I had forgotten all about the sticky tablecloth when you motioned to me that I had drizzled a glob of pie filling down the front of my white college-girl blouse. Embarrassed, I excused myself to the bathroom which was dingy, like the rest of the Smith’s house. I found a washcloth hanging across the top of the shower curtain and used it to remove the pie from the front of my pale blouse. When I returned to Ma’s kitchen, the table was cleared. I offered to wipe it down but Ma waved me out of the kitchen. The pie stain on the front of my otherwise colorless blouse screamed out as I walked into the Smith’s living room but no one seemed to notice.

We laughed and chatted with Pappy and the kids for a while and when Ma finally walked into the living room we were gathering up our jackets. She smiled when I took a hold of her hands and thanked her for the entire afternoon, the rabbit, the incredible apple pie and the friendship of their family. The whole household stood out in the yard calling to us to come back again soon, wind gusting as the Sycamore’s branches swayed back and forth , gracefully waving to us along with the others.

I cuddled closer to you on our way back to town. You seemed kind of quiet and as the still moments rolled by I began to wonder if I had disappointed you at Pappy’s house or if maybe you had noticed my disappointment when we first pulled up to Pappy‘s. Maybe you had seen me looking out of the corner of my eye at the dingy old house. Maybe you hoped that I would have been fonder of wild rabbit or that I hadn‘t spilled apple pie down the front of my white blouse. We said good-bye in front of the small house that I shared with my roommate and you drove away just as the sun finally set behind slanted rooftops. I stood shivering at my front door while watching your fading silhouette under the street lights, hoping that you would look back.

You didn’t call as often after that day of rabbit hunting at Pappy’s and I wondered why as autumn grew colder and winter crept in. I thought I saw you walking a girl to class one cold afternoon. I thought I saw your arm wrapped warmly around her thin shoulders, sheilding her from winter's bite. It felt bad when I finally made up my mind that you had decided I was not the girl for you. I imagined all kinds of reasons, that dreary winter, deciding in the end that you didn’t think I fit into your life. For that reason, it was a surprise when I received a phone call, that spring, from Pappy’s oldest daughter.

“Is this Kathleen,” she asked, tentatively.

“Yes, it is,” I said, wondering whose small voice was on the other end.

“It’s Pappy’s daughter,” she said.

I was sure that she had said her name, but I had somehow missed it.

“Oh, how are you,” I asked the nameless girl, enthusiastically, wondering if you still went out to Pappy’s house.

“Oh, I am fine”.

“How are your parents and the family,” I asked, wondering why she was calling.

“Oh, they’re all fine,” she answered. “My ma and Pappy want to know if you would like to come out to the house on Sunday and go to church with us. There is a potluck at church. We’re going. Can you come?”

I couldn’t figure it out. Were you going to be there, too? Were they trying to set something up between us? Did they even know that you had walked away from me after that day of hunting rabbits last fall? Why call me now? Why call me at all?

I wondered all of this as I said, “Sure. I would love it.”

I made my way to Pappy’s house on that bright Sunday morning in early spring. The whole family stood waiting for me outside in the fresh air, Ma Smith holding a warm blackberry pie. The berries had been part of last summer’s crop, picked, frozen and just waiting for pie time. There were still small patches of snow that lingered in the yard and new leaves were nudging their way along the Sycamore’s lanky branches. I forgot to notice whether the house was still dingy-looking or not as I pulled up in my roommate’s borrowed car, just happy to see everyone. You were not there and no one mentioned your name. No one told me that you had left school and had gone home to Chicago to work or that you had tried to get back with the girl you had promised yourself to or that she had broken your heart, again.  No one told me that you had already begun what became a forty-three year search for me or that Pappy had told you, more than once, that you were a fool when it came to love.  No one told me that Ma and Pappy had asked you, each time you visited their home, "Where is Kathleen,"  and that you would only look away, shrugging your shoulders.  Instead, there were happy “hellos” all around and Ma Smith hugged me warmly, handing the pie to one of the girls.

“We’d better go,” Pappy said, “Church ain’t gonna wait for us”.

“Do you want to ride in back of the truck with us,” called one of the boys.

“No,” said Ma. “Kathleen is riding up front with us”.

“We want Kathleen to ride back here with us, Ma,” the kids protested in unison.

“I would love to ride in back with you guys,” I laughed. Ma Smith just smiled as the kids pulled me up into the back of Pappy’s beat up old truck. I was wearing a skirt and sweater but had been careful to wear dark colors this time. As the kids grabbed both of my arms and pulled me into the truck’s bed, I snagged my smoke-colored stockings sending a huge snag all the way down my leg. All I could do was laugh and the kids laughed along with me. So much for fashion. We bumped along to the country church, making it just in time for the service. The potluck, after church, was out of this world, full of tasty dishes stretched invitingly across perfectly white tablecloths. Ma’s blackberry pie disappeared before I could get to it.

We bunched into Pappy’s tired old truck and headed back to the Smith house, the kids begging me to stay longer the whole way home.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll stay longer”. It was the only thing I could say for I wanted to stay as much as they welcomed me.

“I saved us another couple of blackberry pies,” Ma said, when we walked into her kitchen. I thought her kitchen looked tidier. It was either that or I just didn’t notice otherwise.

“Now, you are going to take some pie home with you, Kathleen,” Ma said.

“I won’t argue with you, Ma,” I laughed.

Ma didn’t miss the fact that I had taken to calling her “Ma”. She just smiled like she always did when she was pleased.

“Kathleen, Pappy wants to ask you something,” said one of the kids as they ran past the kitchen.

“Oh, Okay,” I answered, wondering what Pappy might want from me. I walked into the living room where he sat by the window in his worn out blue overalls. All of the boys sat nearby, smiling at me.They were giggling, really. The girls were there, too, and chuckling.

“Did you want to ask me something, Pappy,” I asked, smiling but thinking they were all up to something.

Pappy seemed to hesitate for a minute but looked straight at me and asked, “Kathleen, would you take them clippers and shave my head? I’d like for you to shave it all off, what’s left of it.”

“I…I…guess I could. I’ve never done anything like that before”.

“Oh, you can do it fine,” Pappy said. “Just take them clippers and run them all over my old head”.

“Can you do us, too, Kathleen,” the boys asked all at once.

“Ah, sure,” I said, laughing. “I can do it if you all promise not to be mad if I mess up”.

“You can’t mess up shaving all of our hair off,” said the older boy.

“Get them clippers, Son,” said Pappy, as he got up and moved to the table.

Ma shook her head and laughed when she saw what we were up to. The girls were still chuckling.

That afternoon I stood in Ma’s kitchen, next to the long table with the dingy tablecloth, and shaved Pappy's  and all of the boys' heads right down to their scalps. We laughed and joked our way through each of the haircuts and by the time I finished up with the last head, Ma had set out plates and forks. It was pie time.

“I’ve really got to get going now,“ I said, wiping pie from the corners of my mouth..

“Kathleen, you have purple teeth and a purple tongue,” said the youngest girl.

“Guess what”, I teased, “so do you”. The kids laughed and so did Ma and Pappy. We all had purple tongues and teeth.  What's more, everyone who ate Ma's wonderful blackberry pie at the church potluck went home with purple tongues and teeth.

“ I really do need to get my roommate’s car back to her,“ I said.

Ma handed me more pie for the road as I gathered up my sweater and purse. It was time to say good-bye. I cried on my way back to town.

That evening as we sat on the front steps of our little rented house, jackets draped over our shoulders and watching the sun set behind neighboring rooftops, I told my roommate all about the Smiths. She said she thought they sounded like a neat family. I told her they were. Then, I asked her if she wanted me to show her how to make syrup bread.

It has been forty-three years since we drove through the countryside to Pappy's house.  Both Pappy and Ma have since passed away.  The kids are grown, now, and scattered.  All have had successful lives and continue to hunt and eat fried rabbit.  My telephone rang the other day, just as I was putting a fresh peach pie into the oven.  It was you.

 

                 The End

Author's Note

Working on it. Working on it.

Reviews

[CW]

This sis a great story, felt like it was something that I relived from the past. Very well written, like you too, were very much a part of it. Descriptive in detail, like you were standing in the background, watching. A down-home style of writting, I like that. Keep On Keeping On!

[Sharon D]

This is a wonderful story, and you took me to the center of it, and the "change of paths" as the story went on. Very interesting and left me wondering how it would end, which was back to what girls do' share stories" well done.....

[L.u.c.a.s.]

Wow. Very touching and very very well written. You are an artist!

[Geron Decker]

You must be a genius

[Samuel Dickens]

This is a somewhat poignant story with a warm "homey" feel that I find quite appealing, and believe others would, as well. I saw some minor things, like "font door," but overall, it's very well-written. My congratulations on a fine piece of writing and wonderful story, Christy.