Page 38 - Ninety Miles From Nowhere

complaining about being cold, so I gave her my sweater and, leaving her and Mother in the car, I walked back to Dixie’s —about two miles. Sam could not replace the battery in the dark, nor did he have the proper tools. He took me, riding behind him on a hastily saddled horse, to the home of an old man who had an old Model T Ford.
Luckily, I still remembered how to drive one, because the man let me borrow it to get home. I drove back to my car and picked up Mother and Sally, and away we went.
Of course there were no real roads — only a couple tire tracks running through foot-high black grama grass. At night with the lights turned on, those tracks were especially hard to follow, considering that the lights wouldn’t shine around corners. Anyway, I missed a turn and we ended up at Mask’s house — in the middle of the night where we were bedded down for what was left of the night.
The next morning, after a welcome and hearty breakfast, we left early for home but met George and Jack in the truck coming to meet us. George was as “mad as a wet hen”, to use one of my mother’s expressions. He acted as if I had done it deliberately to inconvenience Sally. He worked on my battery reluctantly.
As an aftermath, in the summer of 1984, Van came to my house from Florida and we made a trip west to visit other family members. I was working on my book at that time, so had asked Van if he remembered this occasion. He didn’t, so I knew he hadn’t been along. When we saw Jack, who was then sixty years old, I asked him the same question and he threw back his head and laughed.
“I should say I remember it,” he said, “He was raving and ranting before we ever left the cabin. Said you had done it on purpose.”
Then Jack sobered up and added, “And Mother had connived with you.”
“What did you say?” I demanded.
“That’s what he said — that Mother was in cahoots with you to make it uncomfortable for Sally.”