It ain't much to say grace over, Aunt Jenny said apologetically as she filled our plates with beans and ribs and buttered white bread, but it'll have to do. I ain't got time today for nothin' 'cept mindin' the store. Wash up proper when yer done.
Ruthie and I ate like our throats had been cut, savoring the mix of sweet, slick ribs and the over-salted green beans, washing it all down with store bought milk and saving a slice of bread to coat with sugar and have as dessert. We carefully washed, dried and put away each plate and glass in the tiny, cluttered nook of a kitchen then stuffed our pockets with gingersnaps and headed down the dirt road toward The Point, kicking stones and racing each other up and down the dry ditches. Two little girls in dusty blue jeans and sneakers, each with a nickel apiece for ice cream at The Canteen and all the time in the world - it was only late June and the whole summer was ahead of us - these were idle, sweet days that would not come again.
We passed through the square, deserted except for Mr. McIntyre in his apron and soft cap, sweeping off the steps of his store. He called a greeting and smiled, his wife waved to us from the window.
At the top of the hill, we saw Aunt Vi on her front porch with Uncle Mel who was sitting quietly in a kitchen chair, covered from the neck down with a snowy white sheet, reading the paper while Vi cut his hair. Brenda Lee sang faintly in the background.
We were halfway to the ballfield when we saw Miss Hilda - looking remarkably like a straightlaced and overly tucked in Mary Poppins - coming directly at us on her new bicycle. Without even thinking about it, we both froze in our tracks and stood rigidly at attention while she passed. Something about Miss Hilda, even on a bicycle, inspired a military, hold-your-breath kind of response.
Good show, young gentlewomen, she called and gave us a curt nod, Carry on!
We reached the top of the hill where we could see the near end of The Point laid out like a picture postcard, bright, sunny and framed by the ocean. Except for the ferry making its way across the passage and the gulls, it was quiet. A solitary dragger was cruising leisurely toward Peter's Island, otherwise this end of the village might've been sleeping. Ruthie and I joined hands and ran, practically flying, down the dusty old road, feeling as if the whole world had been put there for us. And to some extent - provided you were a child in a tiny village on a small island and it was summer - it had been.
Aunt Jenny had been wrong. It was a lot to say grace over.
We passed through the square, deserted except for Mr. McIntyre in his apron and soft cap, sweeping off the steps of his store. He called a greeting and smiled, his wife waved to us from the window.
At the top of the hill, we saw Aunt Vi on her front porch with Uncle Mel who was sitting quietly in a kitchen chair, covered from the neck down with a snowy white sheet, reading the paper while Vi cut his hair. Brenda Lee sang faintly in the background.
We were halfway to the ballfield when we saw Miss Hilda - looking remarkably like a straightlaced and overly tucked in Mary Poppins - coming directly at us on her new bicycle. Without even thinking about it, we both froze in our tracks and stood rigidly at attention while she passed. Something about Miss Hilda, even on a bicycle, inspired a military, hold-your-breath kind of response.
Good show, young gentlewomen, she called and gave us a curt nod, Carry on!
We reached the top of the hill where we could see the near end of The Point laid out like a picture postcard, bright, sunny and framed by the ocean. Except for the ferry making its way across the passage and the gulls, it was quiet. A solitary dragger was cruising leisurely toward Peter's Island, otherwise this end of the village might've been sleeping. Ruthie and I joined hands and ran, practically flying, down the dusty old road, feeling as if the whole world had been put there for us. And to some extent - provided you were a child in a tiny village on a small island and it was summer - it had been.
Aunt Jenny had been wrong. It was a lot to say grace over.
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