A Penny A Pane

Hattie's first shot narrowly missed the gurryman, lodged into the side of the scow and sent a hovering flock of gulls fluttering skyward.

Sumbitch! she shrieked, No 'count sheep stealin' sumbitch!

Her second nicked the weathervane on top of the watchman's shack and sent it spinning like a dervish.

Her third ricocheted off a rung of the metal wharf ladder and sunk harmlessly into a piling with a soft thud.

It was her fourth that did her in - the old gun tired and kicked back mightily - sending her into a undignified, sprawling heap and in the process, dislocating one scrawny shoulder. 

HATTIE! Sparrow roared, stumbling off his front porch and down the narrow, gravel path, HATTIE!  WHAT IN BLAZES YOU DOIN'!  PUT THAT DAMFOOL THING AWAY!

By the time he reached her, one of the Albright boys was already there and had wrestled the gun away and was somehow managing to hold her down.  The old woman was clutching her shoulder and flailing but it wasn't enough to shut her up.

Git off me, you sumbitch! she screeched, gimme back my gun!

You keep ahold her, boy, Sparrow ordered grimly, Hattie!  Hattie, you're hurt, be still now!

From the safety of the candy shop, Ruthie and I peered out one of the windows we'd been washing - a penny a pane, Uncle Bernie had offered - and watched as Sparrow kicked the old gun out of reach and Uncle Bernie picked up the water bucket and trudged toward the unlikely trio.

Hattie! the old storyteller shouted at her, Hattie, you settle down else I'm a gon' do it for you!

The old woman on the ground hollered.  She writhed.  She cursed.  She kicked.  She cackled.

I warned you, you old hag, Uncle Bernie shrugged and gave the Albright boy a quick glance, You got her, boy? and then quick as greased lightning, chucked the whole bucket of water directly onto Hattie.

There was a moment of shocked silence then Sparrow was kneeling in back of her.  With Uncle Bernie's help, he got her propped up, wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug, and gave her a violent, wrenching twist.

Ruthie and I both heard the crack as her shoulder settled back in to its proper place.  Old Hat slumped and passed clean out before she could spit her next curse.  When it was still quiet a few minutes later, Ruthie and I scrambled out the old front door of the candy shop and scurried like rabbits to where Sparrow and Uncle Bernie and the Albright boy were hovering around Hattie.

Is she dead, Sparrow? Ruthie, ever the brave soul, wanted to know.

Not hardly, Sparrow told her with a rueful grin, but I reckon she's gon' wish she was when she wakes up.  That shoulder's likely gon' hurt like fire.

What we gon' do with her? the Albright boy asked tentatively, We cain't leave her lyin' in the road.

Sparrow and Uncle Bernie considered this.

No, Uncle Bernie finally said, 'Spose not.

Reckon my place's the closest, Sparrow sighed,  She don't weigh next to nothin', boy, kin you carry her? Bernie, I'm thinkin' you might call Glad and see if she'll come and fetch her home.  He straightened up and stretched, rolled his shoulders back and winced at the effort.  I swear to Christ, this old woman's gon' be the death of me. Where's that damn scattergun of her's?  Old hag's got more firepower than Carter's got pills.

When I timidly asked who she'd been shooting at, Uncle Bernie just shrugged.

It's Old Hat, he said mildly, Rabbit or gull mebbe or mebbe nothin' a'tall.  Damfool woman gits herself likkered up and jist likes to start shootin' at most anythin' that moves.  Wonder she ain't shot her own foot off.

We trailed after him back to the candy shop and those penny a pane windows.  When we were done, we each had three shiny, new dimes in our pockets - a fortune for a seven year old back then - and a tale to tell my grandmother.  We heard later that Aunt Glad had arrived and gotten Hattie home, more or less settled by the window in the parlor, dosing her with whiskey and salts and packing her shoulder with rag-wrapped hot bricks.

Later that same night, when the gurryman climbed into his dory for the trip home, he discovered a mud splattered, hungry, and very indignant ewe under the ragged tarp.  There was no trace of Hattie's no 'count, sheep stealing sumbitch so as quietly as he could, he fetched up the old girl and carried her across the road and down the rocky path, depositing her stealthily in the sheep pen behind Hattie's shack.  

Couldn't rightly recollect what discretion was the better part of, he confessed to Sparrow a few days later, but I was thinkin' it mighta been jist not gettin' caught.

Amen, old son, Sparrow - not a religious man -  laughed, Amen.