"You sayin' a good woman like me shouldn't be reading her Bible?" Clio was at the door. Apron off and twisted in one hand. The rest of her was rail straight. Skinny, O.T. thought, despite five kids, and still with all her teeth. Maybe that was because she knew what to do when she was expecting better than most women. Grew all those plants in the summer and drank her teas all winter long. A little shiver went down his spine looking at her. Clio was the only woman in the community who still wore her skirts to her ankles. Looked like a pioneer woman.
"Oh you know sister," Nellie said, "I was just talking. But I wish you'd let me do something around here. I feel fine."
"And have you nearly bleed to death like last time?" O.T. looked over at Nellie and saw her wince. "No ma'm. You're doing just like I say this go around. Now you lay back down there and keep your feet elevated. O.T., she's had enough of you for now. You go on outside, that pump's waiting."
At the door, O.T. looked back and saw Clio messing around Nellie. All at once a wind came up so that Clio's long skirt blew with it and he could hear the big oak tree rustling outside. A shadow lifted and the sun slanted into the porch for a second. Clio bent straight from the waist and put her ear to Nellie's stomach and to O.T., they seemed frozen there in the wind and the light. Clio's dark head on Nellie's pink dress. She did something sharp and swift with her hands that O.T. couldn't see then she was standing straight again, one hand on Nellie's stomach and the other on her hip.
"I might be able to hear something if you weren't so fat." Clio said. Her voice was hard but Nellie laughed and looked past her to O.T.
"O.T. likes me plump, don't you honey. O.T. says that a man doesn't want to sleep with an old step ladder, don't you O.T."
O.T. gave his low chuckle and Clio turned on him. "Now I'd say that's just about what the problem is here, wouldn't you O.T.?"
O.T. was about to duck his head, but he saw Clio's eyes weren't hard like her voice. The woman had a pari of fine dark eyes if she ever stopped nagging at you long enough so you could see them.
"All right, now you've seen your wife, so get out of here and get cleaned up. Even Oscar looks better than you right now, and that's not saying much. Go on."
Outside the wind had definitely picked up. Oscar was standing by the pump. His hair was wet and he was wiping down his arms with a towel, slow, like he wasn't paying much attention. Then O.T. saw he was looking off down the road. There was just a brown swirl of dust way off in the distance, but they both knew what it was.
O.T. started working the handle. When the cold water rushed out he stuck his head under it fast before the pump handle stopped swinging.
"Wonder what he's coming up here for." he said when he stood up. Oscar handed him the towel and O.T. rubbed it through his hair.
"Don't you just, now." Both men stood still and watched the dust ball get bigger.
"One thing you can say for him," Oscar said in a minute, "He don't put on airs like the old man. Lives right over in Jeru, not in the county seat like his Daddy."
"I reckon the old man made him," O.T. said. "So he can keep an eye on us better."
"Could be." Oscar said, "Could be at that."
As the dust came closer, it turned into a red truck. Not a new truck either. Dirt clung to its doors and bumpers and wheels and the back end was loaded with oily equipment and rubber tires. It pulled up onto the dirt of the yard sending the old rooster running and squawking. The engine roared for a full minute, like someone was pressing on the gas pedal. Then the door opened and slammed, bounced back open again. Soft swearing, then slammed and stayed.
Oscar and O.T. stood still at the pump and watched the man walk over. Jim Allen always looked like his legs were too long for his body. Moved well enough, but kind of disorganized in the way he walked. The way he looked, you'd almost think he'd been out picking cotton himself, if you didn't know better.
12:36:21 PM 
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