Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Zebulon - Day 137 - Historical Fiction

When I opened the door, a lady stood there with the Sherrif, holding what looked like a pie of some kind. Apparently, she was his wife. 

"I brought you'ns a pie for eatin' on. It's one of my Granny Smith apple ones." She commented. "I'm right sorry to hear Mz. o'Hallorin is a ailin' and all. Hope she is back on her feet soon. Has she been down long?"

I noticed the curiosity of all the friends who had come to help and realized that might one of the reasons they had all rushed over to "help out." I wondered what they would think if they knew the truth. 

The Sherrif and his wife left after a few minutes and we were alone once more with our thoughts. Then we heard Grandma calling, "Shane, come help me. I need to get up."

He hurried away from us. It was going to be a long few weeks for all of us. 

It was a quiet meal that evening. Grandpa had given Grandma some pain medicine, and she was resting quietly, the sleep that only drugs could bring to her right now.

We cleared away the supper dishes, with Rosie washing, and me drying, and Les putting them away.

"Zebbie, is Grandma going to die?," asked Marie.

"I believe so," I replied soberly.

"She's not going to heaven, is she?," she wanted to know.

"I don't know, Marie. We can never know about another person. Only that person knows for sure in their own heart. At least, that is what Sgour preacher said."

I was sure going to talk to Grandma as soon as I got a chance.

1 comment:

Delores said...

Good luck with that one Zeb.