Mud threw back her head and shouted, “Whoop!” andproceeded to dance around with a total lack of decorum. I was elated to see my sister being so happy.
“We’ll still have to get a loan,” I said, over her whoops.
Mud stopped. Scowled at me.
“We’ll need a full plan, which also has to include legal and court fees for the custody papers. Bids for bathroom, laundry, AC and heat, and more solar panels. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Pavers, raised soil beds on both sides, and a path next to the walls. A separate cistern so I can make an aerated compost tea to feed the plants, add fertilizer, and deliver it without mess.”
“You been thinking about this too,” Mud accused.
“Forever. What’s a plant-girl without a greenhouse?”
Mud spluttered in laughter.
“I didn’t have the money until I started working for PsyLED. I barely have ten thousand dollars in the savings account, and even if I did, I don’t want to drain every single dime, because we’ll need a good ten thousand for me to get custody if Daddy contests it.” Mud started to argue that Daddy had said he wouldn’t contest it and I held up a hand to stop her. “Just in case. I’m not touching that money. And getting a loan takes time.”
“Or Daddy could—” Mud stopped.
“Or Daddy could loan us the money? Mud, was Daddy part of the discussion for this greenhouse?”
“Yes.” Her scowl went deeper. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the table, avoiding my eyes. “I reckon this is more a my sneaking. I’m sorry. Again.”
“Did you tell Daddy about my finances?”
Mud’s eyes jerked to me, hazel gray and shocked. “I’d never tell that. That’s family business. Our family, you and me.”
Something warm spread through me at the words. “Okay. Good. In that case, as soon as I have estimates and know the court costs, I’ll talk to the bank. And we can have our first serious family talk about finances.”
“Second. ’Cause this’un was pretty serious.”
That decided, we started putting a meal together while chatting about the lawyer we had seen the previous week, in the first steps to custody. Discussed the upgrades to the house.Chatted about the public school Mud would be attending starting in August. She had been tested to see where she fit in scholastically. Mud was twelve years old, but a fierce desire to read everything and anything had placed her at tenth grade level in English and biology, and eighth grade in math. She was at sixth grade in computer, chemistry, and history.
She would start school in eighth grade with remedial classes and be adjusted as needed, attending Cedar Bluff Middle School. The school’s emblem was a large green tree, and the motto was Go, Giants. The emblem was like the hand of God, or maybe Fate, pointing us in the right direction. We also talked about getting a scholastic tutor for the subjects she was behind on, and a computer tutor for immersion in the how-to of the future. And a new wardrobe.
•••
We were in the middle of a late lunch when I felt an unfamiliar vehicle coming up the road. Mud looked up. “What?”
“Someone’s coming.” And no one from PsyLED had texted me to say they were on the way up.
Mud rushed to the windows and looked out. Checked the weapons that I kept near the front windows, under a chair. I placed John’s old single-shot, bolt-action shotgun across the chair arms and took up the double-barrel break-action shotgun. Both barrels held three-inch shells. I might dislocate my shoulder, but if I hit them, the trespassers’ blood would feed my land.
Mud appeared at my side and lifted John’s lever-action carbine .30-30 Winchester. “Keep your hand off the trigger,” I said.
“We shoulda given me more lessons,” Mud said.
“We’ll remedy that soon. I promise.”
A truck appeared between the trees on the one-lane road that led to my house, passed out of sight as it turned into the drive, and reappeared as it slowed to a stop. I hadn’t noticed the heat in the house until now, and I started sweating, feeling it trickle down my back. The overhead fans turned, pushing cold air around from the window-unit air conditioner. Not enough coolness in the heat of a late July day.
A man got out of the truck, early twenties, lanky, medium height. Carrying a wilted bunch of flowers. I recognized the face but couldn’t place the name.
“Dagnabbit,” Mud said, sounding frustrated.
“Who is it?”
“That’s Larry, second son of Brother Aden. Him and his first wife, Colleen, done signified an intent to court me.”
“Daddy told him no,” I said. I’d heard about the interest of the Aden family back when one of the Adens had wanted to court me. “The church voted to disallow marriage of underage girls. They agreed to follow Tennessee law on marriage age.”
