Sharecropping The Apocalypse: A Prepper is Cast Adrift (31 page)

“It’s the hat, boy! Talk your hat off, Loomis!.” Bertha declared and gathered up her dresses to hurry his way with a bemused Crick and Clem whispering and grinning to each other.

“Now Toby, Bessie, you all settle down. This here is Loomis and he is a friend.” Bertha said taking Loomis by the hand for an introduction.

Loomis wasn’t sure what to do, he had his hat half off and was holding it about shoulder length not knowing whether to put it back on and run or keep it handy for beating off that damn foghorn leghorn looking rooster that seemed like he was trying to sneak up on him once he looked the other way.

Clem and Crick caught up to the pair and Crick was trying his damndest to keep a straight face as Bertha and Loomis seemed to be using his arm as a tug of war rope to keep him moving towards the corral when a shot rang out.

“Ah hell, Katy bar the door!” was all Clem managed to get out before the already disturbed Barn yard erupted into even more pandemonium. All the chickens made a beeline for Bertha like they were going to hide under her dress and that great big rooster must of thought hiding in back of Loomis`s knees must be the safest place around as the mule started spinning and kicking and Bessie the cow high tailed it back in the barn a pooping and a sliding.

“What the F-word!” Crick said reaching over and grabbing his pistol out of Clem’s waist band and trying to figure out where the shot had come from.

Clem and Bertha somehow managed to remain calm as a cucumber and told Crick to put up his pistol that everything was alright and for Loomis to lower his cowboy hat further.

“I told that damn Rossi Ross not to hunt so close to our houses but she don’t listen. Could be too she is watching us and up to no good.” Clem said spitting out the last of the chewing tobacco he and Bertha had “borrowed” under threat of guns from Loomis.

“Rossi Ross! You out here?” Bertha bellowed in a voice that would have probably carried to the county line.

Silence. Nothing but silence was heard as Crick and Loomis nervously looked around for indications of where the shot had been fired from before Clem started yelling that Loomis wasn’t the sheriff and to come on out of the woods and be sociable if she was near.

“I am here! Who are they then?” a voice not too far from Loomis`s watering bush called back.

“Told ya! They are friends, we is just fine! Now get your little hiney over here and quit acting like a wild Indian.” Bertha called back.

After a minute or two a non-descript rag clad form toting a single shot 20 gauge shotgun emerged from the woods and hollered “howdy” to the group.

It was hard to tell between the ill-fitting clothes and the ragged cap if this youngster was male or female until she got closer. A wisp of dishwater blond curls managed to poke their way out of what was once was a brown stylish slouch hat from the disco era. The kind that looked like a beret with a brim you could see in a fat Albert cartoon or JJ had on the TV show Good Times.

Crick still had his pistol out but he had it pointed down to his side as he watched this creature of the fields and forests approach carrying the old single hammered shotgun easily in one hand without a care in the world.

Loomis on the other hand was considering just how much what he knew now to be a teen age girl had seen as he took a nature break and remained kind of freaked that someone with a gun could of got the drop on him so easy.

“It’s ok, babies” Bertha cried to which the cow poked its head through a window to reassure itself and the mule snorted like he knew that already but calmed down and quit his incessant braying.

“Shit fire! Is everyone around here crazy or do you all just wait in the woods all day hoping to get the drop on somebody when they got their guard down?” Loomis complained looking around and listening to the woods to be sure nobody else was going to join this carnival of peepers and creepers that he had got stuck in somehow.

“My names Rossi Ross!” The boy now known to be a developing girl thrusting a grimy callused hand out to Loomis declared with a bright smile.

“Uh, I am Loomis. How long you been over there?” Loomis started to question.

“Long enough, but no worries I got a little brother. Miz Bertha! Uncle Clem! I am sorry to scare your guests but I was just beside myself seeing this here sheriff taking a pee on old Marmies grave.” The 13 or 14 year old gushed.

“Marmie was an old Blue Tick hound Bertha used to have that that child played with when she was young. Unfortunately for all, Loomis didn’t know that Marmie’s buried under that old honeysuckle and I reckon that old’ cow and mule remember too, the way they’s protesting.” Clem advised everyone.

“Well I just couldn’t let that happen and I got riled. I figured maybe if it was the sheriff trying to throw you off the land I would distract them and give you a chance to escape his deputy. Who is that anyway?” the little hellion said pointing at Crick.

“Why don’t he have on a cowboy hat?” the little darling declared.

“They don’t fit my head..” Crick started to say before Clem bumped him and explained they were not police and that it was best to explain things nicely to the girl because she was going to repeat everything word for word that transpired to everyone in a 50 mile radius.

“I like him Bertha, he got them Jesus blue eyes just like the picture you keep on your mantle.” Rossi said walking up to Crick and starting to hold hands like he was her new Beau and looking up at him adoringly.

“Uh.. pleasure to meet you Rossi, thanks for giving me my gun back Clem.” Crick began, trying to get his hand back before the mule started braying again because Loomis had put his hat back on and the cow uttered one long moo out the barn window and disappeared.

“What is wrong with this friggin hat and you people?” Loomis began, taking the hat back off and examining it for a second, trying to find the flaw or ‘kick me’ sign Crick mighta put on it.

“Nothing at all, go ask him nice Rossi to see the inside of it. It has a pretty blue bow to size the underwear inside of it just like a pair of bloomers.” Bertha advised.

Well at this point Crick didn’t know who spluttered worse, him trying to hold in the laughter, Loomis telling everyone he didn’t wear underwear on his head, Clem doing his code of the old west lines or Bertha trying to understand it all and why Loomis left the packing labels on it like Minnie pearl with her price tags on hats at the grand ol opry.

Once the levity and confusion had died down, Bertha apologized once again and told Loomis to take off his hat to meet the mule.

“Damn it Crick, I ain`t took my hat off so many times since my military days.” Loomis said as Crick took his own off to go greet the livestock with his fellow rafter.

“Yea, I know, Uncover! Recover! Hats on, hats off.  Still in all this shit is kind of fun. Maybe I need me a Cowboy hat?” Crick said not letting a chance go by to needle his buddy a bit.

Clem enjoyed the hell out of two good ol boys to share the fun times with but with livestock and dogs and such it was a matter of safety or serenity to take them hats off to make everyone comfortable.

“You see boys, and I am sorry Bertha but its funnier than hell. These folks around here mule included never seen a cowboy hat mean anything other than the law and that one non gentile veterinarian we once had around this place, so they sound the alarm. Be glad we ain`t got no geese to goose you any more, why if I remember right this black gander one time Bertha had..” Clem began before Bertha indicated enough said.

“Well anyway, animals don’t see faces like we do, they see hats, whether or not you got something in your hand etc. and you got to well for lack of a better word get naked for them so you and they can see your inner being. Kind of like don’t stare a bad dog in the eyes or forget to get down on your knees to greet a smaller animal so you’re less threatening.” Loomis left them for consideration.

“Now here is where it gets weird, some folks like or love their animals so much they humanize them in their outlooks and the danged things think they are human too and act like their masters. Bertha`s daughter died when she was six and at that time Bertha would take all them cast off clothes she got from the big house and the hill top and make dress up dolls and Sunday best for the kids around here. Well, she takes care of me and darns my socks, etc. and that little demon of a boy-girl wears what she decides she wants to regardless what Bertha fixes for her, so she got nothing but the animals to fix for once in a while. She makes fancy hats for the mule, the goat and the cow. You might say she is a bit “tetched” in the head. Now mind you, you are allowed to laugh at them things, that’s part of the fun. But you must never allow Bertha or the animals to think you are laughing at them. You got to tell Bertha what a fine job she did making them. Tell the mule how handsome he is, how pretty the cow is how admirable that goat looks. For some reason, I guess it’s the horns she tries to make him look like some kind of general or king. Don’t say shit about the chickens, she tried dressing them once you know. And hey Crick, find you something to hang on to or you going to fall over, you going to like this, I’m gonna tell you something funnier than hell! She does put underwear in them hats so they don’t get dirty stretching them over those animals heads. She told me one day after putting a purple and green crushed velvet Easter bonnet on that dang cow of hers upon it’s bovine head and it coming off dirty and smelling like cow, something needed to be done and said, “Why hell, Clem, folks wear underwear to keep their clothes clean so they can wear them again another time, why not put some johnny jump ups inside the hats? Clem said looking solemn at first and regaining his humor as he had to wipe a tear of laughter out of his eyes as Crick tried to hold himself up on a fence post as they both began to hysterically point at Loomis and his trademark cowboy hat.

“So that’s why that danged woman is so fascinated with my hats lining. Dang! I don’t believe this. You mean to tell me that that old woman makes frilly hats and something called hat underwear for her livestock!” Loomis said grinning and shaking his head.

“Yea, she probably never seen no store bought hat underwear~” Crick quipped as Clem slapped his knee with mirth and looked at Loomis once seriously and then went back to laughing once again.

“Oh my word, you all stop now.  We really got to get ourselves to going back to being serious again.” Clem said trying to regain his composure.

“We just one big family out here by ourselves, everybody from the goats to the chickens, from the mule to Rossi`s insane momma is included and we sometimes play a game of sorts of putting on airs and dressing up for Sunday services. There ain`t been a congregation gathered at the old church on this property for nigh on 30 years. We used to go to the end times Baptist church over in the squalls until about 7 years ago occasionally, but we never really fit in. Now every Sunday we gather and dress up, mind our P`s and Q’s and let Bertha recite a memorized passage from the bible and sing an old timey church song together. Service is done and we picnic and share a covered dish and go home. It’s like the tides in the ocean boys, that’s the flow and no need to try to fight it, just go with the flow.” Clem said looking like he was going to tear up once again from the memories but it soon changed to laughter as he turned and repeated “Store bought hat underwear?” to Crick who beamed a smile at him and Loomis, as the two snickered with each other.

“That’s nice, thank you for sharing the story, Clem..” Crick answered before a waggling finger by Clem asked for his silent indulgence a bit further.

“Hey you boys are going to like this if she will allow it. Bertha, let’s call it Sunday today if that be alright.” Clem said attempting to influence his friendly fight-over-everything nemesis.

“Oh we shouldn’t, the Lords day is his and shouldn’t be taken in vain. You know when spring comes I place some flowers on my Rachel’s grave and give thanks we made it another winter. Oh no, wouldn’t be fittin.” Bertha said wringing her hands.

“Miss Bertha, wouldn’t be anything wrong in showing Mr. Crick and Mr. Loomis how we are preparing for that fine day now would there? I know you ain`t got my dress finished yet but I would sure like to show it off before we got to alter it again.” The blooming young lady cajoled the grandmotherly matriarch of the blessed spot on this earth that time had passed by.

“Well, I would like to see if that gingham is fitting your ankles or your knees. I swear child you growing like a colt. Ok, you go round up Sophie and Clem, you take them men back up to your house to clean up and lend them some bib and tucker and come back here in two hours. I am telling you now, Clem, I will take a frying pan to ya if you bunch of heathens get into that apple jack I know you’re hiding and don’t make it back here on time with clean smiles and clean collars, ready to sit down to what we’re declaring Sunday supper. I’ll butcher us a couple chickens and make it official.” Bertha said hustling Rossi back to the house for a wash and a scrub before trying on the party dress she had started making and lengthening for god knows how long.

“We will be here with bells on.” Clem said checking his watch and led Crick and Loomis back towards his house a comfortable walk distant.

“Hey, when do we get our guns back?” Loomis protested on the way to Clem`s.

“You ain`t getting your picture taken today boy, don’t worry about it. Your partner got his pistol back and I got enough lead in this here double barrel to take care of anything that might bother you, so be still. I will tell Bertha to give you yours back before supper. Matter of fact, this whole party we are going to be having is cause of you.” Clem said taking Loomis`s tin of chewing tobacco out of his pocket.