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As I untied Barney from the red
maple, the mail truck passed by, its brakes squeaking to a stop
at the end of each drive. Since I knew Letty
often appeared soon afterward, I decided to approach her about
her yard so I could scratch that onerous chore off my list.
Right on time, my next door neighbor
emerged from her house like a mole
from its burrow, blinking at the light while scanning her surroundings
for danger. She wore yet another shapeless house dress under
the brown cardigan. Her toes shuffled forward in order to accommodate
her loose black shoes. Her palm batted the weeds that encroached
upon the driveway ruts as she passed.
Barney
easily accomplished what I set out to do. He tugged me toward
the old woman as if I was missing the social event of the day--and
would I please get the lead out?
Letty, the dog, and I arrived
at her mailbox simultaneously. Our Irish setter eagerly reacquainted
himself with the smells on Letty's skirt and shoes, plus every
flavor on her hands.
"Barney," I scolded,
hauling him a polite foot away by force of his choke collar,
a temporary and not very effective gesture.
"Oh, let 'im be," Letty remarked. She seemed tired and careworn
today, as if she had not slept well last night. The gnarled fingers
she ran around the dogs muzzle moved more slowly than before,
and she lowered her face for a friendly licking as if her joints
were stiff.
I watched carefully for a signal
of how to accomplish my mission. Honesty seemed to be my only
choice.
"Letty," I began. She
apparently liked dog kisses, because she endured Barney's licking
much longer than I would have.
"Lord, he's a mess, in't
he?"
"Yes. I'm really sorry."
"No matter." She was
smiling wearily, her plain white face a swag of cheek wrinkles
and thin lips. Her ears protruded from wispy strands of mostly
gray hair confined by yet another blue rubber band. I could see
now that the dress had been brown and white striped in previous
years. Of the ten buttons down its center front, one was misaligned
and one was missing.
"Letty," I began again.
"Letty, I have something I have to ask you."
Her eyebrows rose, or I should
say the flesh where eyebrows usually were arched with mild surprise.
"You got somethin' to axe
me?"
"Yes, Letty. Some of the
neighbors were wondering if you would mind maybe cleaning up
your yard a little."
The non-eyebrows arched as she
cast silver/black eyes across the mess that was her domain.
"What for?"
Oh, dear. "Well, your property
doesn't exactly look like most of the others on the street .
. . "
"So?"
" . . . and a couple of the
families are trying to sell."
"Yeah?"
"So they're hoping you will
agree to pick up the trash and cut the weeds out front, at least
from the wall out to the curb. Twenty feet. That isn't much."
That wasn't all they asked, but it would be a start. At least
the rest of the jungle would remain behind the front wall.
Letty's fists set on her hips
and her eyes stared at asphalt. Her scowl could have been consternation,
but I thought it best to finish my spiel before finding out.
"If the work would be too
strenuous for you, my kids and I would be glad to help."
"Nope."
"I'm sorry. Do you mean no,
you don't need help?"
"I mean nope I ain't gonna
do it."
My jaw went slack.
"Me and me friends likes
the place just as she is," Letty elaborated. "Ain't
that right, doggie?" She patted the top of Barney's head
and the turncoat grinned back at her.
I sighed, imagining myself repeating
Letty's answer to Wendy and Gail. "What friends?" they
would retort. "The old bat doesn't have a friend in the
world as far as we can see."
It pained me anew that of the
people on Beech Tree Lane I was the most sympathetic toward our
eccentric neighbor, and here I was stepping on her proprietary
toes.
She reached into her mailbox as
if our conversation was over.
Remembering how I had portrayed
her to the complainers--as a penniless recluse--I spoke somewhat
more softly than before. "If it's money you're worried about
. . . "
"What? What did ye say?"
Her eyes snapped like a Sunday school teacher demonstrating the
wrath of God. She clutched a handful of junk mail to her breast.
I spread my hands and backed off, physically and metaphorically.
My face burned. My heart hammered.
"Letty, I'm truly sorry.
I hated giving you their suggestions, but I had to let you know
how they feel around here. I hope there aren't any hard feelings
. . . "
She
backed up her drive until her heel hit a rock, then she spun
and scurried as if pursued by antagonists from every angle. I
was sorely sorry to be numbered among them, but at the time I
could think of no way to separate the messenger from the message.
I hurried home to nurse my guilt--and
anger that I had allowed myself to be pushed into such a position
in the first place.
Later I realized I should have
told Letty about Liz so she could
be on the alert. If others suspected, as Wendy and Gail did,
that Letty had money stashed somewhere in her house, the old
woman might be in danger.
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