The House on Persimmon Road Read Free Page A

kept her from admitting it, to herself—or anyone else.
    She lifted her hand to greet the movers and the image of Tucker Highsmith’s lazy sardonic grin crossed her mind’s eye. She blinked, erasing his features.
     
    —  •  —
     
    Lottie Roberts was beside herself with excitement. Inside the old house she flitted from one window to the next, anxious for the new tenants to come inside and unpack. It was always wonderful to peek in drawers, handle the untold and modern treasures people brought with them. She hoped they had a television. Lottie adored television.
    The previous tenants used to eat lunch accompanied by the Tennessee Ernie Ford Show with Molly Bee. To this day she could still hum a few bars of “Sixteen Tons.” And in the afternoon she had watched Edge of Night and Dark Shadows. Lottieliked electric can openers too. Tucker Highsmith had one. The whirring sound reminded her of The Green Hornet on radio. The Green Hornet used to give her goose bumps.
    At least, she imagined she erupted in goose bumps. It was terrible not to have any flesh. She had form, but it wasn’t anything a body could actually see—not that she hadn’t attempted to extend herself. She had. Dozens of times. She had tried everything she could think of from mustard packs and herb teas to strengthening jelly…until the barley ran out.
    Thus far, nothing had worked.
    Not even the family Bible had been of help and she had spent hundreds of hours scouring it, especially John 11:1-12 to see how Lazarus had done it.
    Unfortunately Lazarus had the help of a higher nature. Being in the situation she was, sort of betwixt and between, Lottie didn’t think it behooved her to draw attention to herself from that quarter.
    Not that she thought even for a minute that she’d sinned enough to be thrust into Eternal Fire, but you never knew. There had been that incident with the Union soldier, howsomever, she hadn’t realized God was on their side until the North had won the war, and by then it was too late to undo the deed.
    Of course, she never missed saying her prayers, God-fearing woman that she was. She just never asked for anything, most especially for an end to her condition, seeing as with Him it could go either way. Early on, she’d figured it best just to manage getting back on her own.
    Anyway, doing for herself had always been her long suit. She reckoned that being strong willed was simply bred into her.
    That had always been a thing said of her. Folks from miles around used to joke about it. “You got a mule that won’t pull a plow,” they said, “let it spend a day with Lottie Roberts. Once the fool animal sees what true balkiness is, it’ll be so shamed, it’ll harness itself to the plow and bellow for the farmer to step into the traces.”
    Lottie was counting on her will and determination to see her through. Only thing was, once extended and fleshed out again, she would have to know enough of the modern world to get by.
    Some modern things frightened her. Automobiles, for instance. You had to be closed up in them and they went so fast. She’d gone off with a tenant once, in a 1917 Oakland, if she recollected right. She had felt certain she was going to be killed twice over. Her heart or the region where she imagined her heart to be—had lunged and pounded so hard she’d thought the rattling might give her presence away.
    She had been building up her courage to try it again when another war started and the tenant had gone off to fight.
    Like her own Elmer, the tenant had never returned. Lottie sighed. She missed Elmer something fierce.
    Oh, it had been so long since the old house had had tenants. And this bunch looked a mixed bag. Surely, among them was one who would be her friend.
    The front door pushed open with a bang and a boy came barreling into the house. He raced down the hall, banging open doors.
    Lottie bristled and shot up to the ceiling, out of harm’s way.
    That’s one scamp needs manners taught!
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