Thistle and Twigg

Two

Phoebe Twigg Sets Things Straight

Don’t you believe a single word Jane Thistle tells you. She means well, bless her heart, and she’s sweet as can be. She just doesn’t always understand what’s going on down here like I do.

It’s not her fault. Jane is about the smartest person, man or woman, I’ve ever known. She can tell one Shakespeare play from another. Operas and symphonies, too. All that hard stuff. I want you to know she can tell which modern psycho artist painted what, even with nothing but dots and splatters to go on.

And those artsy things aren’t even her strongest subjects. History and archaeology are what she loves because she has worked on dig sites ever since she was a teenager. And trees, Lord have mercy, how she loves plain old ugly trees and plants. Knows their Latin names and everything. Anything green, old, or dead and gone for centuries, Jane knows about it.

I bet she didn’t tell you any of that, did she? That’s because Thistle is a real lady and she don’t go around tooting her own horn like a brazen heifer. She’s a bona fide proper Englishwoman, even though she says she’s completely American now after living in the States for nearly fifty years.

Yes, ma’am, I tell you what, Jane Thistle is sharp as a hound’s tooth and is a saint on top of that. She’d have to be to put up with that Colonel Board-Up-His-Backside husband of hers for so many years. I never actually met him, you understand, but I’ve seen his pictures. From the way she carries on about him, you’d think he hung the moon or invented chewing gum or something.

She really is so naive about people. Her husband probably made her that way, always barking orders at her, I bet you. Now, she wouldn’t say that in so many words. But I can tell he must have been an ornery old cuss from the way he’s glowering out of every single one of them pictures in her house like a mean bulldog.

Oh, I know he was a colonel, but titles don’t mean zip to me. And I’m not saying he didn’t have one or two redeeming qualities. He had at least one I know of: He taught Jane to shoot. Now that I think about it, if it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t have met her that first day she moved to town.

She was standing in line at the back counter of Harvel Wriggle’s Sporting Goods Store. My brother Eugene was having a birthday, and I had gone into Wriggle’s to buy him a new tackle box since fishing takes up the better part of his mind.

Pardon me, sir, Jane said, and I knew right away she was English. I grabbed the closest tackle box, a plastic lime green see-through number, and hustled over to stand in line behind her. I just love British accents and I didn’t want to miss a single word.

Harvel Wriggle noticed her accent, too, which only confirmed what I’ve always known about him—he’s not as dumb as he looks. He slicked his hair back with one hand, flattening his cowlick down.

Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you? he said, with the cowlick springing up at the end of his sentence like a question mark on top of his head. I couldn’t help but laugh which, from the look he gave me, Harvel did not appreciate one bit.

He turned his attention back to Jane, all cute and silver-haired and hardly big as a minute. I wondered if she fixed her own hair. It waved and curled just perfect around her ears. Very classy. Jane has what I call a high-class face, with her little turned-up nose and high cheekbones. She’s got real black eyes that sparkle, and she’s always smiling. The beige and camel outfit she wore that day also showed what good taste she has and how subdued and genteel she is. I wouldn’t be caught dead in beige myself, way too drab, but it looked good on her.

Yes, thank you, she said to Harvel. I’d like to purchase a small box of 9-millimeter bullets and another of 12-gauge shotgun shells, if I may please.

Well, let me tell you what. You could have knocked me and Harvel both over with a chicken feather. I knew right then Jane and I were going to be close friends.

Harvel just stood there, staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

What’s the matter? I asked him. You look like you never heard a lady ask for bullets before.

Well, he said and cleared his throat. It is mighty unusual. I believe it’s a first, around here anyway. Some old retired guys, who hang out there at the store because their wives can’t stand them in the house all day, chuckled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Believe me, I’ve been around here a long time, and I know exactly how these men think. I could read Harvel’s mind like his forehead was made out of Cling Wrap. He might be laughing but inside he was scared. Men around here like their women docile as old cows, and don’t want to face the fact that one might get trigger-happy. I tell you, it was a real treat to see old Harvel squirm.

I tapped Jane on the shoulder. Thank goodness ‘unusual’ ain’t the same thing as ‘illegal,’ right, hon?

I winked at her and nodded at Harvel, who hadn’t moved an inch and still had his hands flat on the counter. I said, Harvel. I said, "Women are citizens just like you men. We’ve got the right to bear arms just like y’all, don’t we? Unless you boys have gone and changed the Constitution of the United States of America when I wasn’t paying attention. It is legal for a woman to buy bullets, isn’t it?" I jerked my head toward the boxes behind him.

Yes, oh yes, he said, finally turning around to the shelves behind him to pick out the two boxes Jane had asked for.

Meanwhile, I introduced myself. Jane and I had a nice little chat. She told me she had picked up some lunch for herself and the men from the moving company. After she got her bullets, she had one more stop, to buy an electric blanket. Jane had seen the weather forecast for chilly nights later in the week and realized the little thin blankets she’d used in Florida weren’t going to be enough in Tullulah, especially with fall coming on.

She told me she’d only been for a couple of short visits before deciding to buy a house here. It struck me as being a strange thing, to move someplace where you don’t have any relatives or friends. Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean, especially at Jane’s age. But that was really none of my business, so I didn’t pry.

I told her I already knew where she lived. Everybody knew. The old Hardwick place out Anisidi Road had been empty and on the market for at least a year due to its remote location and high price.

Jane told us about a big snake coming in her house that morning; that’s why she thought she better come get some bullets. One of the old geezers in the corner said, I reckon that ain’t gonna be much help against some other things in that house. His buddies all giggled and shook like a bunch of little girls.

Don’t pay them any mind, Jane. They’re only here because the mental hospital ain’t got room for all of them right now.

The Hardwick place is kind of famous around here. It sits on the edge of the refuge, way out there by itself in the sticks, and is over a hundred and fifty years old. The Daughters of Historical Southern Heritage got it designated as an official historic site some time back. This was because the house was used as a hospital for Civil War soldiers wounded at the Battle of Cokers Branch, which happened not too far away. Bullet holes are still all over the old brick fireplaces. So, naturally, that made the house’s asking price pretty steep, too high for most folks in town.

Jane said she liked it being out by itself and planned to take long walks everyday on the refuge trails that are right close to her property. Since I like to get out and walk, too, I told her I might go with her someday.

Let’s get together sometime soon, I said.

I’d enjoy that very much, she said as she turned to go. Please stop by anytime. So nice to meet you, Phoebe.

I told you she was a lady. Hey, listen. Hang on just a minute, Jane. Let me pay for this and then let’s walk out together.

While Harvel was ringing up the tackle box, I said to him, Before you total that up, I’d also like to purchase a box of bullets, if I may please. I smiled at him. Mind you, I had no need of bullets myself and had never even touched a gun in all my sixty-five years. But when Jane stood up to the regime like she did, even if she didn’t know she was doing it, it was a star-spangled moment for me.

Not long before, I’d seen that home-decorating show DiDi Moody’s House of Beauty, which comes out of Florence on Wednesday mornings. DiDi said that the best room accessories are ones that have special meaning to you personally.

It was like a light went on. I went straight upstairs and got in my cedar chest where I kept such things, stuff that represented important days in my life. I took a small tablecloth that had been a wedding gift and covered a little table my granddaddy made. On top, I set my most special treasures. So see, I wanted those bullets for my table, so I’d remember Jane standing up to the Man for her rights, right here in Tullulah, Alabama, where I was an eyewitness. I had no intention to actually use the bullets. Although, when Harvel piped up, I admit a good use for them did cross my