Chapter 15

Dad led our excitedly chatting parade to a nearby ramshackle farm house, badly in need of a paint job and the front porch sagging from rotten foundations. We had to avoid stepping on the second step, the dry rot was visible in the form of a ragged hole. Dad knocked, waited a bit, then knocked again louder. Stirring could be heard inside, creaking floor, and the shuffle of steps, then the door opened, and a little old white haired lady, shorter than me, peered up at Dad, then glanced at us, before opening the door wide and inviting us inside.

"Come in, have a seat, I'll just put the kettle on." She croaked in a disused voice. We went inside the dimly lit house, finding room for all of us on a long leather davenport, a few cats winding about our ankles and an incongruous chicken scratching in the corner. Despite the wear and tear, the house was clean and free of dust, and had good smell of pickling spices, fresh baked goods, and a hint of pine cleaner. There was the sound of clatter in the kitchen for a moment, then the old lady stuck her head back through the doorway and beckoned for Tiff to join her.

My Miss Tiff jumped up and went in to see what the old lady wanted, and soon returned with a tray laid with cups, saucers, dessert plates, forks and a large flowered tea-pot, steam wreathing from the spout. a tea cosy alongside. The old lady followed with a savory home-made nut and raisin braided Danish coffee wreath, which was evidently fresh from her oven. Now knowing what to look for, I detected a smudge of flour on the cuff of her dress.

I asked her if she had been expecting company, and she gave me a gap toothed grin and cackled "Why yes, Dearie, I was expecting you!" I winked at her in return, here was another child of the universe, it seemed we could always recognize each other. Her name was Flossinda Wordsmith, "Call me Flo." and she permitted no talk of business, shutting down my Dad's attempts with a "Tut tut, tut tut now. Time enough for all that later, for now, just drink your tea and relax." And it was a pleasant time, even Holly's enthusiasm was calmed by the clink of cup and saucer, the slow ticking of the spring wound mantle clock, the sleepy clucking of the chickens outside (and in!).

She was probably over 90, if I would be so rude as to guess her age, and had lived here alone but for her cats and chickens for at least thirty years. She had a dog for awhile, but it had died about ten years after she had buried her husband, rest his soul. Now it was just her and the chickens! The cats were just squatters, had moved themselves in, and she wasn't spry enough to chase them off, so they just stayed as they pleased. This statement was belied by the large purring Tom in her lap, who's ears she gently skritched as she spoke.

After our old fashioned tea party was finished, and the girls had cleared everything off to the kitchen, my Dad was allowed to broach the purpose of our visit. "You want that old Rambler? The engine is out, your know. All the parts should be there though." She countered. Dad explained that little Holly wanted to rebuild and recondition it, with my help. Flo seemed to think about it for awhile, but I knew she was just using timing to build the moment. At last, just as Holly seemed about to spontaneously explode, she stated her conditions.

"Well, I could just give it to you, but then there would be that ragged old shed collapsing with no reason to exist, to get swallowed up by the brambles. If you tear down the shed, and root up the brambles, and transplant my mint patch over there, then you can have that old heap." Flo stated challengingly. I knew that she knew the old Rambler would be worth quite a bit restored, and that she would have just given it to Holly with no conditions, but that it would be valued more by us if we had to work for it, even more than paying money. I grinned my appreciation at her, and she caught my look with a twinkle of recognition that her motives were not hidden from me.