but I had a feeling they thought I was joking about the bloody sap.
The chain saws bit in. I half expected that the vampire tree would grow vines and attack the lumbermen, but the trees—tree?—stayed quiescent. Blood sprayed everywhere. The chain saws went silent. The roar died away and a peculiar quiet settled. A crow cawed, the repetitive sound like insulting laughter. The men looked at the mess on their clothes and their skin.
Sam called out, “Nellie, will this stuff stain?”
I thought about the few times I had broken off a leaf or a thorn. “Shouldn’t,” I answered back.
“What the tarnation is this stuff?” Ben Aden yelled. “Begging your pardon, ladies,” he added for church-cussing.
I pushed off with my toe and called back, “Because its sap is red, the tree’s called a Bloody Nickelodeon.”
Sam gave a quick start and barked a laugh at the Nicholson reference.
“It ain’t poison, is it?” Ben asked.
“Nope,” I called. “So get to work, boys.”
The men with the saws shook their heads at the vagaries of women and restarted the chain saws. Trees began to fall.
By midafternoon, they had cut enough wood for a twenty-eight-by-twenty-four-foot log cabin and had rough shaped the logs. By the next evening, the wood had been transported to the house site. And no one was bitten, stabbed by thorns, or eaten. I counted that as a win.
* * *
* * *
The traditional rule of thumb for air-drying lumber was one year of drying time per inch of wood thickness. The vampire logs dried far faster than anyone expected. Within weeks the wood was ready for use. The dried pinkish wood had a lovely grain that didn’t need staining and a scent reminiscent of cedar. The wood chinked well and held pegs and nails perfectly. It was easy to work, it took a shine with a simple polish, and the trim took the white paint well. The shakes for the roof splintered off as if they were waiting on the ax. The house went up in record time before Thanksgiving, and a CO—certificate of occupancy—was granted. I felt as if the universe and God were finally helping out.
At six a.m. on the first day of the first full moon before Thanksgiving, my sister started moving in, planning to spend her first night in her own home. She was hugely pregnant, as if she might bust at any moment. Her feet were swollen, her face was swollen, and she had more leaves than I’d ever had, even when I was a tree. It was a major chore to keep her groomed. Pruned? Not that I said that. I was too busy following orders, as were Mud, Mama, Sam, Priscilla (my older true sister), Judith (a younger true sister), a half dozen half sisters and half brothers, and everyone else Esther had berated into helping. Lainie and JoJo had dropped by with a baby gift and skedaddled as fast as they could when my bossy preggers sister tried to put them to work.
It was a long day.
A loooong day.
Long after dark, it was just Esther, Mud, and me. Two of us were still working, sweating in the cold of the new house with the windows open, because Esther was hot-flashing. Esther was demanding, criticizing, bossy, and so grumpy I wanted to tear my fading scarlet hair out by its curly roots.
I made Esther’s bed to her exacting specifications, swept, mopped, dusted, and washed dishes. Mud folded clothes precisely and put them exactly where Esther wanted them. Then refolded them. Twice. I arranged Esther’s kitchen dishes where she pointed, while she sat in her rocking chair, giving orders. When the mama-to-be got hungry, I heated housewarming soup and rewashed the supper dishes. When I was done, I said, “Mud, go to the car.”
“You’un ain’t finished,” Esther said as Mud ran out of the house like a cat with her tail on fire.
“Oh yes we are,” I said.
“Fine.” She gave me the Nicholson scowl and said, “This is pretty. Get on out. I need to shower off the stink and put on my nightgown.”
I pulled the new curtains over the windows and left, locking the door behind me. Fast. Before she could change her mind.
Through the open window, I could still hear Esther fussing, talking to herself.
John’s old truck, which I had driven laden with Esther’s things, was now empty and it was light as a feather as it bumped back along Esther’s new driveway to the road and then up the hill to home. In