Book of numbers
The rusted springs of the storm door stretched and squeaked until its turn was repelled by the outside wall of Grandma Brenner's two story colonial. Matthew quickly darted through before it closed.
Grandma Brenner saw him as he brushed lightly against the rebounding door. She raised her hands to the sides of her mouth.
Then she called to him, cupping her hands so all the world could hear, "Matthew, you little devil, you mind yourself and stay out of trouble. I swear boy, you're fit to be tied." Then she collapsed the worn palms of her hands over her mouth and whispered, "And for Christ's sake boy, be careful."
She loved him, without ever saying it, he could hear it every time she called him a little devil. He could see it in her face. Even when that countenance was one of disapproval or anger.
In those not-so-rare occasions, when she was angry, her brow would slowly creep down over her callused eyes, and she would lovingly scold him. Matthew would grin with heartfelt passion and he would tell her he also loved her.
She would always lovingly reply "You little devil!"
Matthew ran to the edge of the front porch as his grandmother's doting call faded behind the weathered storm door.
He leaped into the warm summer air completely disregarding the first three steps descending the porch.
"You almost knocked my head clean off my shoulders," Mara's muffled shriek struck from the bottom most stair.
Mara lived on the farm next to his grandmother's house. She had a crush on the boy. Mathew didn't feel the same about her but he couldn't hurt her feelings, so he let her come around.
The little girl sat on the step staring at Matthew. Her chin was crushed tightly against the laced neckline of her dress. The burgundy dress cast a rosy hue on her small face. Both hands were rigidly protected a thick head of coal black hair.
She peered through a protective cage of two, thin forearms that framed her frightened face.
"You almost knocked my head clean off," she said again, this time with a little softer voice.
Then her appearance suddenly changed and a sober look washed over her face. "How's Pappy doing?"
Matthew picked up a dead limb and began scraping circles in the dirt, "He's doing OK, his hip is broken. Today they are taking him from the hospital to a resting home. Mother says he will be more comfortable in a home. Maybe you can go with me when I visit."
"Where were you going in such a hurry?" Mara asked.
"Are you going to follow me? Why do you always follow me?" Matthew rudely asked.
The small girl shrugged. She appeared to be somewhat embarrassed by the question.
Matthew gave her a smug look followed by a smart ass comment. "You know, one and one make two... but they don't always make a pair."
Mara's puzzled look told Matthew that his clever dig was lost in translation.
"Why fight it?" He thought to himself, then decided, as always, to let Mara spend the day with him.
"Someone told me about a haunted tanker on Russell's ridge. It's hidden in a thick patch of multiflora roses next to a grove of orange birch. You can go with me... but it's a secret," his eyes darted to the left, to the right, then back to Mara. Then he frowned and put his hands on his hips with authority. "You can't tell mother, she wouldn't approve. Promise not to tell anyone about it."
