The Green Rising

Chapter Three

“You hear me, Miss? Yer on private property,” the deep voice twanged. He repeated himself as I opened my eyes enough to glimpse the shotgun barrel pegged against my head.

 “Uncle Edgar, I think she’s pregnant,” croaked a much younger voice with the same accent. 

“How’d you guess that, Caleb?” the older voice ribbed the younger one. “She looks like she ate a beach ball whole and snacked on a watermelon.”

"Or five." The younger one laughed.

Jeez, thanks, guys. Way to make a girl feel special. “Yes,” I answered.

“Yes, what?” The older voice taunted as the man it belonged to turned his head to look at me. He was probably only a handful of years older than me, maybe his early forties, and had graying ash blond hair, blue eyes and a bulbous nose. His leathery and freckled skin showed the relentlessness of a sun that had been unkind to him. Dirt covered his unbelted jeans that hung loosely around his hips.

“Yes, I’m pregnant. And yes, I know this is private property.” I wanted to move from the painful position in which I rested, but was hesitant because of the gun.

“Why you up here, Miss? Y’ain’t got no business here.” His tone was no-nonsense as he withdrew the gun from my forehead. The barrel still pointed at me but I had some breathing room.

“Look, Ed, er Sir, I’m not sure where the property lines begin and end, but I think I’m on what was my husband’s uncle’s property. He passed away a few years ago and left it to my sister-in-law. I don’t mean to be any trouble,” I said, batting my eyes. Six months ago, the flirtation probably would have worked like a charm. Right now, I had serious doubts.

Edgar shifted his stance and relaxed his left arm, lowering it to his hip, but still not putting away the rifle. “What’s the uncle’s name?”

“His name was Burt. Burt Harris. I only met him twice but he was a real character, quite cantankerous,” I answered.

“So that’s what you foreigners call bein’ an asshole?” Caleb asked, while I stifled a laugh and Edgar elbowed him in the ribs. Caleb harrumphed, brought his hand to his ribs, and winced as he massaged his side.

“Yeah, he was a grumpy, old man,” I agreed. And he had been. Sue had remarked a number of times that he’d never gotten married because there wasn’t a woman stupid enough to put up with his chauvinism. But through the years, his chauvinism must have subsided in part; Sheila had ended up the owner of the cottage.

Edgar stretched out his hand, probably so rough from years of hard labor, to help me into a sitting position. “Name’s Edgar. Edgar Ward. And this here’s my nephew, Caleb Puckett. We live about a mile from here. We’re your closest neighbors since the Leary’s left two years ago. Area’s pretty empty since the coal mines shut down.”

“Nice to meet you, Edgar and Caleb,” I lied. “I’m Lily Goodwyn. Luc’s my husband.” Edgar's scrutinizing stare unnerved me to the point that I felt an immediate distrust towards him. 

Twigs crunched and a boisterous ad-lib of “In the creek and through the woods to Uncle Burt’s house we go” was being sung off key by Luc and the girls in the distance. I let out a small sigh of relief and my shoulders relaxed.. As the three of them came into view, Edgar took a step back and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He smiled.

“Edgar?” Luc asked as he pulled Maggy off his shoulders and lowered her to the ground. Edgar gave a nod. “It’s got’ve been twenty years since I last saw you. How’ve you been, brother?” He shook Edgar’s hand and noticed Caleb. “You’ve got to be Mindy’s boy.”