Page 25 of The Party Line

The puppy yapped, and Jasper followed her through the space between the house and the garage—or carriage house, as it was called back when it was built.

“I don’t know which one of you is taking the other for a walk,” Connor called out.

“Don’t matter, as long as we both get to go,” Jasper yelled over his shoulder, then turned around and came back to where we were sitting.

“I guess Sassy got tired,” I said.

The dog plopped down beside the chair where Jasper had been sitting, put her paws over her eyes, and went to sleep as if I’d commanded her.

“Never know what this critter wants. Most days she probably don’t have any idea what she wants,” Jasper said. “I was thinking about a story to tell y’all while we took that short walk.”

“Is it a story about Gracie and Davis bantering?” I asked.

Jasper chuckled and then laughed so hard that his eyes disappeared into wrinkles. “It was the spring after strawberry season was finished.” He pulled a red bandanna out of the pocket of his bibbed overalls and wiped his face. “There was still quite a few that could be harvested. Gracie, Davis, and I decided to pick enough to make us up a batch of strawberry wine.”

“How did you know how to even start?” I asked.

“Gracie found a recipe for it in one of her grandmother’s old cookbooks. She snuck it out of the house ...” He paused and rubbed his chin. “I betcha that cookbook is still somewhere in the house. All the recipes in it are handwritten. Anyway, we had to hurry up and copy it down so she could put it back before her folks missed it—or worse yet, before Miz Rita or my grandmother missed it. Miz Betty wouldn’t have ever looked at a cookbook. Davis’s mama and Granny took care of allthat. Gracie’s handwriting was better than us boys’ chicken scratch, so she took care of that job while me and Davis got us a pail and went to pickin’ strawberries.”

“Doesn’t it take a long time to make wine?” Connor asked.

Jasper’s grin got bigger. “Not if teenage kids are making it.”

“Where did you ...” I paused and looked out across the property.

Jasper pointed toward the oil pumpers out in the distance. “There used to be a barn out there. Mr. Clarence stored hay when he ran cattle. It was blown away by the same tornado that wiped out mine and Granny’s old place. In those days, us two boys hauled hay for him in the spring and summers, but that’s a story for another time. We were talking about the wine we made. Most of the stuff we needed, other than the strawberries, Gracie swiped from the kitchen.” He dragged the red bandanna from the pocket again and wiped his brow. “A few years ago, Gracie and I watched an episode ofI Love Lucywhere she stomped grapes with her feet. If we’d have stomped them strawberries like Lucy did the grapes, we would have got ourselves caught for sure since we couldn’t have washed all that red stain off our feet.” He dissolved into laughter, wiping his face again.

Connor and I got tickled, more at his amusement than with the memory in his head. We had been listening to the story while we loaded up the two tables. Before we folded the chairs and put them into the bed of Connor’s truck, we sat down to really listen.

Jasper stuffed his bandanna back into his pocket. “According to the recipe, we was supposed to let it age for a year, but that’s a lifetime to kids. On the Fourth of July, Gracie’s folks threw a big party ...” He paused, and a frown took the place of his smile. “They said that Gracie was old enough to come to the big wingding, but she refused to go, since they wouldn’t let me and Davis go unless we wanted to be part of the help. That girl was so mad, I thought for sure she’d either kick holes in the barn or else storm inside the house and ruin the whole party.”

Connor leaned forward in his chair. “Is that the end of the story? What happened to the wine making?”

“I’m gettin’ to it,” Jasper declared. “I’m trying to remember just how it went. After the big argument with her folks over that party, they grounded her to her room, which was fine with her. She waited until the people were milling about the front yard where tables had been set up, and she walked right out the back door. Me and Davis were waitin’ for her in the barn. We sat on the grass and listened to her fuss about the party. Then, after dark, we watched the fireworks. That’s when Gracie got the bright idea of us opening our two bottles of wine that were aging.”

Sassy stood up, yawned, and pulled on the leash. Jasper stopped talking and rubbed her head. “You got to learn to be patient, little girl. We’ll try for a walk again when I finish my story.”

“Where did you get the bottles to put the wine in?” I asked.

“Mr. Clarence and Miz Betty always had a glass of wine with their supper. Gracie just pilfered a couple of empties when they were thrown away. She even saved the corks. That night we passed the first bottle around until it was all gone and then opened the second one and did the same thing.”

“Did you get drunk?” Connor asked.

“After all these years, I’m not sure if we were drunk or just thought we were, but we sure giggled a lot, and we all had a headache the next morning,” Jasper said. “And now I’ve told you about my favorite memory from strawberry season, and it’s time for Sassy to have her morning walk. Besides, you’ve got work to do, and I’m keeping you from it.”

“But we want to hear more about the first time y’all got drunk,” Connor said.

Jasper shook his head and stood up. “Not much more to tell there except to say that that night was the first time Gracie was really rebellious, but it wasn’t the last. More stories later. Sassy and I are going for our walk so she can show off her new collar and leash.” He and the pup slowly walked across the grass and around the house.

“Did Miz Gracie ever tell you that story?” Connor asked me when Jasper had disappeared down the lane.

“Nope.” I stood up and folded the chair I’d been sitting in. “She once told me that the past was gone and should be forgiven. The future was just a glimmer of hope on the horizon; the present was what we had, and we should live it to the fullest.”

“Good advice,” Connor said. “But forgiveness is tough, and not planning for the future is even rougher, don’t you agree?”

“Wholeheartedly,” I told him and thought again of the last entry in Aunt Gracie’s little pink diary about dying from a broken heart.

And that’s the reason I’m ignoring the sparks between us. I don’t know if I can trust you for anything more than what we are today.

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