Рита Браун - Sour Puss

"Virginia peanuts, best peanuts in the world."

Crozet, however, was too far west and north in the state to produce the famous crop.

"Did you know when the English first came in the seventeenth century they fed peanuts to their cows and horses? They didn't think it was a suitable food for humans."

"Who told you that?" Harry raised an eyebrow. She couldn't believe humans would be so stupid as to sidestep a rich source of protein.

"Barbara Dixon. I was down in Dillwyn the other day and I stopped by Barbara and Gene's. You know how she gets wrapped up in history." Susan named a foxhunting couple they both enjoyed, who were in the process of restoring an early eighteenth-century house and stables.

"And she's from San Antonio. She just got seduced by Virginia." Harry laughed.

"Actually, I think she was seduced by Gene."

At that they both laughed, then Harry returned to peanuts. "Really, they wouldn't eat them?"

"No. Wouldn't eat tomatoes, either. Thought they were poisonous."

"Well, all someone had to do was pop one in their mouth and that would be the end of that," Harry said.

"Would you do it?"

"Uh, well, let me reconsider my statement."

They rolled along in the best mood because of their first order and because it truly was spring. Spring fever.

"Wonder when people realized they could eat peanuts and tomatoes?" Susan pondered.

"There's a project for you." Harry slowed to thirty-five miles an hour as they entered Crozet.

"I'll give it to Barbara. You know that once I ask her she won't rest until she finds the answer."

"Sue Satterfield is like that, too." Harry named a friend who had been a teacher and was a good friend of the Dixons.

"Maybe I should give one the tomato question and the other the peanut question." Susan touched Harry's shoulder. "Hey, don't forget about my chocolate."

"Damn." Harry had turned into the post-office parking lot. She swung around to wait for traffic to pass.

"Miss it?"

"Sometimes. I miss the people. But I don't miss the hours, I don't miss the Federal regulations. You know, Susan, this is crude, but I can't help it: we are reaching a point where you won't be able to wipe your ass without the government telling you when to do it, how to do it, and what times to do it."

Susan roared. "I'll tell that to Ned."

"Tell him, while I'm on the subject of wiping, to just wipe ninety percent of the laws off the books. They're useless, obstructionist, and furthermore costing us all far too much money. Just tend to the roads, encourage business and agriculture, keep the state police strong, and stay out of everyone's life."

"I'll be sure to tell him. That can be his maiden speech. Ought to be a big hit among a group of people whose job security depends on making more laws."

"Then what in the hell is he doing there?" She continued to look both ways. "Where are these people coming from?"

"North of the Mason-Dixon line," Susan mused.

"Can't we send them back?" Harry smiled, then glanced at the clock in the dashboard, still ticking away after decades. "Lunch. Forgot about the time."

"Then you'd better get me to the cafe before everyone sits down. I'll never get my hot chocolate."

"We can sit at the counter. While I'm waiting for these Yankees to pass you have time to write, 'will die without hot chocolate' and pin it to your blouse. The notebook is in the door pocket."

"And leave us in the car? No fair!"came the chorus.

"Pipe down. Finally." Harry pulled out, turned left, then turned immediately right into the old bank parking lot. "We could have gone into menopause waiting."

"Don't even breathe that word." Susan grimaced, notebook in hand, although she hadn't written anything.

"We're a long way away."

"Maybe so but, boy, my mother suffered, and they say it's hereditary."

"I'll buy you a hat with a little fan in it. I, personally, am not going to go through anything."

"O la!" Susan cracked the window enough for plenty of air.

Harry did the same on her side. "We won't be long."

"You always say that."Mrs. Murphy dropped her ears slightly.

"Yeah, and someone comes in and the next thing you know it's who-shot-John."Tucker used the old Southern expression for catching up with the news—news to men, gossip to women, although of course the information was exactly the same.

"Yeah. Not fair. We could die of heat prostration in here."Pewter tried the medical route, which wasn't convincing since the temperature outside was fifty-two degrees. It might get to sixty at the most inside the truck with the windows cracked.

"They're going to abandon us! Just like children in Rio de Janeiro's slums."Mrs. Murphy sounded plaintive.

"They shoot them."Pewter licked her lips with not glee so much as pride of imparting shocking information.

"They do not."Tucker was aghast.

"Yeah, they do. I heard Fair talking about it to Harry after the news. You were asleep. They shoot them because the children are criminals. I can't imagine why they steal or maim, can you?"Pewter sarcastically replied.

The animals erupted into a heated discussion about why humans kill their young as opposed to why and when animals kill their young.

As Harry and Susan walked away, Harry turned, "What's gotten into them?"

"They'll settle."

"Either that or I'll need to reupholster the seat."

"Your truck will be fine."

Small stones breaking through the crumbing old macadam crunched underfoot.

"Hey, did I tell you that Fair brought me a new pair of Wolverines and two dozen pink tulips? He is so sweet."

"Yes, he is. When did you switch to Wolverine?"

"When Timberlands slid downhill. They're so cheaply made now. I have that pair I bought in 1982—"

"The one your old German shepherd chewed the back off?"

"Yes, but I had Frank Kimball put on a new piece of leather with a roll for my Achilles tendon. It worked."

"For over twenty years. I'd say Timberland ought to get your business."

"That's just it. I went to AN, tried on a few pair of work boots, and Susan, they just aren't the same. I was so disappointed. So then I tried on Montrails at the Rockfish Gap Outfitters in Waynesboro, and they are really good but really expensive. Had to pass. Then I went to Augusta Coop and tried a pair of Wolverines. Pretty darned good and affordable, but I was so worn out by trying on all these work boots, I gave up. But I did tell Fair."

"Harry, only you can agonize over work boots. It's not the expense, you're obsessing."

"You say." Harry became enlivened. The topic of money usually had that effect on her. "The Montrails were $130! The Wolverines weren't so much less, maybe thirty dollars, but I thought they were a lot of boot for the money. 'Course, I won't know until I work in them. I'm on my feet all day. I can't do with bad work boots or ones that are going to fall apart from horse pee and poop and tractor oil. I have good reason to agonize."

"You're right." It was easier to agree.

They pushed open the door to find the usuals perched on their stools at the counter, where Hy entertained Karen Osborne. Her marriage to Pete deterred Hy not a whit.

Harry sat next to Karen, and Susan sat on the other side of Hy, since those were the only vacant stools.

Susan begged Kyle for hot chocolate, pronto.

"Karen, how are the horses?"

"Good. All the spring visitors want trail rides. I cherish my lunch hour." She smiled.

"I'll bet. I don't see how you can run a hack barn. Takes a special person. I couldn't do it, deal with people who know nothing about horses but who want to ride."

"It helps that I have good horses."

Susan called down to Karen, "In any endeavor. My mother used to say, 'A second-rate horse makes a second-rate rider,' and you sure see that in the hunt field."