Cornbread and Candy Sauce
Big, fat, flakes tumbled down, covering everywhere – deadening sound and softening contours. An icy wind flapped in from the north causing some flakes to swirl and dance on their way down from the leaden sky.
Snow was falling hard.
The blizzard had been raging all day. And now the barn had a drift stacked up against the lea-side. Inside, flakes fluttered through cracks in the boarding – to flurry in a spiral and sprawl over the floor. They lay where they landed – no warmth melted their hearts. The quiet was like a presence – heavy and waiting.
Back and forth a rope swung slightly – a tiny occasional creak the only indication of the weight it held.
Snow was falling hard.
The blizzard had been raging all day. And now the barn had a drift stacked up against the lea-side. Inside, flakes fluttered through cracks in the boarding – to flurry in a spiral and sprawl over the floor. They lay where they landed – no warmth melted their hearts. The quiet was like a presence – heavy and waiting.
Back and forth a rope swung slightly – a tiny occasional creak the only indication of the weight it held.
Drip.
A viscous, crimson plop.
A viscous, crimson plop.
A furry scurrying told of interest from some hidden inhabitants. But the long rope, attached to the rafters, swung lone and inaccessible. Experience dictated the position.
Drip-drop.
Drip-drop.
Dark red, thick, mixed with the snow covering the iron ground.
Suddenly a crack of yellow light from the door; foot stamping and hot breath blowing on hands. Ma shone the lantern on the rope’s bottom. They both stood and admired the plum-bob weight - Christmas dinner.
“Sure is a big ‘un.”
“Sure is.”
“How’d ya catch it?”
“Same as usual - corn-bread and candy sauce. Gobbled it right up. And then - thwack!!”
A mime matched the words. A hammer blow to crack a small head.
“When’ll ya draw and pluck it?”
“When time’s right. Waddaya think?”
“20 minutes a pound’ll be a long cook at that weight! Best not stuff it – it’ll take forever to roast, else.”
The lantern’s light wavered and receded; voices dimmed and faded out. The latch was closed.
Plop-plop.
Thick blood dripped down stiff fingers and onto the floor, covering a wristwatch and obscuring the dial.
Thick blood dripped down stiff fingers and onto the floor, covering a wristwatch and obscuring the dial.
Not everyone ate turkey at Christmas.
Ho, Ho, Ho!
