Finally, he glared at her angrily. "At least she knows how to take care of what belongs to her," he said. "Being wealthy requires a great deal of responsibility."
Mama looked at him but she didn't reply.
We came to a stop and Mr. Pitts walked toward the car.
"Welcome back," he called.
He didn't look much older to me, but that was probably because he always looked old to me. He was heavier, though, with a bigger belly that challenged his shirt and pants, a paint-splattered pair of blue jeans. His curly white hair was just as thick, but his nose looked thicker, redder.
Daddy got out and shook his hand and then looked around and nodded at everything with approval. Our property was wide and long with old maple and hickory trees and a thick patch of front lawn that sprawled to the ditching at the road. Ian once told me the highway department had to keep those ditches as clear and clean as they could to cam, off heavy rain before it washed out the macadam. The property al
ong this particular street was owned by wealthy people like Grandmother Emma, and there was constant attention to their needs.
The air was fresher up here in the Poconos. Behind our cabin was a thick forest full of pine trees and I could almost smell the stickiness in the cones that fell. The redolent scent cleared my nose and swirled about in my head. Birds were chattering loudly, probably reporting our arrival. I saw a rabbit hop toward us, smell the air, and then hurry away. Ian nudged me and pointed at a baby garter snake sunning near a rock. I would never have noticed it and wasn't too happy about noticing it now.
"Let's get our stuff inside," Daddy called. Mama was already sorting things out in the trunk.
"I'll help you with all that," Mr. Pitts said. "Welcome, Mrs. March," he told Mama.
"Thank you. How is Helen?"
"Oh, the same. Complaining about this ache or that. Her arthritis spreads like free roots through her body, if you believe what she says."
"Why shouldn't you?" Mama asked him a bit sharply. Even Daddy raised his eyebrows.
"Wouldn't help if I didn't," Mr. Pitts said.
"Was she able to clean up some?" Daddy asked him.
From the way Mr. Pitts looked at him. I was afraid he had forgotten to tell his wife to do that, but he smiled.
"Oh, more than some, Mr. March. I'm sure you'll be satisfied." "Good," Daddy said.
Mr. Pitts looked at Ian and me and smiled. "Boy, are they growing fast. Let's see now. It's Ian and..."
"Jordan," I said, not waiting.
"Right. You're getting as pretty as your mother," Mr. Pitts told me. "How old are you now?" "I'm seven."
"And Ian's..."
"Thirteen," Ian said. "I'll be fourteen next January."
"I remember when you were just a little bigger than a squirrel."
"Squirrels range from as little as five ounces to about three pounds. I don't imagine I was ever that small," Ian said.
"Is that so?"
"Here," Mother said, handing me my little suitcase. "Christopher, get the cabin opened."
"Oh. I done that already," Mr. Pitts said. 'Opened all the windows for you yesterday. Fireplace is cleaned out. I had the chimney done this year, too. Your mother knows. I suspect, Mr. March. I sent her all the bills."
"Then she knows," Mama quipped.
"Christopher, are we getting our things inside or what?"
Daddy was standing there with his hands on his hips, still turning slowly and looking over the property as if he already "Yeah, sure. Looks like you're taking care of things fine," he told Mr. Pitts.