Ronnie’s delight, however, on our return to the house distracted me from such troubling thoughts. He went first to Lloyd then turned his attention to me, sniffing appreciatively as he waited patiently, it seemed, for another ear rub. Another good thing about having a dog the size of Ronnie—you could pet him without stooping over.
The ear medications were doing what they were supposed to, for he had a little more life to him. Lloyd hooked Ronnie’s leash to his collar and walked him around the yard while I got out the makings of lunch. Since Sam was away, I was giving Lillian more paid days off than usual, although she rarely came in on Sundays anyway.
“Let’s go see what J.D.’s doing,” Lloyd said as we ate egg salad sandwiches. “I didn’t see them at church, so I’ll bet he’s working on that fence. If it’s all right with you, I want to help him this afternoon.”
“There was a time, you know, when no work at all was done on Sundays,” I said, “unless one’s ox was in the ditch. But after what we heard in church this morning, I think Mr. Pickens’s ox is mired in deep. Let’s both go. Change your clothes, though, if you’re going to help.”
Thinking that Ronnie could use an outing, we took him with us, although I worried about his sensitive stomach. But it was only four blocks to the Pickens house, so I counted on his ability to control his gag reflex until we got there.
—
The Pickenses’ yard looked like an anthill—stacks of lumber, cement mixers, stakes with string outlining the area, two men carrying concrete blocks, another man laying them, James bringing water, the two little girls standing aside to watch, and Mr. Pickens, unshaven and sweaty, in full directing mode.
My word, but the man was muscular. It was a clear but nippy October day, yet his T-shirt clung wetly to his body. I couldn’t help but notice, for even his mustache dripped with perspiration.
He managed a brief smile when we got out of the car at curbside—there was no room in their driveway.
“Hi, bud,” he said to Lloyd. “Where’d you get that horse?”
Lloyd laughed. “He’s our houseguest for a few days.”
“Well,” Mr. Pickens said, “if you’ve come to help, I can sure use you. Miss Julia,” he said, turning to me, “what do you think of my fence?”
I surveyed the area, seeing only five tall but stout towers of concrete blocks spaced along the surveyor’s string, with a sixth one under construction.
“Hmm,” I said, “so far, so good, I guess. What will you put between the posts?”
“Horizontal boards of treated lumber six feet high and so close together that not even a beam of light can get through. There’ll be no Peeping Toms on my watch.”
“That sounds lovely,” I said, because there are times when it’s better to be diplomatic than truthful. “I’ll just go in and visit with Hazel Marie awhile.”
The little Pickens twins—Lily Mae and Julie—had raced to pet Ronnie as soon as he’d jumped out of the car, and he seemed to love the attention. He looked, in fact, more like his old self, his head held high and his tail wagging as the little girls made a fuss over him as if he’d been a rock star.
Lloyd took his leash and led him to a ringside seat next to the house where he could watch the activity. The little girls sat with him, cooing and talking to him, rubbing their hands over him, and Ronnie regally permitted it. He watched with bright, interested eyes everything that was going on. What a difference from the sick and ailing dog of two days before—thanks to modern canine medicine.
Hazel Marie, looking stressed and worried, met me at the front door. “Oh, Miss Julia, how awful do you think it’ll look?”
“I think it’ll be fine.” I followed her into the living room where we took our seats. “I wouldn’t worry about how it looks, Hazel Marie. Anybody would do the same thing if faced with what you’re facing. Have any of your neighbors complained?”
“No, actually they’ve come around offering J.D. advice, but you know how he is. He’s going to do it his way no matter what. I’m so glad we’re on a corner lot. At least we won’t be fenced in like the Cochran house will be.”
“Have any of those people said anything? Made any complaints about being closed in on three sides?”
“No, but J.D. hopes they will.” Hazel Marie pushed back her hair and sighed. “He’s just waiting to tell them what he thinks.”
“Well, let’s hope they have enough sense to steer clear of him. But, listen, Hazel Marie, I hate to bring this up, but I wouldn’t care if he built an iron curtain out there and staffed it with armed guards. I’m just so afraid that he’ll decide you should sell this house and move.”
“Oh, he’s thought of it, and it worries me to death. I love this house. I don’t ever want to move.” She looked around the room, as if appreciating anew its perfect proportions. “Somebody’s already asked if we were interested in selling.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. It was awhile back, and J.D. just laughed because this house means a lot to him.” Hazel Marie stopped, then said, “He’s not laughing now.”
“Well, then, encourage him about the fence. I wouldn’t complain about whatever he wants to do if it’ll keep you here.”
“You’re right. I should, and I will. Because if the fence doesn’t work, he’ll want to move. Probably ten miles out on a hundred acres so he doesn’t have to worry about what the neighbors do.”
“Remind him that you would be out of the city school district and your girls would have to ride the bus. And that Lloyd would want to stay and graduate from the city high school, and remind him
