Fireflies

Fireflies by George Strange I was six years old when it happened that August day seventy years ago. My sister was staying with Addie, and having our parents all to myself I ran in celebration on the front porch. Around my mouth was dried brown stain of apple butter. Ma was sewing an enormous red shirt that would have swaddled me completely . It dangled from the rocker. Pa stood with one foot on the porch rail, his deep blue eyes set on some distant point. I ran up beside him, threw my foot on the bottom rail and pretended to set my eyes on the distance. He saw me and smiled, then turned to watch Jake Garenth rise into view at a gallop. I saw nothing unusual in that. Jake was Pa's tenant farmer. Ma saw nothing unusual either. She walked over to Pa and held the red shirt out to him. He frowned as he bent and put it on. Jake slowed to a lope through the orchard and beside the barn, then came up fast to the porch. He pulled an envelope out of his hat. "What does it say?" Pa asked. Jake blushed. He couldn't read and that was Pa's way of kidding him. Jake didn't like to be teased. Ma'd told Pa about that before. "Give it here, Jake," Pa said and reached for the paper. His sleeve hung down to his knuckles. "Let me have the shirt, Mister Roberts ," Ma said. "I didn't get it quite right." He laughed and took it off. "Makes* me feel sissy-like standing before God and the world in an unmade shirt." "I got no pattern for it," she said, "and you wouldn't let me fit you. It was the best I could do." "It's going to be pretty, Rachel. Going to be just fine," he said. Already though he was into something. His voice dropped off the way a rooster's crow does when you fling a stick at him. His hands didn't ever tremble and his eyes didn't blink as he drew those words clear down to his soul. "What's that writing about, Mister Roberts?" Ma asked. He didn't say anything. Didn't ever say anything to her again. "Jake, go saddle Galler." She could have asked Pa until the sun fell, but he wasn't going to tell her anything he didn't want to. She sat down and started ripping out the sleeve but couldn't pay much mind to her work. Except for tugging at his mustache he didn't fidget much. Stood there straight as you please studying God knows what. It took her in, too. She pulled a few stitches, then put them right back in, leaving the shirt just like it was when he dropped it off his back. I felt inside. It was still warm. Pa carried a lot of heat about him. "I'm going, too," I said. When Jake came out of the barn, Pa put the new shirt on. Jake led Galler up beside the porch, and Pa slid into the 45 saddle and took off at a trot. Jake followed on Black while I kicked and screamed at being left. Ma reached for me, and her sewing basket went tumbling. She pulled me to the barn. She was panting as she fitted the reins on the mare. That's all she used. She calmed a little by the time she hopped on behind me. Galloping, we caught them a ways past Jake's house. Pa didn't look at us. "Jake, I don't think they should go," he said. Jake didn't know what to say. He looked at us, then at Pa. "You want me to do something about it, Mister Roberts ?" "They don't need to go." "Did you hear that, Mrs. Roberts?" "Yes," she said, continuing to ride alongside. "She heard it, Mister Roberts." "She ain't turned around, Jake." "Maybe we could ride faster," Jake suggested. They heeled into the sides of their horses and moved ahead. Ma could've caught them, but she lay back and followed . We...