Abit
Evening was coming on, but I decided to do a little more work. I was still building my business, and I wanted to get some orders out as soon as possible. Shiloh came wandering in from the back. “Working late?” he asked, scratching his back against a rough-hewn post. “I could stay and help for a bit, seeing as how you’re a little behind in your work.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, “though it’s time you came up with some fresh material.”
He laughed and went back to work. Shiloh was easy enough to be round, and I’d given him his own key so he could come and go as needed, what with his meditations and who knew what else. I didn’t know much about his life outside the shop—he never shared anything—but then again, I didn’t really want to. He just did his work and told his jokes, especially when people talked about something serious. At The Hicks, one of my counselors told me people could use humor to hide from others. But the way I saw it, that was his business.
Shiloh started putting the finishing touches on my latest hoosier. On the front of the flour bin, I’d set an enameled inlay with a scene that reminded me of the grassy slopes at The Hicks, dotted with wildflowers and a couple of them gorgeous Jersey cows. I thought the cabinet was one of my best so far, and I wanted to get a photograph for my sample book.
I’d bought a good camera offa Cleva Hall. She’d taken up photography when she quit working, but after a while, she found she didn’t get out to shoot much. She gave me a few lessons, and I taught myself a good bit on my own, especially about lighting.
As I was pulling lights outta the back room, I heard, “Hey, Rabbit.” That would be Fiona. Standing in the doorway, her red hair backlit by the late sun and glowing like a halo.
“Hey, yourself,” I said. She walked over and gave me a big hug. We were both still shy about showing affection with other people round, but Fiona must not’ve seen Shiloh working on the backside of the hoosier. She laid a big kiss on me, and shy or not, I wasn’t gonna pass that up.
Fiona O’Donnell had a way about her—confidant but not stuck up—that won my heart the first time I saw her. I’d met her at a storytelling festival in Virginia. (That’s where she got the mistaken notion my name was Rabbit. When she’d asked my name, I was so dumbstruck by how pretty she was with her red hair and freckles and big green eyes that I answered, “er, Abit.” It stuck, but just between us. No one else would dare call me Rabbit, but then again I didn’t reckon anyone else wanted to.)
She’d come over from Ireland, visiting her Auntie Chloe, who was one of the finest storytellers I’d ever heard (and I’d heard plenty, over time). Fiona went home that summer to finish her nursing school, but she came back for a visit a time or two between semesters. When she moved to America two year ago, she settled first near Galax, Virginia, where her aunt lived. Even so, we managed to see a good bit of one another. Just about a year ago, she got herself a job at the hospital in Newland and a garage apartment nearby behind an old lady’s house. We’d been seeing each other regular-like ever since. And playing in a bluegrass band. I think me and Bessie (my bass fiddle) were invited to join the band because of Fiona. Man, she played the best fiddle this side of Ireland and told stories almost as good as her aunt. And sang!
“I thought you had to work tonight,” I said when we came up for air.
“I caught a break—Sharyn wanted to swap shifts with me. So I was hoping we could go to dinner ...” She kinda flinched and the color started rising up her neck. She’d noticed Shiloh. “Hello, Shiloh. I didn’t see you,” she said, straightening her uniform, as though it had been messed with. (We hadn’t had time for that.)
“Apparently not,” he said unhelpfully, that smirk of his cutting across his face. “Say, while I’ve got a medical professional here, I wonder if you could answer a question for me.” Fiona looked cautious but nodded for him to go ahead. “What is the difference between an oral thermometer and a rectal thermometer?”
Fiona seemed to know he weren’t serious and played along. “I don’t know, Shiloh, what is the difference?”
“The taste.”
She threw her head back and gave a big belly laugh. I didn’t find his joke all that funny, but I’d always found laughter contagious, so I joined in. I wasn’t much good at telling jokes myself, but I thought it was a skill to keep after. I’d’ve loved to make Fiona laugh like that. I hoped maybe if I paid close attention, found some kinda rhythm, I could come up with witty, funny things to say to make her happy.
After we got calmed down, Fiona said she could help out if afterwards I’d take her to McGregor’s up toward Crossnore. I’d showed Fiona a thing or two about woodworking, and her old man back in Ireland taught her how to sand something smooth as silk. He may not have known much about raising two kids on his own (her mother had died on the young side), but best I could tell, he knew his way round a woodshop.
We all worked hard (well, Shiloh worked as hard as he ever did) for a coupla hours, so Fiona and I were starving by the time we got to the restaurant. I’d been there oncet before with Della, and I knew it cost a good bit. But so did being late with orders and having customers mad at me. Besides, I wanted to pay Fiona back in a way she wanted. I couldn’t say no to that lass. At least that’s what I thought at the time.