Oliver's girls
What was life like for the Huttos in Boston? Missing moment from "The Yearling."
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The old lady wrapped in shawls in the rocking chair by the heater didn't move until the young woman touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Ma? Do you want some more ginger tea?"
Grandma Hutto shook her head. "No."
"It would be good for your cold, Ma."
"I haven't got a cold, Twink."
There was a pause. Twink Hutto withdrew her hand. "It's the fourth time you haven't had a cold this winter, Ma," she said with a very slight saucy edge to her voice.
A fit of chuckles sent the rocking chair bobbing to and fro. "So it is, so it is! No..." Grandma Hutto shook her head again. "It's not really a cold. Just this chilly Yankee snow. I'll be better next week."
"When Oliver comes home?"
"He always brings sunshine," Grandma nodded. "Of course, we might get some sunshine sooner if that scamp of a Jody was to write, but he doesn't do that any too often."
"Stamps are expensive," Twink observed. "Everything is expensive." She sighed.
"Don't start fretting about that," Grandma Hutto read her daughter-in-law's mind. "Oliver will be home next week with good money. And sunshine for me. And roses for you. In the meantime-" She clucked her tongue. "I suppose I'd better be having some of that ginger tea. Lord knows I'm getting sick of it, but it does warm. My old bones just aren't used to this sort of weather."
"No – I mean, yes..." Twink's agreement trailed out slowly. She turned away from the fire to look at the grey sky and drifting snowflakes outside the window. It was so very, very far from the warmth of Volusia. Even in winter. Even at Christmas...
Sharply, she turned and dropped impulsively to her knees besides the old lady's chair. "Oh, Ma! It's all because of me! The cold – the fire – the snow – you've lost everything and it's all my fault and I don't even have the words to say how sorry I-"
Twink stopped. An imperious finger had emerged from Grandma Hutto's shawls and was pointed in her face like a primed pistol.
"Now you just stop that," said Grandma Hutto fiercely. "I won't stand for anyone running down my Oliver and I won't stand for anyone running down my Oliver's wife – not even herself! Don't you think I'd give everything in this world and the next to make my Oliver happy – and you do!"
"But you-"
"No. No 'but you's." The finger wagged a little more. "If Oliver's happy, I'm happy – anywhere! And besides-" Grandma Hutto's voice softened, like a hen's feathers when it settles down from having defended its chicks. "I'm a greedy old woman. I had my Oliver, and I couldn't have asked for more in a son. Won't have wanted a string of great hulking, drunken black-eyed devils, like some people. But there was always a bit of me that wanted a little golden-haired daughter, too. And if you don't think I'd have given up all those doilies and dishpans in that old cottage to get one – you'll have to have another think!"
She reached out and stroked Twink's hair. "Oliver says his two girls are the smartest ladies in Boston. So you'd better be thinking aright."
Perhaps quiet is best for thinking aright. The snow whispered against the window. The fire crackled softly in the heater. And Oliver's two girls smiled at each other through their tears.
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