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drawer.
    “Very well, but she has to learn. What good is it if we do everything for her?” Augusta tossed the girl a sponge. “I suppose you can start by wiping crumbs from the table and sweeping underneath . . . on second thought, forget the sweeping. We’ll work on that tomorrow.
    “This is the first occasion I’ve had to help train an apprentice,” Augusta explained as an aside to me, “and I want to be thorough . . . although sometimes I do find it a test of my patience. Perhaps that was why I was given this opportunity.”
    “And what do you usually do when you’re not filling in for someone else?” I asked.
    Augusta whisked off her large pink polka-dotted apron and hung it on the back of the pantry door. “Tend strawberries,” she said. “Acres and acres of them. And sometimes I help with the flowers. Oh, you should see our flower fields, Kate! We’ve every blossom known to man, and many that aren’t.”
    I told her I’d like to see them, but hoped it wouldn’t be any time soon.
    “Tell me about your family,” Augusta said when we finished putting away the dishes. Penelope had gone outside to water my mother’s petunias—a fairly uncomplicated task, I hoped, and the two of us watched from the window seat in the family room adjoining the kitchen. “My notes are rather sketchy, I’m afraid, as this was a bit of a last-minute assignment, and I’d really like to know more.”
    I watched as she dug a small notebook from what must have been the very bottom of a large tapestry bag, then groped again for a pencil.
    “Uncle Ernest is my grandmother’s older brother,” I explained. “His home is where we always have our reunions—I guess because it was where most of them grew up. We call his place Bramblewood, and that’s pretty much what it is—a lot of woods and brambles. A trail that follows the Yadkin River winds along about a mile or so behind it and has always been popular with hikers.”
    Augusta nodded but didn’t write anything down. “Your uncle Ernest,” she said, “does he have a large family?”
    “No children, if that’s what you mean. Married once, but it didn’t work out. He has some peculiar habits, I guess. Likes his napkin folded in a certain way, eats a soft-boiled egg every morning for breakfast and has a fit if you mess up his newspaper—things like that. Sort of keeps to himself, although I hear he’s been seeing somebody lately. He’s retired now, but Uncle Ernest taught science for years at a small college over in Boone, and wrote a bunch of textbooks nobody read unless they had to, but I’ve always gotten along with him fine.” I smiled. “When I was little, he made me a tiny water wheel to spin in the creek, and he knows all about trees and plants.”
    Now and then Augusta made brief notes as I told her about Marge and her family, then Cousin Violet and Ma Maggie. “And then there’s Uncle Lum, my mother’s younger brother, and his wife, Leona. They have a son, Grady, who’s a little older than I am.” I couldn’t bring myself to admit I was related to Deedee, but I was sure she’d find out in time.

    Marge called a few minutes later to tell me Josie was fine and if it was all right with me, she’d like to take her swimming at the local pool with the boys. “Ma Maggie says they’re ordering barbecue for everybody tonight, so why don’t I just meet you there later this afternoon?”
    I said that would be okay and went to find something cool and comfortable to wear. Our main dinner, a covered-dish affair usually eaten picnic style under the big white oaks in my uncle’s yard, would be later in the week, so it seemed Uncle Ernest was taking the easy way out tonight. Remembering Ella’s attempts at cooking, I was grateful. The last time we were here she made a pound cake and forgot the eggs. It weighed a lot more than a pound!

    “Cuz! Thank God you got here before Deedee! Let’s you and me cut outta here and give the Serpent Lady the slip.” Grady