Harley Ketchum smelled like rotted dog meat left to fester in an abandoned brewery in mid-July. He was a lanky, ornery sort with dark leathery skin and a sun-bleached beard, and he had the temperament of a rabid coyote. But he was Edith's man and she loved him dearly. Fact was, most everyone in Salene County had nothing but good things to say about Old Harley. The menfolk often stopped by to chat and share a little corn liquor, and folks young and old sought his advice on many a delicate matter. Harley was, after all, the best darned potionist in the backwoods.
Most everyone who needed help was dirt poor but that made no nevermind to Harley. As payment he'd accept a few rounds of buckshot, a hog or two, a few jars of gooseberry preserves, a sack of corn or taters, or whatever folks had to offer. Just yesterday Justice Wilson's boy, Jacob, had paid him in venison, enough fresh meat to last the Ketchums clean through to December. Harley never spoke much about his business but he did mention that the boy had come to him with a rather peculiar ailment. Despite her curiosity, Edith asked no questions and Harley offered no details.
She was a sweet little woman with a warm personality yet she took no flack from anyone, save maybe Harley. This morning she'd set a vat of tallow to boil when Harley's voice trailed in through the front porch screen. "Fetch me the bear grease Edith. And bring a jar for the seeds." He sounded urgent so she lifted the black cast iron vat from the old pot-bellied stove, set it on the counter, then reached up for the Mason jar of grease. In doing so, she skidded a finger across the knotted pine shelf, and mumbled an "ouch" on her way out of the kitchen. "Just like you to want something in the middle of candle making," she mumbled as she joined Harley on the front porch. "Speak up woman," he shouted. He was tilted back in his rocker sharpening his 8-inch blade, a huge ripe pumpkin at his feet. "Did you bring the grease?"
"I surely did. Need help?"
Harley looked up at her and winked. After more than thirty years, she hadn't changed. Standing there in her flower patterned dress and white apron, the way her auburn tresses danced and sparkled in the afternoon sun, she was still the pretty little thing he'd met at the Hutchesons' barn dance, still the gal he loved.
"Not right now, but once I've got 'er carved up I'd be obliged if you'd shine 'er up for me." He reached out a hand to pat her fanny but she twirled out of reach and nearly fell off the porch. From the corner of her eye she saw something in the distance. As she raised her hand to block out the sun, Harley waved and shouted, "It's Doc Wilson, haven't seen the good doctor in a coon's age."
"I hope no one's sick," Edith said. "The last time he visited these parts it was bad news, that's for sure." Through her mind's eye she saw the pain and misery she'd witnessed last spring. The children, the blessed little children with bodies charred black, moaning and crying and screaming out in raw pain. There'd been a fire at the school. The victims had been many, more than Doc could handle on his own. He'd sent for Harley but when she'd heard of the tragedy, she'd gone along to help. Seeing Doc, after all these months, brought back the memory.
"Look for the sunny side woman, he's probably here for the birthin'. Lindy Bodella's 'bout due, could be her time has come. Old Doc seems to have a way of knowing when a woman's time is near." He wrapped a big hand around her trim waist and gave her a peck on the forehead. He wasn't about to tell her why Doc had come to see him. "Put on the coffee darlin', he'll soon be here."
"Where's Edie?" Doc asked as he warmed his hands over the stove. The weather had cooled down considerably in recent weeks and he looked forward to a cup of Edie's brew. Smelled good.
"She's out back tilling the garden. After the dry spell there wasn't much worth pickin'. A few pumpkins, some cabbage and some half bad turnips."
Harley poured the steaming coffee into two large earthenware mugs and motioned for Doc to have a seat in the chair across from him. He thought about steering the conversation in the direction of the point but the old codger looked none too anxious about tackling the topic. The required potion was plentiful and not hard to come by, so Harley played the waiting game.
"It's the same at our place," Doc said, his head bowed toward his coffee. "Justice pickled what little there was and the boy tilled the rest under last week."
The thought of his son made him twitch. "Good coffee," he said, "serves to warm a body."
"Care for a couple of biscuits?" Never one to enjoy fruitless chatter, Harley was getting mighty impatient. Before long Edith would be done with the tilling. The thought made him shiver.
"No thanks, Harley. My appetite's kinda slowed down in recent years. Often have to remind myself to eat. Come to think of it, the boy's appetite has slowed some too. His hungerin' and hankerin' for women that is." He let out a loud and nervous chuckle that made Harley downright uncomfortable. But he had directed the conversation toward the point and that made Harley smile.
"When your boy was here to see me we discussed it at length. Seems he has an affliction not uncommon in your neck of the woods. It's none too serious but it does take time to heal over."
"Do you know what causes it Harley? I've been doctorin' folks longer than you can imagine and I ain't never come across nothing that can itch and swell a man's private parts..."
Harley pretended not to notice that Doc was wringing his hands and wriggling in his seat. "Not to worry. I gave Jacob my remedy. Should clear up in a week or two." His stomach tightened with disgust as he watched the old guy shift his weight, grunt, then reach under the table.
Harley thought of ways the old bastard could have contacted his son's affliction. He had to fight back a gag. He lifted the coffee to his lips and swallowed hard, clunked the mug on the table and looked Doc in the eye. "Trouble is, I don't believe I gave your boy the proper dose. Seems to me I've got a little left. I'll go fetch it."
On his way to the pantry, Harley thought of Edith, her ripe white flesh, the things she could do for a man, the way her tongue warmed him hard on a chilly October's eve. By the time he entered the tiny room, his hands were on his fly. He slid the zipper slow and easy while he scanned the shelves for a bottle, something of appropriate size.