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Three generations of Granny Vaughn's descendants gather at her Mississippi home to celebrate her 90th birthday. Possessed of the true storyteller's gift, the members of this clan cannot resist the temptation to swap tales.
and mark him an absence from school. I told her the family was still trying to scrape a living from this old farm, the circle still unbroken, nine mouths to feed, and he’s the oldest boy.” “Well, and just who is that, now, that you’re making sound so pitiful?” cried Miss Beulah, still being everywhere at once, as if she’d be too busy to sit down to listen to foolish chatter. “Did she say she’d love to meet him?” asked Aunt Beck. “She didn’t think that was necessary,” Gloria said. “I tried
somebody for sure, climbed up here in the night and tied cowbells on this Buick!” Jack called. “Only the Broadwees would have had that little to do.” Then he rose and yelled into the car, “Wake-up-Jacob! Wake up! Ain’t you about ready to quit riding?” “Is it daylight?” came Aycock’s sleepy voice from inside. “And raining. All right, Aycock, you can get out now—I’ll count three. When I count three, Curly, you start pulling!” Jack yelled. “And when you do, remember yours ain’t the only engine
the road. “Grandpa Vaughn built Damascus.” “One ordinary look should have told even Brother Bethune we were married,” said Gloria. His mule walked out of the hitching grounds and trotted down to the road after him, while Bet stood waiting her turn in the shade. “He’s climbing on,” said Jack. “As long as his mule knows him, he’s safe. He’ll get carried to the right place.” The sun came out as if for good. All at once they were standing again in a red world. Their skin took the sharp sting of
again, Gloria at his shoulder. “Whoo-ee! Who you dressed up for?” “Now he looks ready!” came welcoming cries. “Where’d you get that shirt? Who had that waiting for you, how’d she get that paid for?” “Ask her whereabouts is your big surprise!” Auntie Fay, a little woman twice as frail as Miss Lexie and Mr. Renfro, but wearing pink in her cheeks, grabbed Jack with a shriek and with a second shriek let him go as though she’d grabbed the hot stove by mistake. Uncle Homer Champion clicked across
the rear door. “Keep your foot!” shouted Jack. “Stay where you are till you hear from me! Aycock! This Buick couldn’t be in a much sweeter fix had you been the driver!” He put out his hand and laid it with care against the side of the hood. “Like she’s wondering if she can go ahead and fly,” he said, looking respectful. “Well, she’s going to find out in another two shakes, if she ain’t real careful.” “Young man!” Judge Moody called through his dust protector. “I don’t think that car needs much