A flurry followed as most everyone jumped back.
Cooper bolted out of the garage. “It jumped straight out at me, like a bullet. Holy crap.”
“What’s the matter, haven’t you seen a rat before?” asked Anna. She rose to her feet and walked over to inspect the corner the rat had come from.
“Not up close and personal,” Cooper said. “I have this rule. I keep to my side and they stay on theirs.”
Linnea kept her distance. “Is there another one there?”
“You know what they say, where there’s one…” Anna replied.
“Okay, game over,” Pandora said, raising her hands and heading out.
“Wait a minute, hold on,” John called out, waving her back. “It’s just a rat. It’s not surprising one would be in here. Mice too. But hey, they’re not dangerous animals.”
“Until you get bit,” said Linnea.
“Gordon, you work with wildlife,” John said. “Help me out.”
“There are always rats around. But you know, I read this article,” Gordon said with seriousness. “It was about how now that the restaurants are shut down during the pandemic, rats are looking for new places to forage.”
“Thanks for sharing, Einstein,” John said with a nod to the ladies.
“What a bunch of babies,” Anna said, picking up a broom and heading to the corner. She began vigorously sweeping out the area while the others watched. “Yeah, there’s poop here all right. It’s a right big ol’ nest.” She paused and looked over her shoulder. “What are you all waiting for? Grab a broom.”
“Oh, no,” Pandora demurred. “I didn’t sign up for hunting.”
“Why not?” Linnea asked. “Isn’t that what you do when you go on fox hunts? Chase down animals?”
“We don’t…”
“Save the debate.” John went to the corner of the barn and grabbed two more brooms. “Linnea, Pandora, why don’t you start sorting out what’s good and what’s trash? Gentlemen”—he held out the brooms to Gordon and Cooper—“choose your weapons.”
The sun was lowering by the time the barn was cleared out. Several trash bags were lined up at the curb. Linnea put her hands on her hips and took a sweeping look at the group. Her pod. They all looked like ragamuffins, covered in dirt and grime, but they were smiling, joking, drinking beers, acting more like a group of friends.
“John, what are you going to do with all this stuff?” Anna asked.
John was carrying one of the last boxes out of the barn. “You can help me with a garage sale later.”
“Sell it?” Anna exclaimed. “This is good stuff. I’m going to be first in line.”
“I want this,” Pandora called, pulling a fox stole from the wardrobe. It was the vintage kind with the fox biting its tail. “It’s in remarkable shape.” She winked at Linnea. “For my next fox hunt.”
“Hands off the vintage clothing,” Linnea called out. “I call dibs. Except for that,” she conceded to Pandora. “I don’t wear fur. Leave the hats too!” She pointed at Pandora, who was trying on a lovely shaped black felt hat with a veil. Pandora stuck her tongue out playfully and tossed the hat at Linnea.
En masse they all began rooting through the items, each finding something he or she wanted.
“Will you look at all you’ve done!” Emmi exclaimed as she approached. Her red hair was bound up in a bun and she wore a sparkly T-shirt under a jean jacket. “I came to ask if y’all were hungry. I made up a big pot of spaghetti. Now I’m all aflutter.” She put her hands on her hips. “Kids, you’ve done wonders,” she exclaimed, walking into the barn and gaping joyfully. “I can see the murals! I haven’t seen them since Miranda was alive. She used to paint her big oils in here. What days those were. Cara and I played dress-up in all those clothes.” She grew teary-eyed and sniffed. “I don’t know how to thank you. I’ve wanted to get that firetrap cleaned out for ten years.”
“You have wonderful treasures,” Pandora said, lifting up a painting of an egret.
“Miranda painted that,” Emmi said, stepping into the barn. “It’s yours if you like it.” She turned to address everyone. “All of you, if you find something you like, take it as my thank-you.” She put her hands together. “Except, perhaps, the really good antiques. And any silver, of course. And anything else of great value,” she added in a lower voice.
“Mom, where did the joggling board come from?” John asked. He walked over to the sixteen-foot narrow plank set between what looked like two rocking sawhorses. It was painted a glossy color called Charleston green, more black than green, faded only a bit by the years.
Emmi came closer to investigate. “This brings back memories,” she said wistfully, and reached out to touch the long dark slab of wood. “This was Miranda’s. It’s been here for as long as I can remember. Flo said she inherited it from the family that built the house. John,” she said, her face softening with the memory, “I used to hold you and bounce you up and down on this thing. It was one of the only things that would stop you from crying.”
“I’m sorry,” Pandora interrupted, “but what is it?” She spread out her hands.
“Legend goes,” explained Emmi, “joggling boards started in South Carolina, back in the eighteen hundreds. If I recall correctly, some plantation owner’s sister came to visit, and she had bad rheumatism. Their Scottish cousins sent a model of a joggling board and suggested she build one. They claimed that the gentle bouncing would help. So she did. The idea took off, and local carpenters have been making them ever since. They used to be called courting benches.” She moved to one side of the board, swiped off a thick layer of dust, and sat down. She bounced up and down a bit. “See? Joggle.”
“Ah, as in jiggle joggle,” said Pandora.
“John,” Emmi called out, waving her son closer. “Sit down on the other end and let’s give them a demonstration.”
John obliged.
“Okay, now. Start bouncing. Whoa!” Emmi exclaimed. “Gently! You don’t mean to knock the other person over. You joggle. See?” she said, gently bouncing up and down.
“It’s like a trampoline,” Anna said.
“Sort of,” said Cooper.
As the board bounced, Emmi and John slid closer together.
Gordon laughed. “I think I see where this experiment is headed. Thus, the courting bench.”
John drew close to his mother and kissed her head before hopping off.
“Folks used to say,” Emmi continued, “if you had a joggling board on your front porch, you would never have an unwed daughter. Then again, it never worked for Flo.” She shrugged. “But the rest of y’all might give it a try.”
“I have an idea!” John said.
“Another one?” Linnea teased.
John held out his hand and escorted his mother off the board. Then he hopped up on the board on both feet. The board quivered beneath his weight, but John held out his arms and kept his balance. Then he began joggling, arms stretched out.
“It looks like you’re surfing!” exclaimed Linnea.