Forty Brushes for Mom’s White Fence

That is when Sheree pulled in.

I saw her car come up the road and slow down. I saw her see the cars on the shoulder.

I saw her see the fence. She slowed almost to a stop, and then she turned in at the gate and stopped behind Sherman’s flatbed.

She had not seen the Facebook post. She is not in that group. She did not know Dean was there; he had told her he was helping somebody set some posts.

You could feel it go down the whole line. People who were laughing stopped laughing. People who were talking stopped.

At least four of the women by the hose were women from the coffee urn that Sunday, Rosetta among them.

Forty people, and every one of them was looking at her car.

Dean was down by the barn, rinsing a brush. He set it on the edge of the trough and straightened up and stood there with his hands wet, and did not move.

Sheree got out. She had a blue folder under her arm, the kind real estate agents hand you with their picture on the front.

She stood by her car for a long moment, looking at the fence.

I could see her take it in, the whole length of it, the new posts at the end standing straight. Then she looked at the people. Then she found Mom at the gate.

She started walking toward her.

I moved to go too. Dean caught my eye from across the yard and shook his head, just a little. So I stayed where I was.

Sheree stopped about six feet from Mom. Nobody was talking. You could hear the box fan humming in the barn and the mare tearing grass.

“Bernice,” Sheree said. Her voice was tight. “I came by to bring you this. The agent ran the numbers for me. I thought, with the fence going down, you might want to see what the place would bring.”

She held out the folder.

Mom did not take it. She did not get angry, either. She looked at the folder, and then she looked at Sheree’s face, and she said, “The fence isn’t going down, honey.”

“I can see that,” Sheree said.

“These are my Sunday school kids,” Mom said. “They came this morning. Forty of them, and their babies. Dean set the posts.” She turned a little and looked back at the fence. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Sheree’s face did something I had never seen it do. It just sort of gave. She looked down the line of people. She saw Rosetta. Rosetta looked at the grass.

“I heard what was said at church,” Mom said. Not loud. Just plain, the way she used to say the memory verse for the week. “Vergie told me Monday.”