The telephone was ringing. Jennie was writing letters at her pine desk upstairs. She set her pen down and dashed through the hall to her parents' room, which had the closest telephone.
It was Mrs. Marshall. Knowing that Jennie's parents and Lisa were away for a few days on a business trip, she wondered if the two girls would like to join them for dinner. "Mr. Carter will be there," she added, almost as an afterthought.
Jennie was thrilled to have this opportunity to meet him ahead of the family. The moment she entered the Marshall's house and saw him, she knew her father had been right. Mr. Carter was a man whose sorrow and suffering were apparent. Yet, just when this emotion seemed to predominate, he would smile and merriment would fill his eyes. He looked old and very weary, the lines on his face perhaps accentuated by the long, tiring trip to Jaffrey.
Smiling at Jennie, he said kindly, "So you are Jennie. I knew your grandfather well." He spoke with a soft southern accent. "When I was young, their home was my home."
A cozy fire was ablaze in the Marshall living room, taking the nip out of the chilly evening. David Marshall settled down in his comfortable chair, making conversation with his honored guest. Jennie knew she should help Mrs. Marshall in the kitchen, but she let Kara go alone, not wanting to miss a minute of Mr. Carter's interesting discussion. For some reason, she felt like she had known him all her life.
Later, as they lingered around the dinner table in friendly talk, Mr. Carter told his first story. Smiling mischievously at Jennie, he asked, "Would you people like to hear a story about my life on the farm in South Carolina?"
She could tell it was going to be a humorous story, so popped a few nuts in her mouth and settled back in her chair to listen. He was such a kind man, just like her father had described him. When he was serious, he seemed old and tired. But when he chuckled over something, the years just rolled away. Jennie was certain he would be a friend to the young people in Jaffrey. No wonder his grandchildren loved him so!
"Well," he began in his slow, southern accent, "one day my wife asked me to carry a heavy item down to the basement. As I opened the door and started toward the landing, I noticed a saddle there. I picked up the saddle with my free hand. When I picked it up, a snake ran out from under it, slithering down the short remaining stairway into the basement."
Jennie was charmed by the way he talked. He took his time, as if he had all night to finish the story, embellishing it with a bit of laughter and that warm smile.
"Well, now, what's goin' to happen?" he asked. "I thought about that snake coming back upstairs into the house."
David Marshall was chuckling already in anticipation. The happiness of their being together with this new friend filled the room. It was easy to see all of them were thoroughly enjoying the time.
"So I went down and I looked... and I looked!"
"Poisonous?" Mr. Marshall asked, as his guest paused for a moment. Mr. Marshall's voice, by contrast, was crisp and direct.
Catching the thread of his story once more, Mr. Carter answered, "No. A hateful-looking thing, but not poisonous. We had some fireplace wood," he continued, "down by the side of the basement next to the door, so I shut the door and told everybody, `now be sure that door is shut, 'cause we don't want that snake upstairs."'
Mr. Marshall chuckled again, anticipating what was going to happen. "Well," Mr. Carter continued, "a day or two after, I was in a hurry to get something out of the basement... don't know what it was... and I ran down the steps and shoved the door open. When I pushed the door open..."
He stopped in the middle of his story and looked around at them all. His weary eyes were now filled with excitement and laughter.
"About half of that snake... the head part... was inside the fireplace wood! About eighteen inches or more was sticking out!" His enthusiasm spread to his audience.
Unexpectedly he stood up. "Oh boy! Here's where I get him!" he pantomimed, as he pretended to be holding a club in his hand. "Clonk!" He swung the imaginary club toward the floor and burst into hearty laughter.
"Suddenly the head-end of the snake came out quickly and went up my pants leg." Now Mr. Marshall was laughing so hard, the rest could hardly hear what Mr. Carter was saying. At last they caught the words: "And then when I raised my right foot he kept going up my pants leg and that snake, I couldn't budge him, not one inch! I'd step harder on him and try to pull up if I could and get my foot a little more on him, but if I raised it, then he would climb further up my leg."
He looked around at them all, with his hearty grin. "Now what am I going to do?" His soft, gentle laughter filled the room. "I guess by my stepping on him he let loose and then... whang!"
Mr. Carter stood up again and pretended to club the snake with all his massive strength. He was a sturdy man, well-built for the years of heavy farm work. Jennie could imagine the force in those arms as they came down on the snake.
"I got his head and about that time my granddaughter yelled out, 'Grandpa, what are you doing down there?"'
His story finished, he put his head back and laughed. Mrs. Marshall suggested they move into the living room by the fireplace. Jennie was anxious to ask Mr. Carter about the time his house burned down, but she knew there would be many questions to ask him in the coming months, so would let them wait for a time when he was visiting with her parents.