I will be posting portions of my story The Vanishing Shed specifically all of chapter fifteen, Uncle Charlie. I will mail a print copy of my book to two lucky winners. Requirements are to show up to this blog and leave a comment any time before the next segment. I will post once a week on Saturday until I finish the chapter. I know two of you have read and reviewed this story on Amazon and I thank you for that. It would be nice if the winners would review it but that is not a requirement. If you decide to just make a statement that you won the copy in a contest and Amazon should accept it. The original publisher has closed their doors and I have self-published it so it is available again. I am giving away the original publisher copies I still have but the self-published version is identical but without the publisher logo.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - UNCLE CHARLIE
Buddy spent the summer working on the farm doing the chores his dad couldn’t handle. He worried how they would manage taking care of the farm when he returned to school. His mom could do the milking, feed the pigs and take care of other things. With Jeff’s occasional help they would be able to keep things going on the farm, just barely. Buddy put up the hay, a slow job since Buddy handled all the bales while his dad drove the tractor which pulled the wagon. Unfortunately, the corn wouldn’t be ready until after he returned to college.
Buddy’s dad said the barn roof needed a coat of tar. They stood in the barnyard looking up at the steep barn roof with its metal covering. The sweat poured despite the early morning hour. It dripped off Buddy’s forehead, making its way down to his eyes stinging them. He wiped the drops from his eyes and just above his upper lip.
“Good hot August day. Just right for tarring the barn roof,” Buddy said.
“Yeah. Jiggs will be here any minute,” his dad said, removing his hat, wiping sweat on his sleeve. He replaced his hat at his usual cocked angle.
His dad and mom called Uncle Charlie, Jiggs. Charlie, the youngest one in the large Beasley family, always kidded his mom because of him being younger. Charlie could lay concrete blocks better than anyone around. Buddy looked forward to working with his favorite uncle. His uncle used different names for the people in his life, a story behind each name. He called Buddy’s dad, “Ham,” his mom, “Kack,” and Buddy he always called, “Buck.”
Buddy saw him walking down the road toward the barn from the direction of the house. With his thumb and one finger, his Uncle removed the stub of a cigarette from his lips, flipped it onto the gravel road, tromping it without missing a step. His deep tan skin and bulging biceps came from years of work with heavy concrete blocks. His pleasant smile revealed empty spaces where two front upper and lower teeth used to be. Black wavy hair, prominent handsome nose completed his six-foot frame. He spotted Buddy.
“Buck, ready to get on that roof?” he said, his bass voice resounding.
“Yeah. Dad has the brooms ready and the tar is almost boiling,” Buddy answered.
“I’m mighty glad you’re working with me. I checked with Kack before I came just to make sure.”
“You don’t have a fifth of whiskey hidden on you do you? High barn roofs and liquor would be a bad combination,” Buddy said. Besides smoking, a drinking habit plagued Uncle Charlie.
“No, Buck. I know you’re always on my case to give up drinking. Don’t ever stop getting after me about it. I think you’re the only one who cares whether I give it up or not.”
Uncle Charlie hauled out the long, wooden ground ladder and placed it against the upper end of the barn where the ground sloped upward. The ladder reached the metal roof overhang without being at such a steep angle. Buddy dreaded when they reached the other end where the ground sloped down. The ground ladder would have to be at a dangerously steep angle in order to reach the roof.
Once Uncle Charlie had the ground ladder in place, he grabbed the roof ladder. Quickly climbing up to the roof, he used one strong arm to give a mighty thrust to hook the roof ladder over the cone of the barn roof. The big metal hook made a loud clank as it lapped over the top.
Buddy’s dad brought the bucket of steaming, bubbling hot tar. Uncle Charlie got one of the brushes. Buddy sat near the bottom of the roof ladder holding the bucket of hot tar, while Uncle Charlie, standing on the ladder higher up the roof, reached to soak the brush and spread the tar. They wasted no time getting started. While Buddy held the tar bucket, Uncle Charlie started smearing the tar. As always, he liked to talk.
