I had an Aunt named Margie. She lived alone in a little house in the small East Tennessee town of Elizabethton where my mom grew up. She was my mamma’s daddy’s sister so she was actually my great aunt. She had been married for a short time to someone that I don’t think was very nice. The family didn’t talk about it.
She could play the piano like nobody’s business. She played the organ at her church for years and years, but it is the piano that I most remember her playing. She played in the old fashioned way that isn’t around very much anymore, but if you ever attended a small Baptist church about 20 years ago, you’d instantly recognize the style. Hands flying and chords everywhere.
Her house was very quiet. And neat. The beds were always made and there was never any dust anywhere to be found. I don’t think a lot of kids would have loved it there.
But there were books.
She had a whole bookcase full of Reader’s Digest Condensed books. I loved them. I probably discovered them when I was about 10 years old and from then on I was happy to go to Aunt Margie’s house. I would pull one of the fat volumes off the shelf and lose myself in those stories.
Some of my favorites were “PS. Your (sic) Not Listening” by Eleanor Craig. “Halic: The Story of a Gray Seal” by Ewan Clarkson and “The Dwelling Place” by Catherine Cookson. Oh, and I just remembered “A Day No Pigs Would Die” by Robert Peck. That one just about killed me.
I loved them. I would lay and read so long that the back of my legs bore the imprint of the white chenille bedspread that always covered the guest room bed.
JD picked out some books for me to read on our vacation and one of them reminded me of The Dwelling Place, which reminded me of the condensed books,which reminded me of Aunt Margie.
She would have liked this one.
You might, too.
But don’t get the condensed version. This story is too good to miss any of the details.
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