The Day a Rabbit Crossed the Road
by Charles C. Cole
Previously:
Swain and Althea
Swain Clatchee Pumps Gas
On the first of each month, Swain Clatchee paid Miss Mamie a modest sum for the privilege of living in her warm, inviting rooming house. Usually, Miss M. could be found in her cozy kitchen whipping up some sweet treats or soup — depending on the weather — which she would then leave out for all to enjoy.
Though Swain had never attended college, he had heard from educated friends that Miss Mamie was more like a dorm mother than a landlady. Althea Grover, Swain’s frequent companion of late, described her as the charming innkeeper to the best — and only — bed and breakfast in Weezer Township.
Speaking of Althea, Swain was heading to her place now, then to go for a horse-riding adventure. He hadn’t yet decided whether he would also be riding or just watching supportively, both feet on the ground, from outside the fence. But first he had to pay rent.
In the kitchen, white-haired and nearing eighty, Miss Mamie sat quietly at the small table staring out the window. By rights, she’d be wearing a flour-dusted apron, stirring something mouthwatering on the stove, or concentrating over a game of solitaire. Miss Mamie took table sports seriously, even when the only competition was the luck of the draw.
There was something in the air. Swain hesitated, but only briefly. “Miss Mamie?”
“Swain.” Her voice was flat, lifeless.
“Is the stove broken?” His question got her attention.
She furrowed her brows at him and shook her head. “No. Why on earth would you ask such an odd thing?”
“If you don’t mind my saying, Miss Mamie, you look like someone took your batteries out. Most days I have a hard time keeping up with your energy. Are you okay? Is Doc okay?” Doc was Miss Mamie’s frequent companion.
“I’m fine. Doc’s fine. Thank you for asking. We’re just getting older, like everyone else. Our reflexes have slowed down some.”
“Not you two kids,” joked Swain. “Leastways, having sat at the losing end of a cribbage match against the pair of you, I can attest that you still have minds sharp as tacks.”
“You’re a good boy, Swain. And I don’t say that to keep you from moving out. Althea’s a fine girl. I don’t blame you for wanting to spend more time together, maybe get a place of your own one day soon. Life’s short, at least for some. Don’t sit on the sidelines.”
“By chance, did Doc lose a patient?” asked Swain. “You don’t have to tell me who, though I imagine the town will be buzzing about it soon enough.”
“You boys and your imaginations. Nothing like that, thank goodness. But a tragedy nonetheless. You see, Doc was taking me home after a beautiful drive in the country and dinner out, just enjoying each other’s company, when a rabbit ran out in front of us. We didn’t have time to swerve, and we probably would have collided with oncoming traffic if we’d tried.”
“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Swain offered.
“Doc said it was like the little fellow wanted to die. Two minutes before or later, he would have been fine.” Swain sat opposite her and covered both her small, cold hands with his. She smiled wanly. “You’ve got someplace to be. I don’t want to make you late.”
“Althea will understand.”
Miss Mamie took one hand back to brush a hair from her face. “On the drive home, I kept thinking of Luke Doolittle when his truck went off the road, dying all alone. My grandfather always said cars are more dangerous than guns. Can you imagine? Of course, this was the same man who didn’t believe in women going to college or having jobs.”
“Miss Mamie, I’m glad you’re alright. You’re the heart of this old rooming house,” said Swain, then joking: “But I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to move in with Doc Buckle.”
“Now you sound like my grandfather. I’m a businesswoman.”
“Yes, ma’am. Speaking of which...” Swain reached for the check in his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Don’t spend it all at once.”
“You need to get Althea,” said Miss Mamie. “I see that ‘distraction’ in your eyes. I’ll be fine. Go on now.”
“Sure? I can call her. Reschedule.”
Miss M. pointed a finger at him. “The sooner you leave me alone, the sooner I can start on some brownies.”
When he pulled up in front of Althea’s parents’ house, Swain found Althea sitting on the front stoop. She wasn’t angry; she knew he often counseled at a moment’s notice. She took one step, and he picked her up in his arms and carried her to his black Ford Ranger.
“Swain! Put me down. My parents could be watching.” She beamed and clearly didn’t mean it.
“Let’s go ride horses,” he said.
“What happened? Is everyone okay?”
Swain put Althea on her feet beside the open passenger door. “Everyone is fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. All of Weezer Township is fine. Hurrah for a good day.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’ I’m just thankful for my health, for your health. I’ve just had a serious talk with Miss Mamie, and I promised her I would not live on the sidelines. Does horse-riding have a sideline? It doesn’t matter, because I am not going to stand there.”
Swain and Althea got into the truck and put their seatbelts on. “For the record, I really want to hold your hand right now,” said Swain.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Safety first,” said Swain. “Then we can grow old together and do the fun stuff.”
“Swain, you are so silly,” said Althea.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Swain, “when I’m not as serious as a heart attack. Right now, I just want to appreciate your company, so let’s do that.”
Copyright © 2025 by Charles C. Cole
