The cupboard at the Miller house didn’t look like a grocery store shelf. Mason jars of green beans, tomatoes, okra, squash, and yellow corn cut from the cob filled the narrow space. Sam’s garden was legendary. Two acres on the flat spot at the bottom of the driveway produced more than enough to feed the Millers and provided extra income through the sale of fresh produce to Sam’s customers. Mrs. Sellers loved to eat Sam’s sun-ripened tomatoes like apples.
Sam came into the kitchen, gave Muriel a hug, and rubbed his cheek against hers.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Much better. The biscuits are in the oven.”
“I want to take a sausage biscuit to Barry Porter,” Sam said. “He’s going to deliver two loads of pine bark mulch to a job this morning.”
Sam sat at the small kitchen table and watched Muriel’s morning routine. Every movement had meaning. She didn’t waste energy or ingredients. Sam picked up a jar of molasses and tipped it so the amber liquid rolled to one side.
“How is Barry’s boy doing?” Muriel asked.
Sam returned the molasses to its place on the vinyl tablecloth.
“He ran off with a married woman to Florida. He’s eating slop and calling it steak, but I saw him turning toward home the other night. I’m going to remind Barry to keep looking down the road and welcome him back when he repents.”
Muriel opened the oven door and took out four golden biscuits. When Matthew was a teenager, she baked six to eight biscuits that always disappeared before the male members of the family went out the front door.
“Why don’t you take Barry two biscuits?” she suggested. “You eat one, and I’ll nibble on the other.”
Sam scratched his head. “Only one for me? I don’t want to pass out while spreading the mulch around Mrs. Smith’s patio. I need all my strength to lift that shovel.”
Muriel turned her back to him as she put the sausage on a clean serving plate and sprinkled flour and pepper into the skillet for the gravy.
“I’m thinking about the extra weight these biscuits and sausage are causing around that stomach of yours,” she said. “You know your cholesterol is inching up, and Dr. Murray told you to watch your diet.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at her back for a moment. “Are you serious?”
Muriel turned around with a serious look on her face. “I love babying you, but sometimes I feel guilty fixing what you want all the time.”
Sam grinned. “Don’t worry. The gravy cuts the calories in half.”
“We won’t argue about it this morning, but I’m not fixing fried chicken tonight. I found a recipe for broiled chicken that sounds real tasty. It uses some of the herbs I dried last summer.”
“Sounds great. The touch of your loving hands is the key to a good meal.”
Muriel shook her head. “For a country boy, you’re a smooth talker.”
After all the food was on the table, she sat down across from him. They bowed their heads.
Sam prayed for Barry’s son, moved into his usual blessing over the meal, and concluded with, “And Master, please take all the cholesterol out of this fine breakfast. Amen.”
“Your health is not a joke,” Muriel said when he finished. “I want to keep you with me as long as possible.”
Sam reached across and put his weathered hand on top of hers. “And I don’t want either of us to leave a moment before Papa’s perfect time.”
AFTER BREAKFAST, SAM PUT ON A HEAVY COAT AND WENT OUTSIDE while Muriel washed the dishes. The sun was a large yellow ball in the east, and the frost was in full retreat across the yard, exposing the dead grass. Without any wind blowing, the mountain air would warm up rapidly. The coat, hat, and gloves would keep Sam comfortable until he started working. He filled an orange cooler with water from a back porch sink supplied by pipes prevented from freezing by thick insulation wrapped around them.
Sam kept the utility trailer he used to haul his equipment in a small storage shed. Parked in front of the shed was a dented red pickup truck with the words “Sam Miller – Lawn Maintenance” written on both doors in white paint. Underneath was Sam’s phone number. The boy who painted the advertisement on the truck did a neat job. Three years later, the letters and numbers were only chipped in a few places.
Sam unlocked the door of the shed and went inside. The familiar odors of gasoline and dry grass greeted him. Sam owned a large commercial mower, a regular push mower for trimming, and an edger. He did all the maintenance on the equipment himself. The past week, he’d rebuilt the engine in the commercial mower so it would be ready for the spring season. He placed a rake, shovel, mattock, and other hand tools in a rack toward the front of the trailer and secured everything with a strap. He reached into his pocket for the keys to the truck so he could back it up to the trailer. As he stepped away from the building, movement at the bottom of the driveway caught his eye. A Barlow County sheriff ’s car turned into his driveway. Sam walked around the side of the house. The car pulled up to his front door and stopped. Two deputies got out.