boy or girl. Either way, little kids way to spend the day with were always fascinated with his Mama’s mother—the gramma white cane. Like a puppy or an ice she’d never met. cream cone, it always drew their hasn’t she ever come “Why attention. to see me?” Korin spoke the now,” the mother “Hush, words that had been bouncing interjected. around inside her head ever since fine,” Matthew said. “It’s they’d left home, an hour or so there. I’m Matthew, and ago. this is my cane. I’m blind, and this banned that woman from helps me to get around. I tap it “I our lives, especially from yours” back and forth like this. Here, Daddy explained. your want to try?” “When mama married me and joined the church she agreed to cut all ties with that woman and her heathen The Ken ways. But when you was born, Second Place, Adult Fiction your mama made me promise to by Doris Hampton let you spend the day with your gramma when she turned Rural Oregon seventy-five.” Monday, April 30, 1945 so special her head spun, thinking “What’s 75th birthday?” about the pagan gramma who lived by herself in the woods and mama never told me.” “Your never went to church—the Daddy maneuvered the car gramma that, until a few hours through a patch of small rocks ago, she hadn’t known existed. and mud that had slid down the She stared through the bank during last week’s rainstorm. windshield as the battered gramma was always rattled up the steep, unpaved “Your yammering on about the magical road, Daddy at the wheel. She sat power in numbers. She was in the passenger’s seat, on her
boy or girl. Either way, little kids were always fascinated with his white cane. Like a puppy or an ice cream cone, it always drew their attention. “Hush, now,” the mother interjected. “It’s fine,” Matthew said. there. I’m Matthew, and this is my cane. I’m blind, and this helps me to get around. I tap it back and forth like this. Here, want to try?” The Ken Second Place, Adult Fiction by Doris Hampton Rural Oregon Monday, April 30, 1945 head spun, thinking about the pagan gramma who lived by herself in the woods and never went to church—the gramma that, until a few hours ago, she hadn’t known existed. She stared through the windshield as the battered rattled up the steep, unpaved road, Daddy at the wheel. She sat in the passenger’s seat, on her way to spend the day with Mama’s mother—the gramma she’d never met. “Why hasn’t she ever come to see me?” Korin spoke the words that had been bouncing around inside her head ever since they’d left home, an hour or so ago. “I banned that woman from our lives, especially from yours” Daddy explained. “When your mama married me and joined the church she agreed to cut all ties with that woman and her heathen ways. But when you was born, your mama made me promise to let you spend the day with your gramma when she turned seventy-five.” “What’s so special her 75th birthday?” “Your mama never told me.” Daddy maneuvered the car through a patch of small rocks and mud that had slid down the bank during last week’s rainstorm. “Your gramma was always yammering on about the magical power in numbers. She was