The old woman was hunched over. Her ancient knees rested on a pad made for the purpose, but they still ached. She was wrestling with a clump of grass that had grown up between her petunias and marigolds. She was muttering under her breath about the rudeness of grass in flower gardens. The grass was neither apologetic, nor did it relent.

It was late in the day. That time of day when the shadows are long and deceiving of coolness. The light was golden and somehow magical despite the lingering heat. But it was not her favorite time of day. That would be the time just before dawn when the birds awaken and sing the day into existence.

She’d missed the cool weather of early morning. When she had awakened, her joints were stiffer than usual and it had taken her most of the morning to get them moving. Then she had her chores around the house. So she found herself doing the weeding at the end of the day instead of when she preferred, at the beginning.

The sun was westering, but it was still warmer than she liked. She had thought briefly about leaving the weeding for tomorrow’s morning. But she had no guarantee that her joints would be any more cooperative then than they had been today. She squinted hard at a second clump of grass. She loosened the soil with her weeding tool and began to pull on it, working her knobby fingers into the soil as deeply as she could in an effort to get all the roots so that the grass might not return. It was fruitless effort and she knew it but she did it anyway.

She wanted nothing more at this point than to be done with the day and sitting in her easy chair, resting her weary back. A cup of chilled herbal tea and a good book was an appealing idea. But her conscience and the weeds would not let her.

She was so focused on the task at hand that she did not hear the small child come up behind her. The girl was young, not more than five years old. Her face was tanned and her nose was freckled and speckled by the sun. Dark hair curled and spilled around her face. She was clutching a doll tightly to her chest.

The doll was old and battered. It wore no clothes. Most of its hair was missing and one eye was permanently closed. A piece of the tip of its nose was missing as well as most of the paint that had once adorned its face. The one eye that was open was a brilliant blue. The young girl said, “Whatcha doin’?”

To be honest, the old woman might not have heard the girl walk up even if she had not been so focused on what she was doing. Her hearing was not what it used to be. So the woman was startled and in trying to turn suddenly and look behind her, she flopped over onto her side. Instead of immediately trying to right herself, she rolled over onto her back and lay in the grass that bordered the flower bed. She stared up at the girl.

Because the old woman didn’t answer right away, the girl said again, “Whatcha doin’?”

The old woman thought about saying something like, “I’m lying in the grass. What’s it look like I’m doing?” But instead she said, “I was weeding.”

The girl said, “Weeding?”

“Yes. Pulling out the weeds.”

“Why?”

“Because I find them esthetically displeasing.”

“Ess. Uh, Ess-theh …”

“They make the flower bed less pretty.”

“Your flowers are very pretty. We don’t have flowers. I think mostly we have weeds.”

The girl, seeing that the old woman was making no move to sit up or get up, decided to lie down on the grass beside her. The grass was cool and damp on her bare arms and the backs of her calves. She hoisted her doll in the air above her body so that the old lady could see it better and said, “This is my dolly. She’s my favorite. Her name is Amanda. I’ve had her a very long time. Since I was just little.”

The old woman sat up and did her best to sit Indian style. The girl did the same, but with the ease of young bones and muscles. The old woman sighed. She was thinking again about that easy chair and a cold drink. But she said, “So, what’s your name?”

“My mama calls me Feebs mostly. ‘Cept when she’s mad at me. Then she calls me Phoebe Marie. What’s your mama call you?”

The old woman was thrown back in time. No one had called her that … what her mom had called her … in a very long time. Her expression turned sad and she was about to say that her mama died a long time ago, but changed her mind and said, “My mama calls me Weezy.” She decided it was not her place to instruct this small girl in the ways of life and death.

Feebs said, “And what does she call you when she’s mad?”

That made Weezy smile and she said, “Louise Jeanine.” She quickly added,  “Does your mother know where you are?”

“She told me to go outside. Said I was upsetting my baby sister. But I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. I just thought she might like to hold Amanda for a while is all.”

 “I see.  Feebs, you should probably go home now. I need to finish this.”

But Feebs was in her own world for a moment and didn’t really hear Weezy.  She said, “Do you like my dolly? Mama hates it. Says she’s ugly.”

A thoughtful look crossed Weezy’s face as she said, “She’s not ugly. She’s just old and dirty. And maybe a little scary with that one eye and missing part of her nose like that.”

“Oh, she’s not scary. She’s just sad.”

“How do you know that she’s sad.”

“Well, because nobody likes her. Well nobody ‘cept me. And nobody pays much attention to her.”

Weezy looked at the girl. She looked at the sky. She looked at her knobby knees, still reddened from having knelt on them. She looked at the doll, long and hard.

Feebs noticed Weezy staring at her doll in the way that all young children notice things. More than parents imagine. She said, “Do you like Amanda.”

Weezy did not particularly care for the doll one way or another, but Feebs seemed so sad that she said, “Yes, I do like Amanda.”

“Then I will give her to you.” She held the doll out so insistently that Weezy took it into her hands. Feebs smiled brightly and nodded to her encouragingly and Weezy cuddled the doll to her breast.

After a minute or so, Weezy tried to hand the doll back to Feebs saying, “But she is your favorite. I couldn’t keep her. You’d miss her.”

Feebs face saddened again. She said, “Oh.” Then her face brightened and she said, “But I could come visit her. We could all sit and talk.”

Without giving it a second thought, Weezy said, “Yes, you could. That would be nice. But you had better run along home now. It will be dark soon.”

Feebs hopped to her feet and then did her best to help Weezy to stand up. Looking up at Weezy, Feebs very solemnly said, “I am very pleased to meet you.” And then brightly said,  “Bye!” She took off down the street alternating walking and skipping.

Weezy gave up on the weeding , gathered her tools and went inside. She set Amanda on a shelf in her living room. Later, after she’d had her tea and sat for a while, she’d see about cleaning up the doll. Then she might see about crocheting some clothing and using some yarn to make a wig for Amanda.

It had been a busy day and it was going to be a busy night. And tomorrow morning she would do something she hadn’t done in a long time.  She would bake some cookies.

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