The Woman Who Tended the Sidewalk

I.

The summer I turned seven was one of the most important summers in my life. I lived in a small neighborhood in a small town full of small people, and it was here I met old Mrs. Puckett. The neighbors didn't like her, but not because she wasn't nice: She was, as they tended to put it, "eccentric". Now I see that everybody thought her mentally ill, judging her before even talking to the wise old woman, but seven-year-old me knew better. She was kind, sweet, and had cookies for me every Saturday ever since I could remember. How could she be bad?

The second Saturday of spring that year, I woke up and started getting my bag together to go exploring and playing for the day. My mom told me to stay away from Mrs. Puckett because she was acting strange, and I looked out the window to see her tending to the sidewalk in front of her house with a hoe. "Mom, isn't that a tool for growing gardens?" I asked, always curious.

"Yes, Jenny," my mom said, "but Mrs. Puckett might not know that."

My face must have beared a flash of recognition, because she smiled at me and told me to go out and play with the other kids. I did, for a bit. After a while, though, I wanted to get my Saturday cookie, and forgot about my mom's warning. I set out across the cul-de-sac to the short grey house with crabgrass and weeping willow trees in the front lawn, full of odd plants and suspicious lawn ornaments.

Mrs. Puckett was still tending to the sidewalk when I came up to her. She grinned and used the back of her arm to wipe sweat from her wrinkled, pockmarked forehead. "Why, hello, Jenny!"

"Hello, Mrs. Puckett." I responded. "Do you have any cookies for me today?"

She smiled with regret. "Why, honey, I've been too busy workin' in the garden to bake today. But I've got lemonade. Want some?" I found myself nodding, and followed her through her low wrought-iron fence.

Suddenly remembering what my mom told me, I decided to educate Mrs. Puckett. "Excuse me, Mrs. Puckett," I said, tugging at her blousey shirt while she poured lemonade with a shaky hand, "but my momma told me that the hoe you used on the sidewalk was only for gardens, and she said that you might not know that."

"Oh." Mrs. Puckett frowned, then forced a smile on her wizened face. "I know that, honey, but I've got a important project I've gotta do."

"What's that?"

The old lady shot me a sly grin and bent down with effort to hand me a glass of lemonade. "I've gotta tend the sidewalk," she whispered. This made her proud, to know that she was the one tending to the sidewalk. Even as a little girl I thought it was odd.

"Why?" I asked, still inquisitive.

"You'll see, sweetie, you'll see."