Jeb decided that the world was going to need more butter beans. That's why he spent all morning putting up extra poles, stringing lines between them, and laying out a half-dozen rows for planting them. He had a bucket full of pole beans ready to plant. But, it was hot and Jeb was an old man. He needed to sit for a spell. That's why his house had a front porch with built in ceiling fans.
Myra had made him some lemonade. She was a good woman, but she was nervous wreck. It was a good thing she had plenty of preserves to put away. It kept her busy and stopped her from speculating about the news out of Atlanta. The latest news from up there just didn't make any sense.
Earlier in the week, all the government officials and medical experts were confident that they could simply round up and treat all the crazy people. It was a disease they said. They were telling folks not to shoot the afflicted. But, Betty had said the afflicted were out trying to bite people.
"Y'all just need to get in your van and come on down to the homeplace," Jeb remembered telling her on the phone. "Just round up Robert and the kids and you drive on down here as fast as you can."
Jeb didn't really take to Robert. He was a trifling husband who needed a haircut and a real job. But, Betty said they were coming. Now, there was nothing to do but sit on the front porch swing, look down the road, and wait. Jeb wiped the sweat from his brow and had a sip of lemonade--a nervous sip.
[For the next Chronicle of Jeb story, read "Something You Oughta Know."
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