there was plenty of broth on the stove and biscuits and bacon in the larder. When he returned home it was late, a long time after Walter and Collie had been tucked in. He sat Jinn down and said that they had to forgive her father. It wasn’t Vernon’s fault. Jinn’s daddy was getting old and forgetful, and these things were bound to happen. They just needed to pitch in a bit more.
Jinn wanted to bring her mama to their house but Howell said no, it was a man’s job to keep track of his own wife. And he said Vernon might take it personal if his daughter started checking up on him. He said he’d drop by and check on her mama from time to time on his way home from work, to make sure everything was in order. He told Jinn her mama would be fine and dandy. Fine and dandy as a dying woman could be, and the only things Jinn needed to worry about were the children.
There was plenty to worry about on that count. Walter hadn’t gotten up to anything since the calf, not that she knew of, but Jinn felt uneasy all the same. Collie was beginning to worry her as well. Jinn had found Walter’s best marble and an unopened packet of licorice snaps in the cigar box the girl kept under her bed. She made Collie take the candy back to the store and apologize to Mr. Darnell, the shop owner. The marble, Jinn slipped into the top drawer of Walter’s dresser the next morning while he was at school.
All through the weeks of October, Jinn watched the leaves on the trees around her cabin turn from green to golden red to brown. They fluttered to the ground, and the wind eddied them down the mountain. Soon Sybil Valley would be swept bare. Just like her soul.
The green things—her mother, her children, the wine—she felt were turning the same gold as the maple and oaks. She thought of Walter and Collie, grown and married. Herself, sitting up in her bed—touched, maybe, or sick like her mother, with only Howell to look after her.
Even thinking about Tom made her feel like one of those pines in the meadow, grown over by honeysuckle vines. Choked by her own life.
Last time she saw them, the ladies from Chattanooga had driven up in their silver car and stood on Jinn’s porch, shown her a contract their lawyer had drawn up to start a business. Fifty-fifty, they promised. They’d share all the profits. And what profits. People in Chattanooga and Knoxville sure did like honeysuckle wine. “Juice,” they corrected her. “We’re calling it Jinn’s Juice.” The ladies had gone on and on about how smart she was, called her an entrepreneur. She didn’t know why she hadn’t been brave enough to tell Howell about them in the first place, but now it was too late. She was conducting business behind her husband’s back and hiding money.
It was her pride, she told herself. It was simple as that. She didn’t want Howell taking her business away. It couldn’t be the roll of bills, expanding like a sapling tree in the jug in the cellar. She couldn’t spend that money anyway, not without Howell knowing, so it was useless to her, wasn’t it? Who had any use for money they couldn’t spend?
One Sunday at the end of his sermon, when the poplars were at the height of their gold, Brother Daley told his congregation that lately he’d felt a chill among the flock. A lull in their fervor for the Lord. He’d prayed and the Holy Spirit had told him that what they needed was revival. “Seek and ye shall find,” he said, and so he had. By the end of the month, the world-renowned Charles Jarrod would be pitching his tent out back of the church and bringing the people of Sybil Valley the Word of the Lord.
Jinn reckoned it was a good time for Charles Jarrod to come. Good for Howell and her father. Good for Walter and her too. They could all use a dose of the Word to clean their consciences and start brand new.
All the same, she was careful to keep her growing nest egg hidden away in the cellar. It’s green, she reminded herself as she eyed the fluttering
Jinn wanted to bring her mama to their house but Howell said no, it was a man’s job to keep track of his own wife. And he said Vernon might take it personal if his daughter started checking up on him. He said he’d drop by and check on her mama from time to time on his way home from work, to make sure everything was in order. He told Jinn her mama would be fine and dandy. Fine and dandy as a dying woman could be, and the only things Jinn needed to worry about were the children.
There was plenty to worry about on that count. Walter hadn’t gotten up to anything since the calf, not that she knew of, but Jinn felt uneasy all the same. Collie was beginning to worry her as well. Jinn had found Walter’s best marble and an unopened packet of licorice snaps in the cigar box the girl kept under her bed. She made Collie take the candy back to the store and apologize to Mr. Darnell, the shop owner. The marble, Jinn slipped into the top drawer of Walter’s dresser the next morning while he was at school.
All through the weeks of October, Jinn watched the leaves on the trees around her cabin turn from green to golden red to brown. They fluttered to the ground, and the wind eddied them down the mountain. Soon Sybil Valley would be swept bare. Just like her soul.
The green things—her mother, her children, the wine—she felt were turning the same gold as the maple and oaks. She thought of Walter and Collie, grown and married. Herself, sitting up in her bed—touched, maybe, or sick like her mother, with only Howell to look after her.
Even thinking about Tom made her feel like one of those pines in the meadow, grown over by honeysuckle vines. Choked by her own life.
Last time she saw them, the ladies from Chattanooga had driven up in their silver car and stood on Jinn’s porch, shown her a contract their lawyer had drawn up to start a business. Fifty-fifty, they promised. They’d share all the profits. And what profits. People in Chattanooga and Knoxville sure did like honeysuckle wine. “Juice,” they corrected her. “We’re calling it Jinn’s Juice.” The ladies had gone on and on about how smart she was, called her an entrepreneur. She didn’t know why she hadn’t been brave enough to tell Howell about them in the first place, but now it was too late. She was conducting business behind her husband’s back and hiding money.
It was her pride, she told herself. It was simple as that. She didn’t want Howell taking her business away. It couldn’t be the roll of bills, expanding like a sapling tree in the jug in the cellar. She couldn’t spend that money anyway, not without Howell knowing, so it was useless to her, wasn’t it? Who had any use for money they couldn’t spend?
One Sunday at the end of his sermon, when the poplars were at the height of their gold, Brother Daley told his congregation that lately he’d felt a chill among the flock. A lull in their fervor for the Lord. He’d prayed and the Holy Spirit had told him that what they needed was revival. “Seek and ye shall find,” he said, and so he had. By the end of the month, the world-renowned Charles Jarrod would be pitching his tent out back of the church and bringing the people of Sybil Valley the Word of the Lord.
Jinn reckoned it was a good time for Charles Jarrod to come. Good for Howell and her father. Good for Walter and her too. They could all use a dose of the Word to clean their consciences and start brand new.
All the same, she was careful to keep her growing nest egg hidden away in the cellar. It’s green, she reminded herself as she eyed the fluttering
Similar Books
