keep your tongue trained.”
“Yes, Miz Cally,” he said, stepping in beside me.
The fire was burning huge and bright, and the air was filled with the smell of biscuits, warm and toasty. The Widow glanced into the kitchen as we sniffed. “I thought it would be nice if I baked up some treats and brought them over to help with supper. Truly, I’d have been to your place in an hour at most.”
“Shouldn’t have wasted the trip, then. It’s pretty damned cold outside.”
“Gospel Truth, don’t think you’re big enough that I can’t teach you manners.”
I didn’t really expect him to back down, but Gospel did, bowing his head as he unwrapped one of the scarves that he was bundled in.
“I’m glad you came all the same. The biscuits will be just as nice over here as there, and … oh, I don’t know, but your house can’t be comfortable to you right now.” She started for the kitchen, for the big iron stove that was giving off a little steam from the baking.
“Thank you, Miz Cally,” I said. “But wait. There’s things I got to tell you.”
The Widow paused. “More than you already have, Merciful?”
I knew she meant about my mama walking around, and I could hear the doubt in her voice. I looked over at Gospel, but he was busy taking off layers of warmth as if we were going to sit and have treats and talk about how unseasonable it was. “A lot more, maybe.”
“Well, let’s get the biscuits and some jam, and then you can tell me whatever you need to.” And she set to getting things ready, putting out a cast-iron pan full of biscuits on the kitchen table, and a jar of strawberry jam, and knives and little plates and even fancy napkins, while Gospel set aside his warm things and I just stood there with my hat in my hands, wringing it because I was so nervous.
Miz Cally lowered herself into one of the narrow chairs around the table and gestured us to sit. Gospel dropped onto one and immediately dug into the biscuits, smearing jam all over one and forcing it steaming hot into his mouth. “You’ll burn yourself,” the Widow said, but without much more than the faintest note of caution. You couldn’t warn Gospel off that sort of thing.
“Is it all right if I start telling you what I need to tell you?” I asked.
“Not till you take a biscuit,” she said, putting one onto my plate. She stared at me hard until I picked it up and took a little bite. It was perfectly warm and wonderful, but it sat like mud in my mouth until I forced myself to chew up the bite and swallow it. “I suppose that’s the best I’ll get out of you right now. I don’t blame you for feeling so out of sorts, but I do wish you’d try to distract yourself from your sorrows. It’s a great help, distraction.”
“Miz Cally, there’s things a body can’t distract herself from,” I said.
“I don’t know about that. When my husband passed, God rest his soul, I did everything I could to try to lose track of it.”
“It’s not that, Miz Cally. It’s not Mama being gone.”
“Well, then what is it? It’s not you thinking she’s up and about again, is it? I thought that was all settled.” The Widow gave me a stern look, the sort that should have sent me cringing into silence, only I wasn’t about to shut up now after I’d come all this way.
“I got to ask you a question,” I said.
“For Pete’s sake, Merce, you’re taking forever,” Gospel said around a mouthful of the last biscuit. “Either spit it out or I do.”
“All right, all right.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. “I need to know if you’ve got any machines around the place.”
“Machines? Why do you suppose you’d find any of them around here? They been gone a good long while, Merciful. And what kind?”
“I don’t know what kind. What kinds are there?”
A soft laugh came from the tall black lady. “There were all kinds, I suppose. Kinds that did things for us, and that made things; kinds that told the time or
“Yes, Miz Cally,” he said, stepping in beside me.
The fire was burning huge and bright, and the air was filled with the smell of biscuits, warm and toasty. The Widow glanced into the kitchen as we sniffed. “I thought it would be nice if I baked up some treats and brought them over to help with supper. Truly, I’d have been to your place in an hour at most.”
“Shouldn’t have wasted the trip, then. It’s pretty damned cold outside.”
“Gospel Truth, don’t think you’re big enough that I can’t teach you manners.”
I didn’t really expect him to back down, but Gospel did, bowing his head as he unwrapped one of the scarves that he was bundled in.
“I’m glad you came all the same. The biscuits will be just as nice over here as there, and … oh, I don’t know, but your house can’t be comfortable to you right now.” She started for the kitchen, for the big iron stove that was giving off a little steam from the baking.
“Thank you, Miz Cally,” I said. “But wait. There’s things I got to tell you.”
The Widow paused. “More than you already have, Merciful?”
I knew she meant about my mama walking around, and I could hear the doubt in her voice. I looked over at Gospel, but he was busy taking off layers of warmth as if we were going to sit and have treats and talk about how unseasonable it was. “A lot more, maybe.”
“Well, let’s get the biscuits and some jam, and then you can tell me whatever you need to.” And she set to getting things ready, putting out a cast-iron pan full of biscuits on the kitchen table, and a jar of strawberry jam, and knives and little plates and even fancy napkins, while Gospel set aside his warm things and I just stood there with my hat in my hands, wringing it because I was so nervous.
Miz Cally lowered herself into one of the narrow chairs around the table and gestured us to sit. Gospel dropped onto one and immediately dug into the biscuits, smearing jam all over one and forcing it steaming hot into his mouth. “You’ll burn yourself,” the Widow said, but without much more than the faintest note of caution. You couldn’t warn Gospel off that sort of thing.
“Is it all right if I start telling you what I need to tell you?” I asked.
“Not till you take a biscuit,” she said, putting one onto my plate. She stared at me hard until I picked it up and took a little bite. It was perfectly warm and wonderful, but it sat like mud in my mouth until I forced myself to chew up the bite and swallow it. “I suppose that’s the best I’ll get out of you right now. I don’t blame you for feeling so out of sorts, but I do wish you’d try to distract yourself from your sorrows. It’s a great help, distraction.”
“Miz Cally, there’s things a body can’t distract herself from,” I said.
“I don’t know about that. When my husband passed, God rest his soul, I did everything I could to try to lose track of it.”
“It’s not that, Miz Cally. It’s not Mama being gone.”
“Well, then what is it? It’s not you thinking she’s up and about again, is it? I thought that was all settled.” The Widow gave me a stern look, the sort that should have sent me cringing into silence, only I wasn’t about to shut up now after I’d come all this way.
“I got to ask you a question,” I said.
“For Pete’s sake, Merce, you’re taking forever,” Gospel said around a mouthful of the last biscuit. “Either spit it out or I do.”
“All right, all right.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. “I need to know if you’ve got any machines around the place.”
“Machines? Why do you suppose you’d find any of them around here? They been gone a good long while, Merciful. And what kind?”
“I don’t know what kind. What kinds are there?”
A soft laugh came from the tall black lady. “There were all kinds, I suppose. Kinds that did things for us, and that made things; kinds that told the time or
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