held like this. “We’ll have a glass lab,” he said in a low, husky voice, with his lips close to mine, “full of live plants … will that make you happy?”
“Yes … I think so …” Was he going to kiss me again? If I tilted my head just a little to the right, would that eliminate the problem of his nose bumping against mine?
If I didn’t know how to manage a kiss, he sure did. It was sweet, thrilling. But the moment I was home all my elation was lost in the tempestuous seas of Sarah’s miseries.
That Saturday dawned a bit brighter, a little warmer, and, eager to escape the sour hatefulness of Sarah at her worst, Tom and I went to meet Logan, and behind us tagged Our Jane and Keith. We were all good friends, trying to make Keith and Our Jane as happy as possible.
Hardly had we reached the river where we intended to fish when over the hills came Sarah’s bellowing hog call, beckoning us back. “Good-bye, Logan!” I cried anxiously. “I have to get back to Sarah; she might need me! Tom, you stay and take care of Our Jane and Keith.”
I saw Logan’s disappointment before I sped away to respond to Sarah’s demand that I wash the clothes instead of wasting my time playing around with a no-good village boy who’d only ruin my life. No good to love playing games and having fun when Sarah couldn’t sit comfortably or stand for longer than seconds, and the work never ended. Feeling guilty to have escaped for a few minutes, I lifted the washtub onto the bench, carried hot water there from the stove, and began scrubbing on the old rippled board. Through the open window that tried to let out the stench from Ole Smokey, inside the cabin I could hear Sarah talking to Granny.
“Used t’think it were good growin up in these hills. Felt freer than bein some city gal who’d have to lock away all her sexual feelins till she was sixteen or so. Went t’school only three years, hardly ever learnedanythin. Didn’t like spellin, readin, writin, didn’t like nothin but t’boys. Fanny an me, no different. Couldn’t keep my eyes offen boys. When I first saw yer son my heart did likkity-splits an flip-flops, an he were a man, almost. I were jus a kid. Used t’go t’all t’barn dances, every last one, an I’d hear yer Toby playin his fiddle, an see yer son dancin with all t’prettiest gals, an somethin deep inside me told me I jus had t’have Luke Casteel or die tryin.” Sarah paused and sighed, and when I took a peek in the window, I saw a tear coursing its way down her reddened face.
“Then there goes Luke off t’Atlanta an meets up with that city gal, an he ups an marries her. My face, when I saw it sometimes in mirrors, looked coarse as a horse as compared t’hers. But didn’t make no difference, Annie, it didn’t. Married or not, I still wanted Luke Casteel … wanted him so bad I’d do jus anythin t’get him.”
Grandpa was on the porch rocking, whittling, paying no mind. Granny was rocking, not even seeming to be listening as Sarah talked on and on. “Luke, he didn’t look at me, though I tried t’make him.”
I kept on scrubbing dirty clothes, keening my ears to hear better. Near me was a rain barrel full of frogs croaking. Clothes I’d already washed were flapping on the line drying. Another peek inside showed me that Sarah was working near the stove, cutting biscuits with an inverted small glass, and in her low monotone she continued as if she had to tell someone or burst—and Granny was the best kind of listener. Never asking questions, just accepting, as if nothing she said would change anything. And no doubt it wouldn’t.
I was all ears, and I kept sliding closer and closer to the window in order to hear better.
“I hated everythin bout her, that frail gal he called his angel; hated how she walked an how she talked—like she was betta than us—an he doted on her likesome jackass fool; tryin fact fancypants like she did. Still, we all went runnin afta, specially when she got
“Yes … I think so …” Was he going to kiss me again? If I tilted my head just a little to the right, would that eliminate the problem of his nose bumping against mine?
If I didn’t know how to manage a kiss, he sure did. It was sweet, thrilling. But the moment I was home all my elation was lost in the tempestuous seas of Sarah’s miseries.
That Saturday dawned a bit brighter, a little warmer, and, eager to escape the sour hatefulness of Sarah at her worst, Tom and I went to meet Logan, and behind us tagged Our Jane and Keith. We were all good friends, trying to make Keith and Our Jane as happy as possible.
Hardly had we reached the river where we intended to fish when over the hills came Sarah’s bellowing hog call, beckoning us back. “Good-bye, Logan!” I cried anxiously. “I have to get back to Sarah; she might need me! Tom, you stay and take care of Our Jane and Keith.”
I saw Logan’s disappointment before I sped away to respond to Sarah’s demand that I wash the clothes instead of wasting my time playing around with a no-good village boy who’d only ruin my life. No good to love playing games and having fun when Sarah couldn’t sit comfortably or stand for longer than seconds, and the work never ended. Feeling guilty to have escaped for a few minutes, I lifted the washtub onto the bench, carried hot water there from the stove, and began scrubbing on the old rippled board. Through the open window that tried to let out the stench from Ole Smokey, inside the cabin I could hear Sarah talking to Granny.
“Used t’think it were good growin up in these hills. Felt freer than bein some city gal who’d have to lock away all her sexual feelins till she was sixteen or so. Went t’school only three years, hardly ever learnedanythin. Didn’t like spellin, readin, writin, didn’t like nothin but t’boys. Fanny an me, no different. Couldn’t keep my eyes offen boys. When I first saw yer son my heart did likkity-splits an flip-flops, an he were a man, almost. I were jus a kid. Used t’go t’all t’barn dances, every last one, an I’d hear yer Toby playin his fiddle, an see yer son dancin with all t’prettiest gals, an somethin deep inside me told me I jus had t’have Luke Casteel or die tryin.” Sarah paused and sighed, and when I took a peek in the window, I saw a tear coursing its way down her reddened face.
“Then there goes Luke off t’Atlanta an meets up with that city gal, an he ups an marries her. My face, when I saw it sometimes in mirrors, looked coarse as a horse as compared t’hers. But didn’t make no difference, Annie, it didn’t. Married or not, I still wanted Luke Casteel … wanted him so bad I’d do jus anythin t’get him.”
Grandpa was on the porch rocking, whittling, paying no mind. Granny was rocking, not even seeming to be listening as Sarah talked on and on. “Luke, he didn’t look at me, though I tried t’make him.”
I kept on scrubbing dirty clothes, keening my ears to hear better. Near me was a rain barrel full of frogs croaking. Clothes I’d already washed were flapping on the line drying. Another peek inside showed me that Sarah was working near the stove, cutting biscuits with an inverted small glass, and in her low monotone she continued as if she had to tell someone or burst—and Granny was the best kind of listener. Never asking questions, just accepting, as if nothing she said would change anything. And no doubt it wouldn’t.
I was all ears, and I kept sliding closer and closer to the window in order to hear better.
“I hated everythin bout her, that frail gal he called his angel; hated how she walked an how she talked—like she was betta than us—an he doted on her likesome jackass fool; tryin fact fancypants like she did. Still, we all went runnin afta, specially when she got
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