her clothes and spread a puddle beneath her busted head. I put a cold, wet cloth on her face. She doesn’t move. I rub her gently. Nothing. I shake her and yell, “Mama! Mama, wake up! Please, Mama. Open your eyes!” But she still doesn’t move. Worse, she doesn’t breathe.
I have no choice but to run for help, as much as I know how much Mama would protest. I look around for options. Sloth is gone. Even his ghost. I turn to the big house on the hill and try to get the courage to bother Mr. Sutton. There’s no doubt he would help us. But Mama would rather die than be shamed by someone knowing what Jack does to her. Especially Mr. Sutton.
Jack would sure enough kill us both if we disgrace him by telling the truth. Shame is the only thing I know that can be silent and loud, all at the same time. It whispers to me now, tells me that meeting River is no longer an option. I think of the farmhands, but they’re half the cause of this mess. I’m sure they won’t help. So for the first time in my life, I decide to run for my grandparents. I know Mama wouldn’t like the idea. These are the people who shunned Mama for leaving the church, disowned her for marrying Jack. The people who refuse to acknowledge their granddaughter—me.
But I have no other choice. I run all the way across town, jumping creeks along the way, to beg my mother’s parents for help. I am sure they don’t know about Jack’s attacks. No parents would let a man beat their daughter to death. Especially a minister and his wife, people so close to God.
When I arrive at their door, I bang on the wooden frame. My grandfather looks through the window and says, “Don’t answer it, Sarah.”
By some miracle, my grandmother defies his command and opens the door anyway. We stare at our own brown eyes and black curls, hers with silver streaks laced throughout, mine in tangles. I remember all the times we’ve accidentally passed each other on Main Street or in front of Tanson Theater. She always turned away. Now she looks at me, and I feel as if I am meeting myself, forty years from now, and she is facing an image of her wild-eyed past.
“Mama needs help,” I pant. I’ve run barefoot across patches of sharp gravel and rough dirt to say these words. My voice is cracking. My nerves sting.
My grandfather, the Reverend Applewhite, comes to the door and looms over his wife like a cement tower. He bears down on both of us. “It’s not our place to go messing around in their business, Millicent. Your mother made her choice.”
“But she won’t wake up!” I scream. “She might already be dead.”
My grandmother collapses in her husband’s arms, as if she’s dying too. “Hurry,” I say, tears streaming. I wipe my eyes. A cross-stitched pattern by the door reads, “As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.”
The wind rushes through my grandmother’s wind chimes, and I know I have come to the right place. In a matter of moments, my grandparents will rush to save Mama and bring us back to their home, far away from Jack, to this safe place where God lives.
And then my grandfather speaks. Like he is standing behind the pulpit, reminding us all that God is a vengeful God and that we are all wicked and filled with sin. His tongue, just like Jack’s, lashes out at me with the sting of hot blue flames. “It’s in God’s hands now.”
“Maybe it’s time to forget the past,” my grandmother says to her husband.
“Forget?” the Reverend answers. “Ain’t no such thing as forget.”
CHAPTER 14
When my grandfather closed the door in my face, I didn’t leave. Instead, I slid my back along the rough wooden panels that separated us, leaned my weight against the door, and collapsed on their front porch. I’ve been sitting here for hours now, too exhausted to think. Too afraid to run back home to Mama.
I can’t bear finding her there, dead, all by myself. Fear has me glued to this porch. And no matter how many times I tell myself to
I have no choice but to run for help, as much as I know how much Mama would protest. I look around for options. Sloth is gone. Even his ghost. I turn to the big house on the hill and try to get the courage to bother Mr. Sutton. There’s no doubt he would help us. But Mama would rather die than be shamed by someone knowing what Jack does to her. Especially Mr. Sutton.
Jack would sure enough kill us both if we disgrace him by telling the truth. Shame is the only thing I know that can be silent and loud, all at the same time. It whispers to me now, tells me that meeting River is no longer an option. I think of the farmhands, but they’re half the cause of this mess. I’m sure they won’t help. So for the first time in my life, I decide to run for my grandparents. I know Mama wouldn’t like the idea. These are the people who shunned Mama for leaving the church, disowned her for marrying Jack. The people who refuse to acknowledge their granddaughter—me.
But I have no other choice. I run all the way across town, jumping creeks along the way, to beg my mother’s parents for help. I am sure they don’t know about Jack’s attacks. No parents would let a man beat their daughter to death. Especially a minister and his wife, people so close to God.
When I arrive at their door, I bang on the wooden frame. My grandfather looks through the window and says, “Don’t answer it, Sarah.”
By some miracle, my grandmother defies his command and opens the door anyway. We stare at our own brown eyes and black curls, hers with silver streaks laced throughout, mine in tangles. I remember all the times we’ve accidentally passed each other on Main Street or in front of Tanson Theater. She always turned away. Now she looks at me, and I feel as if I am meeting myself, forty years from now, and she is facing an image of her wild-eyed past.
“Mama needs help,” I pant. I’ve run barefoot across patches of sharp gravel and rough dirt to say these words. My voice is cracking. My nerves sting.
My grandfather, the Reverend Applewhite, comes to the door and looms over his wife like a cement tower. He bears down on both of us. “It’s not our place to go messing around in their business, Millicent. Your mother made her choice.”
“But she won’t wake up!” I scream. “She might already be dead.”
My grandmother collapses in her husband’s arms, as if she’s dying too. “Hurry,” I say, tears streaming. I wipe my eyes. A cross-stitched pattern by the door reads, “As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.”
The wind rushes through my grandmother’s wind chimes, and I know I have come to the right place. In a matter of moments, my grandparents will rush to save Mama and bring us back to their home, far away from Jack, to this safe place where God lives.
And then my grandfather speaks. Like he is standing behind the pulpit, reminding us all that God is a vengeful God and that we are all wicked and filled with sin. His tongue, just like Jack’s, lashes out at me with the sting of hot blue flames. “It’s in God’s hands now.”
“Maybe it’s time to forget the past,” my grandmother says to her husband.
“Forget?” the Reverend answers. “Ain’t no such thing as forget.”
CHAPTER 14
When my grandfather closed the door in my face, I didn’t leave. Instead, I slid my back along the rough wooden panels that separated us, leaned my weight against the door, and collapsed on their front porch. I’ve been sitting here for hours now, too exhausted to think. Too afraid to run back home to Mama.
I can’t bear finding her there, dead, all by myself. Fear has me glued to this porch. And no matter how many times I tell myself to
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