run for help, I just sit here, slipping in and out of shock.
I pray a simple prayer over and over again. “Please, God. Save Mama. Please, God. Save Mama.”
Afternoon turns to night, and now the darkness fades to morning gray. Rain slides from the rim of the roof. I still haven’t moved from the porch. I can’t figure what to do next. Or how. I look out at the path that would take me back to Mama. The other that would lead me to the gypsy camp. I wonder if River is waiting for me to join him, as I promised. I wonder if there’s still time to meet him. To leave with the travelers.
The smell of my grandfather’s chicory coffee slides under the door. My grandmother’s slippered steps skim the wooden beams like hushed secrets. The night songs of newborn cicadas soften to a lull. I stand to start my long walk home when my grandmother opens the door.
I turn. The Reverend sits with his back to us at the kitchen table, sipping hot creamed coffee and stabbing sausage with his fork. “Sit down, Sarah,” he says with controlled authority.
But instead of obeying, as I assume she always has done, she closes the door behind her. We start walking.
We leave my grandfather at the breakfast table and head across town. My grandmother is still wearing her housedress, her hair in a net. No way for a preacher’s wife to be seen in public. Together, we walk slowly along the rocky path, and my bare, swollen soles sting with every step. We haven’t gone far before Mr. Lee, a member of my grandparents’ church, offers us a ride in his buggy. We climb up into the back next to cotton sacks and a coon dog. The farmer clicks his teeth and his two jenny mules drive us home to Mama.
In a matter of minutes, we step through the front door. The air is heavy. Mama’s glass of sweet tea is still on the table, something I take as a sure sign that she is dead.
Then I hear her whisper, “Millie?” I swear, I’ve never heard a sweeter sound in all my life. God has heard my prayers.
I run through the house toward the sound of her. Mama is still on the floor, covered in dried blood. Her nose drips a thick mixture. The room smells of sweat and blood and the stinging stench of her purple ointment.
Mr. Lee doesn’t say a word. Instead, he runs straight out of the house. I don’t blame him. My grandmother cries and hunches over Mama while I try to clean up the mess. Before I figure how to get Mama to the hospital, Mr. Lee comes barreling back through the door. This time, he has brought Mr. Sutton, and I know the situation is out of my hands. If everyone in the whole town finds out what Jack has done, then so be it. I just want Mama to be okay.
My grandmother stands in the corner and weeps as the two men wrap Mama in a bedsheet and carry her out of the house. Mr. Sutton brings his truck around, says, “I had no idea it’d gotten this bad. I should have stopped this when I had the hunch.” Mr. Sutton drives straight to Mercy Hospital, my grandmother and me slouched in the back, covering ourselves with empty feed sacks to shield us from the rain.
The doctor says Mama’s arm is broken in three places. Her shoulder has been pulled right out of its socket. She has four cracked ribs, a collapsed lung, a busted nose, two black eyes swollen big as ostrich eggs, plus too many bruises and cuts to count.
She ends up with more than two hundred stitches, even though they warn it is really too late to stitch the wounds. There will most likely be terrible scars. Then they take her into surgery to reset the bones. I hope they keep her for a few days’ rest—keep her from Jack.
“It’s all on me,” Mr. Sutton instructs the charge nurse. “Bill directly to me.” Because my grandmother is with us, the staff allows me to stay with Mama through the night. When the sun comes up the next morning, I have to make a choice. Leave Mama and make a last-ditch effort to catch up with River, or stay here until Mama is better and hope he comes back next
I pray a simple prayer over and over again. “Please, God. Save Mama. Please, God. Save Mama.”
Afternoon turns to night, and now the darkness fades to morning gray. Rain slides from the rim of the roof. I still haven’t moved from the porch. I can’t figure what to do next. Or how. I look out at the path that would take me back to Mama. The other that would lead me to the gypsy camp. I wonder if River is waiting for me to join him, as I promised. I wonder if there’s still time to meet him. To leave with the travelers.
The smell of my grandfather’s chicory coffee slides under the door. My grandmother’s slippered steps skim the wooden beams like hushed secrets. The night songs of newborn cicadas soften to a lull. I stand to start my long walk home when my grandmother opens the door.
I turn. The Reverend sits with his back to us at the kitchen table, sipping hot creamed coffee and stabbing sausage with his fork. “Sit down, Sarah,” he says with controlled authority.
But instead of obeying, as I assume she always has done, she closes the door behind her. We start walking.
We leave my grandfather at the breakfast table and head across town. My grandmother is still wearing her housedress, her hair in a net. No way for a preacher’s wife to be seen in public. Together, we walk slowly along the rocky path, and my bare, swollen soles sting with every step. We haven’t gone far before Mr. Lee, a member of my grandparents’ church, offers us a ride in his buggy. We climb up into the back next to cotton sacks and a coon dog. The farmer clicks his teeth and his two jenny mules drive us home to Mama.
In a matter of minutes, we step through the front door. The air is heavy. Mama’s glass of sweet tea is still on the table, something I take as a sure sign that she is dead.
Then I hear her whisper, “Millie?” I swear, I’ve never heard a sweeter sound in all my life. God has heard my prayers.
I run through the house toward the sound of her. Mama is still on the floor, covered in dried blood. Her nose drips a thick mixture. The room smells of sweat and blood and the stinging stench of her purple ointment.
Mr. Lee doesn’t say a word. Instead, he runs straight out of the house. I don’t blame him. My grandmother cries and hunches over Mama while I try to clean up the mess. Before I figure how to get Mama to the hospital, Mr. Lee comes barreling back through the door. This time, he has brought Mr. Sutton, and I know the situation is out of my hands. If everyone in the whole town finds out what Jack has done, then so be it. I just want Mama to be okay.
My grandmother stands in the corner and weeps as the two men wrap Mama in a bedsheet and carry her out of the house. Mr. Sutton brings his truck around, says, “I had no idea it’d gotten this bad. I should have stopped this when I had the hunch.” Mr. Sutton drives straight to Mercy Hospital, my grandmother and me slouched in the back, covering ourselves with empty feed sacks to shield us from the rain.
The doctor says Mama’s arm is broken in three places. Her shoulder has been pulled right out of its socket. She has four cracked ribs, a collapsed lung, a busted nose, two black eyes swollen big as ostrich eggs, plus too many bruises and cuts to count.
She ends up with more than two hundred stitches, even though they warn it is really too late to stitch the wounds. There will most likely be terrible scars. Then they take her into surgery to reset the bones. I hope they keep her for a few days’ rest—keep her from Jack.
“It’s all on me,” Mr. Sutton instructs the charge nurse. “Bill directly to me.” Because my grandmother is with us, the staff allows me to stay with Mama through the night. When the sun comes up the next morning, I have to make a choice. Leave Mama and make a last-ditch effort to catch up with River, or stay here until Mama is better and hope he comes back next
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