Last in a Long Line of Rebels by Lisa Lewis Tyre Page B

rankles.
    â€œBertie,” I said, “you talk about Yankees in a not-so-nice way all of the time. What’s the difference?”
    She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “I’m just being funny. Besides, I don’t mean Benzer.”
    â€œWell, how’s he supposed to know that?”
    Bertie rubbed her temple like she was getting a headache. “Fine, I’ll try to think before I speak in mixed company from now on.”
    â€œSee? It’s such a minefield discussing serious issues,” Aunt Sophie said. “Someone is always offended. I never know what I can say or can’t say.”
    â€œBut if you don’t discuss it, how will you ever know?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s right,” Daddy said. “As a general rule, I try not to say anything hurtful about people, even jokingly.”
    â€œSpeaking of things you can’t say . . .” Mama passed the bowl of okra around the table. “Nelly Peek swears she heard Coach Peeler say the N-word at practice the other day.”
    The whole table gasped, except for Patty, who said, “What’s the N-word?”
    â€œYou know, the ‘N-word,’” Mama said, drawing quotation marks in the air. “The offensive word no one should say.”
    â€œYou mean a cuss word?” Patty asked.
    â€œWorse,” Mama said.
    â€œI thought cuss words were the worst things you could say.”
    â€œNo,” Franklin said. “This is way worse.”
    Patty’s eyes bugged. “Worse than cussing? How is that even possible?”
    I groaned. Patty liked to pretend she was so worldly, but she didn’t have a clue.
    â€œHow is it possible that you’ve never heard of it?” Bertie asked.
    Aunt Sophie shrugged. “It’s not like we use it around the house.”
    Patty threw her hands in the air in exasperation, gold bangles jiggling. “Can you just say it, so I’ll know next time?”
    â€œ
No,
” everyone said at once.
    Daddy frowned. “It’s not a word you’d want to use. It’s ugly, and hurtful, and brands the user right away as an idiot.”
    â€œIs it worse than saying the Lord’s name in vain?” Patty asked. “That’s one of the big ten!”
    No one said anything right away. Finally, Bertie shrugged. “You’ll have to take that up with God. I just know it’s a word that has hurt a whole lot of people.”

    After we’d washed the dishes, wiped the counters, even thrown the dirty dish towels into the laundry, we were finally allowed to go outside. I removed the key from its hiding place and opened the door to the shop.
    Benzer walked over to the worktable, where my box stood. “Hey, that looks better already.”
    â€œWhat is it?” Patty asked.
    I shrugged. “Just an old box I got at the Wilson estate sale. I like the bird carvings.” I looked around the dim shop. “Look in that pile of stuff by the table saw.”
    Benzer moved a tarnished chandelier to the side. “Is this it?” he asked. He was holding a long piece of equipment with a box at one end and a disc at the other.
    â€œYes,” answered Franklin. “Flip the switch and see if it works.”
    Benzer found the black button and flipped it to the On position. Immediately, loud clacks came from the box. “Wow. I guess it does. C’mon!”
    Patty and I stood outside the shop’s entrance. “Where do you think we should start?” I asked.
    Franklin looked around the yard. “Let’s start with where Isaac found the bullet. Did your dad tell you where it was buried?”
    â€œNear the side of the house. C’mon.” I led them back through the fence to the side yard.
    Franklin walked across the grass, waving the end of the detector back and forth. Nothing. He checked that the machine was still on.
    â€œMaybe we should come up with a system, like mowing the yard.