Coldwater Revival: A Novel by Nancy Jo Jenkins Read Free Book Online

sun and the few remaining pickers worked an entire day to fill a single sack.
    Mama and the older boys left early that morning to work the crops on our farm. Molly and Polly would be toiling alongside Papa today, yanking the last scruffy bolls from the stiff, withered stems of Mr. Peavy’s cotton plants.
    The morn began as any other: purple light dancing on the horizon, the sky aquiver with lavender hues. I recalled thinking that those first streaks of daylight were truly beautiful. I watched as the dawn swapped shades, blushing to peach as stars paled in the sky and the night skittered away. At the time, I had no way of knowing that the glorious dawn would end in the most sorrowful twilight of my life.
    I scrunched kinks from my back and gazed through the bedroom window, my thoughts sailing across the fields to where my family waited for daylight and another day of picking cotton. My mind idled in laziness for a time, until I remembered the chores Mama had ordained for my day. It seemed another Falin would also be hard at work this day. Because of the long hours Mama spent at the home place, or in Mr. Peavy’s fields, most of her chores had fallen upon me. I’m uncertain when it happened, but at some point in that interminable cotton season, I came upon a fine appreciation for my mama.
    I lay in bed, running a mental finger down my work list. Sort the dirty clothes; set them soaking in tubs of cold water. Drain the water and sprinkle soap powder over clothes in late afternoon. Peel and chop vegetables. Cube and brown the meat; set it to stewing. Mix a triple batch of cornbread. Cover it with oilcloth to prevent drying. Wash dishes, clean the house, feed the animals, and corral the twins. Or did the list say to feed the twins and corral the animals? I shoved the entire roster to the flip side of my brain, desiring only to lie abed like a princess. For a few moments, I forgot all responsibilities required of me this day.

    “What’cha got for breakfast, Emma Grace?” Micah floundered down the stairs, briefs riding helter-skelter on his narrow hips as his fist rubbed sleep from his eyes.
    I giggled at his early morning presentation. A thatch of light brown curls jutted from his scalp, as tangled and disheveled as Whisper’s furry pelt. I leaned over, wrapping my arms around him.
    “Mornin’, precious. Where’s Caleb?”
    “Comin’,” Caleb called, his voice thick with sleep-hoarseness.
    Caleb cuddled Whisper in his arms and stepped into my morning hug. Both smelled of puppy. Hard-pressed to distinguish Whisper-fur from Caleb’s mane, I stroked all hair in sight.
    “You two—go wash up and slip on some overalls while I dish up your oatmeal. Have you visited the bathroom yet?”
    “Don’t Whisper haf’ta wash up too?” Micah asked. The flow of love from his eyes to the puppy was palpable. I felt my heart swell as it absorbed a bit of love’s power.
    “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to run a cloth over his face,” I said, hiding my smile between pursed lips. “Don’t forget to take him outside to pee.”
    “Why can’t he pee in the …” Caleb’s whiney tone was predictable. ’Twas the one he used to wear me down. I straight-eyed him and slipped into the no-nonsense voice of my mama.
    “We’ve been over this before, Caleb.” I bent my elbow, placing a fist against my left hip, as Mama was prone to do. “Take him outside like I said. That’s why God made such a big outdoors. So all the animals would have a place to do their business.”
    The boys dressed and stomped to the front door, their bare feet pounding the hardwood floors like yoked oxen.
    I turned the gas jet low and stirred the oatmeal, scraping glutinous bits from the bottom of the pan. As my thoughts drifted to the book on my bedside table, I wondered if I’d have an opportunity to read today.
    In late afternoon, I studied Mama’s overlong list, checking completed chores with a stubbed-off pencil. As I recited my accomplishments aloud to