Prayers the Devil Answers by Sharyn McCrumb Read Free Book Online Page A

turned fifty.
    She might have been one of those fair-haired women who bloom early and fade fast, but I thought her decline had more to do with how hard she worked, how close together her babies came, and how little money the family had for buying decent food and warm clothes. I never saw the children do without, but I’ll bet that Annie did. Slocombe managed to earn money doing odd jobs and yard work for the railroad gentry up on the hill, but he drank up most of his wages.
    She lived in fear of him—anybody could see that. Even when she was out in the sunshine and everything was quiet, she’d glance back at her house like she was waiting for it to explode. A time or two I tried to tell Albert about how Slocombe treated his wife, but Albert said it wasn’t any of our business, and, besides, he said the few times he’d spoken with Slocombe he’d found him to be a quiet fellow, ready to smile at a joke, though he never had much to say for himself. I couldn’t offer any arguments to the contrary, because Annie wasn’t talking to anybody about it, so I had to let it go.
    Things came to a head one summer evening when Albert had taken the boys with him to go fishing in the river, and I was alone. I had set a kitchen chair out in the yard so that I could shell butter beans in the cool evening breeze, but before long the peace was broken by a crash and a thump, followed by a chorus of wailing. The Slocombe babies were crying from being startled and then frightened, but their mother’s screams sounded like the wailing of someone in pain.
    It didn’t even occur to me to try to hunt up Albert. There wasn’t time. I just went inside and got the pistol and a hunk of cornbread left over from supper. I walked across the yard to the Slocombes’ back door, just letting all the yelling and crying whip past me as if they were no more than a train whistle. I had to pound on the door three times to make myself heard above the din.
    The shouting stopped, and after a minute or two Annie peeped out the door. Her face was streaked with tears and there was a red splotch under one eye that would be swollen and purple in an hour or so. She saw it was me and tried to hide behind the door. “This ain’t a good time, Miz Robbins.”
    I pushed back on the door. “I see that. Let me in, Annie. You take those young’uns out into the yard and give them this cornbread to take their minds off this trouble.”
    The children had been clinging to her skirts anyhow, and when they spied the cornbread they were glad enough to go, and she had no choice but to go with them. When they were out of the way, I pushed the door open wider. “Mr. Slocombe! I know you’re in there.” I didn’t think twice about calling him mister instead of using his first name. Sometimes people mistake that form of address for a sign of respect, but more often it means“I don’t want to give you any cause to think we’re friends . ”
    He ambled up to within a few feet of the door, close enough for me to smell the wave of liquor and sweat he gave off. “This ain’t noconcern of yours,” he said, like he was turning a hobo away from the door.
    â€œIf I have to listen to it, that makes it my concern.”
    He started toward me, and I let him see the pistol in case he had any ideas about beating up a woman other than his wife. He pulled up short, but the gun didn’t seem to impress him overmuch, because he sneered. “What are you fixin’ to do with that?”
    â€œWhy, I’m fixin’ to use it, Mr. Slocombe. The next time I see anybody besides you from this house sporting bruises or red marks. The next time I hear any shouts, or screams, or cries of pain coming from this house, I’ll come pounding on the door again. I’ll be keeping an eye on this place, and if anything going on here disturbs my peace or rubs me the wrong way, I’ll be over here like