Scarecrow by Richie Tankersley Cusick Read Free Book Online Page B

minutes, expressionless. Finally, he said, “We all do what we have to do. There’s not much time for fancy memories up here.”
    In spite of myself I smiled, thinking of all the ways Brad and I had commemorated even the simplest occasions—the day we’d first met…our first kiss…the first time we’d said “I love you”…and made love…“Memories mean everything to a woman,” I whispered to myself, and then realized that Seth had overheard.
    “Memories don’t mean anything. Like the past doesn’t mean anything ’cause it’s over with. And you can’t keep going back to something that’s not there.”
    His cold logic settled gloomily over me.
    “But…sometimes…there is something still there…and you…you need to go back.”
    He leaned against a wooden post, his look undisturbed. “The only time somebody needs to go back is when there’s something there they wish they could change.” He tilted his head back, regarding me narrowly. “And then it’s too late, isn’t it.”
    Too late… Turning away, I was relieved to see Rachel at the door.
    “I was just coming to call you,” she frowned anxiously, steering me into the hall. “Your breakfast is ready.”
    “Thank you, Rachel,” I said tiredly. “Come and sit with me.
    She never questioned my quiet depression, just sat silently in the chair across from mine while I ate. The food was wonderful—fresh eggs, homemade sausage, blackberry jam and biscuits—and I was surprised at my appetite. Rachel put on a fresh pot of coffee and began to peel vegetables for the noon meal as we talked.
    “Seth’s not a bad man,” she said softly, and I looked up in surprise. She was half smiling, eyes lifted to the kitchen window, and I followed her gaze and saw Seth striding off across the yard. He carried an axe over one shoulder and moved with wolflike grace, as if nothing in the world could ever deter him. “He took care of me and the children…raised Franny like she was his own…and he buried his ma and pa and his sisters in the meantime. He built this place…and he worked it…and there was only me to help him till Micah and Franny were old enough to be any use. It…hasn’t been an easy life.”
    “Tell me about Micah,” I urged, “He’s so quiet. I’m afraid I came up on him rather suddenly this morning and scared him.”
    “I reckon he just didn’t know you were there,” Rachel turned her attention back to me. “He most likely just didn’t hear you and you gave him a start.”
    “He did look surprised.”
    “He’s shy. He’s…” Rachel fumbled for words, looking a little uncomfortable. “He’s…never been quick to learn much in books. Seth says he’s…slow…but I think he’s just turned different. He catches on to everything around the farm—he can build anything— do anything.”
    “Even with—” I paused, not wanting to offend.
    “His hand,” Rachel finished with a smile. “He can do whatever a normal boy can do, for the most part. He’s strong—you can’t believe how strong that hand of his is.”
    “I’ve heard of that happening. One limb overcompensates for the loss of another. Was it an accident?”
    To my concern, her face began to darken, as if someone were very slowly extinguishing a light. She dropped her eyes. “A trap,” she murmured. “It was…a trap.”
    “Rachel?” I asked softly, reaching for her hand.
    “Oh, but he’s so sweet.” She seemed to recover herself at my touch, laughing softly. “I’ve never known anybody sweeter than Micah. He’s my angel. My firstborn.”
    “He did seem shy,” I agreed, watching her curiously. And yet I found it hard to reconcile shyness or even surprise with the expression of fear he’d had on his face, seeing me. Something had upset him terribly, and I wished I knew what it was.
    “We tried to save his hand,” Rachel went on slowly, twirling a spoon idly in her coffee, tapping it gently against the rim of her cup…stirring…tapping…“We