Signs in the Blood by Vicki Lane Read Free Book Online

for Daddy was bad to drink when he went into town. He'd not abide nare drop of likker in the house, but when he went to Ransom, more often than not he'd get him a bottle of whisky. Then he'd have to drink it all up for he wouldn't bring it home. Romarie said that he'd solemn promised our Mommy when she was a-dyin not to have no likker in the house.
    Mommy died birthin me. I was her seventh. The first one was Romarie, who was a great grown girl when I was born. She was twenty-eight years old when I married Mister Tomlin, an old maid and like to stay one with the sharp tongue and mean ways she has. Romarie says hit was havin to raise up all us young uns atter Mommy died made her so ill-natured but Aetha, who's twenty-two and married to the Worley boy down the branch, says Romarie always was mean as a snake. They was three boys born too, between Aetha and Clytie, but they ever one died afore they was a year old. They're up in the graveyard on the hill, just three little stones in a line along side of the big white rock Daddy hauled on a sled to mark where Mommy lies.
    Aetha says she can remember when Daddy used to be different, back afore all the boys died. Said he was allus laughin and whistlin and grabbin Mommy round the waist a-wantin her to dance. Aetha says that it seems like with every boy child that died, some of the spirit went out of him and then when Mommy was took he turned into the hard, scowlin Daddy he is now. Course I know hit's been hard on him, tryin to work a farm without no sons. He's taught us girls to do a man's work though and he sometimes hires help from the Johnson boys over to t'other side of Pinnacle. And I will say that though he is right strict with us girls, Daddy ain't never lifted a hand to hit a one of us. The worst he ever done is to call us turdhead iffen we're careless in our hoein and chop down a young baccer plant.
    The stranger man kept a-comin up the road and I knowed he had to be makin for our place for they ain't no one else livin in this lonesome cove. Used to be Mommy's brother lived in the little cabin at the upper place but three years back of this, he married Widder Caldwell and moved to her place over on Bear Tree Creek.
    I looked and seen Clytie hightailin it for the house, pullin off her sunbonnet whilst she ran. I figured she wanted to be there to greet the stranger man and that she was goin to try to primp a little first. Clytie is sixteen and like a she-cat in season when she sees a man. She says iffen she don't marry afore she's twenty, she'll throw herself in the river sooner than slave for Daddy the rest of her borned days. Myself, I don't see that it makes no difference one way or t'other who you slave for.
    The stranger man reined up his horse and rested there in his saddle by the foot log that spans the branch runnin in front of our house. He didn't make no move to light, just set there a-gazin round at the barns and the house and the big bottom where we'd soon be plantin corn. I looked for him to hello the house and waited to see if Clytie would have had time to shift her rags and put on her Sunday dress. Then I seen Daddy a-comin up the road on old Bell. What on earth? I thinks to myself. What's he doin back so soon? I lit out down the hill for I knowed Daddy'd be wantin his dinner and bein as Romarie had left out early and gone down the branch to tend to Miz Phelps who was havin her fourth, hit was on me and Clytie to get the victuals.
    I hit the back porch and went to the bin and began to bolt some meal for cornbread. I hollered to Clytie to build up the fire and in just a few minutes here she come, prissin along in her Sunday dress. She was bitin at her lips to make them red and I believe she had put powder on her face. I knowed she had some for I seen it in the box where she keeps her plunder.
    I'll make the cornbread and biscuits, Sylvie, Clytie says. You build up the fire and go out to the meathouse and get some sidemeat. And pull some of them lamb's quarters. We