Taking Care of Moses by Barbara O'Connor Read Free Book Online Page A

chin. Finally he said, “Hmmm, that’s a hard one.” He scratched his chin some more. “A bad thing happening if you don’t tell, and a bad thing happening if you do. Right?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œHmmmmmm.” Mr. Avery kept scratching his
chin. “First off, I’d remind myself to be careful about tellin’ stuff.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, son, lettin’ the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin’ it back in.” Mr. Avery leaned toward Randall. “You know what I mean?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œNext,” Mr. Avery went on, “I’d ask myself a question.”
    â€œWhat question?”
    â€œI’d ask myself which would be worse, telling the secret or not telling the secret. And then …”
    Mr. Avery sat back in his easy chair and folded his hands in his lap.
    â€œYeah?” Randall said. “And then what?”
    â€œAnd then I’d do the right thing.”
    Randall felt a big lump of disappointment plop down inside him.
    â€œBut how would you know what the right thing was?”
    Mr. Avery looked at Randall with his sad, watery eyes. “I’m afraid I ain’t got an answer for that,” he said.
    Â 
    Â 
    Randall took the long way home. The heavy basket of laundry bumped against his knees as he walked. By the time he got home, he had a picture in his head. He went straight back to his bedroom and pulled the drawing
of the straw hat out of his pocket. He smoothed it out on his desk and opened his tattered box of colored pencils. He turned the paper over and drew a lady with a blond French twist.
    He sat back to examine it. “Yep,” he thought, “that looks just like Mrs. Charlotte Jennings.” He used his ruler to draw a thick black square around her. He made up-and-down lines from the top of the box to the bottom, right over Mrs. Jennings. Like prison bars.
    He sat back and looked at Mrs. Jennings in prison. Then he laid his head down on his desk and thought and thought about doing the right thing. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t figure out what the right thing was.

9
    B efore long, it seemed like Foley, South Carolina, was split right down the middle. One side made no bones about the fact that they thought Moses should most definitely be with Miss Frieda. The other side was of the strong opinion that Mrs. Charlotte Jennings was the one who should be taking care of Moses.
    And right in the middle of all that arguing was Randall Mackey, whose insides were flip-flopping around like a trout on a riverbank.
    Finally one day he just up and asked Miss Frieda, “What if somebody knows who left Moses at the church but isn’t telling?”
    He used all his willpower to keep his face looking calm and innocent, but he didn’t have enough willpower to stop himself from blushing. He could feel the red creeping up his neck, across his cheeks, and right on up to the top of his head.

    Miss Frieda didn’t seem to notice. She let out a snort.
    â€œI’d say that person sure in tarnation better have some grits and gumption,” she said.
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œâ€™Cause if somebody knows who that baby’s mama is but is just sitting back and watching us get all riled up like this …” Miss Frieda paused.
    Randall leaned toward her, waiting.
    â€œ … then it would take grits and gumption to do the right thing and fess up,” she said.
    There it was again. The right thing . Randall studied the dirty steps of Miss Frieda’s porch.
    â€œWhat if that person doesn’t have any grits and gumption?” he said.
    Miss Frieda fanned herself with a Reader’s Digest . “Then that person would be some kinda low-lying liver-bellied buzzard bait.” She squinted her eyes at Randall and added, “Don’t you think?”
    Randall shrugged. “I reckon.”
    Miss Frieda slapped her knee