lightnin’-struck mother. Better yet, an albino mother. She knew all about her. The one they called Smoke. It all added up. The lightnin’ that killed her mother shoulda killed her. But it hadn’t. Then there was the blind eye. The left. Not the right. Yeah, it all added up, and no, the ignorant blowhard hadn’t the knowledge or the imagination to concoct somethin’ like that. He had no idea what he had.
Cob smiled. She was lookin’ for’ard to this day like she hadn’t in a long time. She, bein’ a witch herself, was a rarity and was lookin’ for’ard to meetin’ a kindred spirit. Then she chuckled at the thought of considering herself a kindred spirit. To that one? Not hardly. No, she had to be honest with herself. She’d spent a lifetime developing her talents, feeble as they were. Her bloodline had been severely watered down over the generations. That’s why she had to practice on the fringe. But, if the child was who…what she believed her to be….
She swallowed hard and waggled her foot, imagining. Slowly, another idea was takin’ shape. She looked in the cup and swirled around what little dark tea remained. The corners of her mouth rose and she started laughin’ so hard the tears coursed down the gullies of her wrinkled old face. Then she remembered her slumbering guest and looked over her shoulder, hopin’ she hadn’t disturbed her, but other than the faint rise and fall of her sunken chest, she hadn’t moved. She doubted there was anything left there more than the body. No, there’d be no more sunrises for that one.
Her eyes rolled over the shelf and stopped at one of the small, seed-filled vials. She set the cup on the floor, reached up and pulled the little bottle off the shelf, twisted the cork stopper off, and shook the seeds out on the floor. Then she leaned over and picked up her tea cup.
CHAPTER 8
Without going into any great detail—in fact, deliberately leaving out most of it—Roach told Lootie the day before where they were going and about the nice old woman…
“Her name’s Cob. Ain’t that a funny name?”
…who was gonna give ’em the medicine that could make Pearl all better, but the old woman had somethin’ she wanted Lootie to do first. She had somebody who needed help, another nice old lady who was feelin’ low, and Lootie could help the poor thing, and if she did, they’d get the medicine for free. Lootie asked him what it was she wanted her to do. Roach cooked up a whopper about how the old woman’s children hadn’t come to see her, even with her bein’ so sick and all. How she’d cared for ’em all the years they were young, but it didn’t make any difference now that they were grown up and moved off. She was sick and lonely. She might not even get better, it might well be the end. It was one of the saddest things Lootie’d ever heard. She thought for sure everbody loved their mamas like she loved hers. It woulda been a pretty good piece of fiction, except that Roach’d dragged it up out of his own conscience. He’d done his mother thata way, and even heartless, didn’t-care-for-nobody-else Roach Komes felt guilty about not bein’ with her when her time come, and maybe, although through somebody else, namely Lootie, he could come clean…kinda. Sorta. Somethin’ akin to gettin’ into Heaven, taggin’ along on somebody else’s good deeds.
He told Lootie the old lady’d heard what a nice little girl she was and she wanted to meet her. She was bakin’ a fresh loaf of bread she wanted to share with her, and after she’d eaten it, Cob would give ’em Pearl’s medicine.
Lootie asked him how somebody she never met knew she was a nice girl, but after a left-handed baring of his soul—and bereft of the intelligence to cook up something remotely logical—Roach told her, “Don’t ask silly questions, she jes does, don’t worry ‘bout it!”
What was making Lootie more nervous than anything was how nice Roach was being to her.
It
Cob smiled. She was lookin’ for’ard to this day like she hadn’t in a long time. She, bein’ a witch herself, was a rarity and was lookin’ for’ard to meetin’ a kindred spirit. Then she chuckled at the thought of considering herself a kindred spirit. To that one? Not hardly. No, she had to be honest with herself. She’d spent a lifetime developing her talents, feeble as they were. Her bloodline had been severely watered down over the generations. That’s why she had to practice on the fringe. But, if the child was who…what she believed her to be….
She swallowed hard and waggled her foot, imagining. Slowly, another idea was takin’ shape. She looked in the cup and swirled around what little dark tea remained. The corners of her mouth rose and she started laughin’ so hard the tears coursed down the gullies of her wrinkled old face. Then she remembered her slumbering guest and looked over her shoulder, hopin’ she hadn’t disturbed her, but other than the faint rise and fall of her sunken chest, she hadn’t moved. She doubted there was anything left there more than the body. No, there’d be no more sunrises for that one.
Her eyes rolled over the shelf and stopped at one of the small, seed-filled vials. She set the cup on the floor, reached up and pulled the little bottle off the shelf, twisted the cork stopper off, and shook the seeds out on the floor. Then she leaned over and picked up her tea cup.
CHAPTER 8
Without going into any great detail—in fact, deliberately leaving out most of it—Roach told Lootie the day before where they were going and about the nice old woman…
“Her name’s Cob. Ain’t that a funny name?”
…who was gonna give ’em the medicine that could make Pearl all better, but the old woman had somethin’ she wanted Lootie to do first. She had somebody who needed help, another nice old lady who was feelin’ low, and Lootie could help the poor thing, and if she did, they’d get the medicine for free. Lootie asked him what it was she wanted her to do. Roach cooked up a whopper about how the old woman’s children hadn’t come to see her, even with her bein’ so sick and all. How she’d cared for ’em all the years they were young, but it didn’t make any difference now that they were grown up and moved off. She was sick and lonely. She might not even get better, it might well be the end. It was one of the saddest things Lootie’d ever heard. She thought for sure everbody loved their mamas like she loved hers. It woulda been a pretty good piece of fiction, except that Roach’d dragged it up out of his own conscience. He’d done his mother thata way, and even heartless, didn’t-care-for-nobody-else Roach Komes felt guilty about not bein’ with her when her time come, and maybe, although through somebody else, namely Lootie, he could come clean…kinda. Sorta. Somethin’ akin to gettin’ into Heaven, taggin’ along on somebody else’s good deeds.
He told Lootie the old lady’d heard what a nice little girl she was and she wanted to meet her. She was bakin’ a fresh loaf of bread she wanted to share with her, and after she’d eaten it, Cob would give ’em Pearl’s medicine.
Lootie asked him how somebody she never met knew she was a nice girl, but after a left-handed baring of his soul—and bereft of the intelligence to cook up something remotely logical—Roach told her, “Don’t ask silly questions, she jes does, don’t worry ‘bout it!”
What was making Lootie more nervous than anything was how nice Roach was being to her.
It
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