go ahead.” Sophie smiled to put the other woman at ease.
Clary. There’d always be Clary. Though Grandam had saved Clary’s mother’s leg more than thirty years ago, Clary had worked for them since and that would never change. She wouldn’t accept money, either, a good thing as sometimes there just wasn’t enough of that to go around, but she got at least two meals there every day and sometimes stayed over in the room attached out back. These days she was more interested in going home to the small waterborne house left by her mother who had died peacefully in her sleep last year.
Clary met Salty Davis while shopping at Biggen’s Grocery in Goshen. Clary went there every month, when Grandam’s check came, or in between if they had a real run on amulets, to buy the staples not provided by the bayou families they helped. Clary had once told Sophie, in an embarrassed whisper, that she and Salty felt drawn to one another as soon as they met.
Salty, a shy, widowed, handsome man of color, worked at Biggen’s as a cashier, and Clary found herself more often than not checking out in his line, even if it was longer than the others. Salty always had an inviting smile coupled with friendly conversation and eventually he’d gotten up the nerve to ask Clary out for a drink. They’d gone to a little bar owned by Sophie’s friend, Angie Bibb. Angie later told Sophie that Salty and Clary were a match made in heaven. Sophie tended to feel the same way. Salty’s two girls, Sissy, now thirteen, and Macy, five, had become family almost overnight and fit as if they’d been there forever.
Sophie sighed. She was truly blessed. She’d never gone hungry. Never had any real hardship. And her life was filled with people who cared for her and, even better, allowed her to care for them.
Leaning forward, she took a spoonful of everything. The potatoes in the salad had come from the Paisley family. She had lanced Timmy’s boils and left with a sack of last year’s shed potatoes. The watercress had come from Dame Ada far over to the east side of the bayou. She had called Sophie out for the recurring ringworm that no amount of treatment seemed to help. Sophie believed it was the piglets she let roam about her cabin. She was messing with them all the time, but no matter how Sophie warned her to leave them alone, she just wouldn’t.
The watermelon had come from Franklin Colby, whose wife Diane had been delivered of a healthy boy last week, and the leaf lettuce and tomatoes had been left at the door, no doubt a gift from one of the many people they’d helped during the years.
Yes, life was good. Sophie realized this but she couldn’t help the longing that filled her heart. It seemed that, although she dealt with people all day every day, she walked alone. There didn’t seem to be anyone who was hers and hers alone.
Chapter Nine
Righteous strolled along Garth Street, his right hand twitching as he remembered the incredibly soft touch of the boy. The boy. Righteous could not even remember his name. He paused on the asphalt as a shiny Ford and a rusted-out pickup slid by. He thrust his hips gently. Righteous felt the boy all over him. Sweet little white boy with eyelashes out to there.
He thought of Stephen, who had eyelashes just as long and his demeanor changed. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, churning the liquor inside. He sighed sadly and moved on. Rounding the corner, he fished keys from his pocket and plopped into his cold Ford. Sitting silently still in the early morning coolness, he allowed Stephen’s sweetness to fill his mind. He saw Stephen’s face but oddly enough it wasn’t wearing the frown of disapproval that he saw so often these days, but rather the gentle, sweet smile from the days when they’d honeymooned in Bali two years ago.
Stephen had to be the handsomest, most loving man Righteous had ever met, and he could not understand why he chased the boys when he had Stephen at home. It made no sense. To keep hurting
Clary. There’d always be Clary. Though Grandam had saved Clary’s mother’s leg more than thirty years ago, Clary had worked for them since and that would never change. She wouldn’t accept money, either, a good thing as sometimes there just wasn’t enough of that to go around, but she got at least two meals there every day and sometimes stayed over in the room attached out back. These days she was more interested in going home to the small waterborne house left by her mother who had died peacefully in her sleep last year.
Clary met Salty Davis while shopping at Biggen’s Grocery in Goshen. Clary went there every month, when Grandam’s check came, or in between if they had a real run on amulets, to buy the staples not provided by the bayou families they helped. Clary had once told Sophie, in an embarrassed whisper, that she and Salty felt drawn to one another as soon as they met.
Salty, a shy, widowed, handsome man of color, worked at Biggen’s as a cashier, and Clary found herself more often than not checking out in his line, even if it was longer than the others. Salty always had an inviting smile coupled with friendly conversation and eventually he’d gotten up the nerve to ask Clary out for a drink. They’d gone to a little bar owned by Sophie’s friend, Angie Bibb. Angie later told Sophie that Salty and Clary were a match made in heaven. Sophie tended to feel the same way. Salty’s two girls, Sissy, now thirteen, and Macy, five, had become family almost overnight and fit as if they’d been there forever.
Sophie sighed. She was truly blessed. She’d never gone hungry. Never had any real hardship. And her life was filled with people who cared for her and, even better, allowed her to care for them.
Leaning forward, she took a spoonful of everything. The potatoes in the salad had come from the Paisley family. She had lanced Timmy’s boils and left with a sack of last year’s shed potatoes. The watercress had come from Dame Ada far over to the east side of the bayou. She had called Sophie out for the recurring ringworm that no amount of treatment seemed to help. Sophie believed it was the piglets she let roam about her cabin. She was messing with them all the time, but no matter how Sophie warned her to leave them alone, she just wouldn’t.
The watermelon had come from Franklin Colby, whose wife Diane had been delivered of a healthy boy last week, and the leaf lettuce and tomatoes had been left at the door, no doubt a gift from one of the many people they’d helped during the years.
Yes, life was good. Sophie realized this but she couldn’t help the longing that filled her heart. It seemed that, although she dealt with people all day every day, she walked alone. There didn’t seem to be anyone who was hers and hers alone.
Chapter Nine
Righteous strolled along Garth Street, his right hand twitching as he remembered the incredibly soft touch of the boy. The boy. Righteous could not even remember his name. He paused on the asphalt as a shiny Ford and a rusted-out pickup slid by. He thrust his hips gently. Righteous felt the boy all over him. Sweet little white boy with eyelashes out to there.
He thought of Stephen, who had eyelashes just as long and his demeanor changed. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, churning the liquor inside. He sighed sadly and moved on. Rounding the corner, he fished keys from his pocket and plopped into his cold Ford. Sitting silently still in the early morning coolness, he allowed Stephen’s sweetness to fill his mind. He saw Stephen’s face but oddly enough it wasn’t wearing the frown of disapproval that he saw so often these days, but rather the gentle, sweet smile from the days when they’d honeymooned in Bali two years ago.
Stephen had to be the handsomest, most loving man Righteous had ever met, and he could not understand why he chased the boys when he had Stephen at home. It made no sense. To keep hurting
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