When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) by Kay Chandler Page A
Authors: Kay Chandler
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‘she,’ but it slipped.
Mama looked up at me. “Parson Pruitt’s daughter?”
Anger swelled inside me. I wasn’t sure why or even who the anger was aimed toward, but it was anger, nevertheless. “Yes, Mama,” I grumbled. “Parson Pruitt’s daughter. Don’t sit there staring at it. Eat. I hoped you’d be grateful.”
A tear made its way down her cheek. “I am grateful, son. I truly am. But I want you to eat it. You’re a growing boy. I don’t need as much to keep my body running as you do.” She pushed the chicken toward me.
I shoved it back. “Mama, I couldn’t eat another bite. That’s why I had a piece left over. You should’ve seen the spread Zann brought. I’ve never seen so much food.”
Mama’s lip trembled. “Kiah, I know how it embarrasses you for folks to know our circumstances. I’m so sorry, sugar.”
“Oh, Mama, it wasn’t charity. Not at all. I didn’t have meat and she didn’t have bread, so we shared. Mama, she said your biscuits were much better than the ones her mother tries to bake. I could tell she meant it. I plan to take four tomorrow. Two for her and two for me. She only took one of the three today, but I’m sure she was only being polite and didn’t want to take the last one. She didn’t even notice they weren’t buttered.”
Mama’s lip curled. For a second, the twinkle seemed to return in her eyes. Maybe I only imagined it. She took a bite of chicken and now I was sure I detected a gleam coming from the sunken orbs.
After wiping her mouth with her hand, she said, “You like this girl, don’t you, son?”
My body grew rigid. I’d already explained our relationship. Tutor and student. Why couldn’t she leave it at that?
“Of course, I like her Mama, but not the way you mean. She’s a swell kid, but that’s all she is. A kid.”
“I see.” She licked her lips. “How old is she?”
I mumbled, “Sixteen.”
Mama’s smile added to my frustration. “A kid, you say? Why, son, I wasn’t much older than her when you were born. Seems to me sixteen is mighty nigh to being a woman.”
“Not her. She’s . . . well, she’s innocent. You know . . . naïve, like a child. She hasn’t been exposed to the rough side of life. As far as she knows, life is one big carousel, going round and round to the merry sound of music.” Perhaps Zann Pruitt did possess the innocence of a child, but it didn’t take 20/20 vision to see she was mighty nigh to being a woman, as Mama had so aptly put it. I made a deliberate effort to clear her image from my mind. Allowing thoughts to linger was akin to taking a second look.
“I need to run, Mama. She’ll be waiting for me to tutor her.”
Mama wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed a pot holder and picked up a hot iron from off the stove. “I guess I’d better get started if I plan to have the ironing done by the time Mr. Easton gets here. Thank your friend for me and tell her I said the chicken was delicious.”
I nodded, to indicate I understood, although I had no plans to tell Zann I sneaked the chicken home because my mama was hungry.
I sprinted toward the bridge. I hoped I hadn’t kept her waiting. I won’t deny the job of tutor appealed to me, and in time I’d prove her confidence in me was well placed. My goal was to see Zann Pruitt make the second highest grade in the class on the final math exam at the year’s end. I was arrogant enough to believe that even with the proper tutelage she’d never rise above me.
As I drew closer to the bridge, I could see she wasn’t there. My heart sank. What if she didn’t show up? I slid down the embankment and sat on a little patch of grass under the bridge. Minutes later, I heard footsteps on the wooden slats above me. I grabbed my math book, opened it, and pretended to be studying. But the voice I heard wasn’t Zann’s. I cringed, recognizing Arnold Evers’ boorish laughter. Who was he talking to? I slid further under the bridge, hoping I was out of sight.
I
Mama looked up at me. “Parson Pruitt’s daughter?”
Anger swelled inside me. I wasn’t sure why or even who the anger was aimed toward, but it was anger, nevertheless. “Yes, Mama,” I grumbled. “Parson Pruitt’s daughter. Don’t sit there staring at it. Eat. I hoped you’d be grateful.”
A tear made its way down her cheek. “I am grateful, son. I truly am. But I want you to eat it. You’re a growing boy. I don’t need as much to keep my body running as you do.” She pushed the chicken toward me.
I shoved it back. “Mama, I couldn’t eat another bite. That’s why I had a piece left over. You should’ve seen the spread Zann brought. I’ve never seen so much food.”
Mama’s lip trembled. “Kiah, I know how it embarrasses you for folks to know our circumstances. I’m so sorry, sugar.”
“Oh, Mama, it wasn’t charity. Not at all. I didn’t have meat and she didn’t have bread, so we shared. Mama, she said your biscuits were much better than the ones her mother tries to bake. I could tell she meant it. I plan to take four tomorrow. Two for her and two for me. She only took one of the three today, but I’m sure she was only being polite and didn’t want to take the last one. She didn’t even notice they weren’t buttered.”
Mama’s lip curled. For a second, the twinkle seemed to return in her eyes. Maybe I only imagined it. She took a bite of chicken and now I was sure I detected a gleam coming from the sunken orbs.
After wiping her mouth with her hand, she said, “You like this girl, don’t you, son?”
My body grew rigid. I’d already explained our relationship. Tutor and student. Why couldn’t she leave it at that?
“Of course, I like her Mama, but not the way you mean. She’s a swell kid, but that’s all she is. A kid.”
“I see.” She licked her lips. “How old is she?”
I mumbled, “Sixteen.”
Mama’s smile added to my frustration. “A kid, you say? Why, son, I wasn’t much older than her when you were born. Seems to me sixteen is mighty nigh to being a woman.”
“Not her. She’s . . . well, she’s innocent. You know . . . naïve, like a child. She hasn’t been exposed to the rough side of life. As far as she knows, life is one big carousel, going round and round to the merry sound of music.” Perhaps Zann Pruitt did possess the innocence of a child, but it didn’t take 20/20 vision to see she was mighty nigh to being a woman, as Mama had so aptly put it. I made a deliberate effort to clear her image from my mind. Allowing thoughts to linger was akin to taking a second look.
“I need to run, Mama. She’ll be waiting for me to tutor her.”
Mama wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed a pot holder and picked up a hot iron from off the stove. “I guess I’d better get started if I plan to have the ironing done by the time Mr. Easton gets here. Thank your friend for me and tell her I said the chicken was delicious.”
I nodded, to indicate I understood, although I had no plans to tell Zann I sneaked the chicken home because my mama was hungry.
I sprinted toward the bridge. I hoped I hadn’t kept her waiting. I won’t deny the job of tutor appealed to me, and in time I’d prove her confidence in me was well placed. My goal was to see Zann Pruitt make the second highest grade in the class on the final math exam at the year’s end. I was arrogant enough to believe that even with the proper tutelage she’d never rise above me.
As I drew closer to the bridge, I could see she wasn’t there. My heart sank. What if she didn’t show up? I slid down the embankment and sat on a little patch of grass under the bridge. Minutes later, I heard footsteps on the wooden slats above me. I grabbed my math book, opened it, and pretended to be studying. But the voice I heard wasn’t Zann’s. I cringed, recognizing Arnold Evers’ boorish laughter. Who was he talking to? I slid further under the bridge, hoping I was out of sight.
I
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