Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(10)

His mama had returned to the porch swing, Jilo now crying up a storm in her arms. Before going to his room, he’d also sent the squalling child’s sisters to join their nana. Poppy sat next to them, and Opal was a few feet away in the yard, running around and kicking a ball one of her cousins must have forgotten. Everyone else had left.

“Little one’s hungry,” his mama said, jostling the baby in an attempt to calm her. “Cousin Rose, she took from her own child to nurse Jilo this afternoon, but Jilo’s hungry again.” Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing and her nose scrunching up toward her brow in disgust. “That woman has no right just to run off and leave her baby. I could forgive her for the older . . .”

“I know, Mama,” he said. “She needs her mother. I’ll take her home . . .”

“What the child needs is a wet nurse. That woman can’t handle being a mother. Do you think she can manage to pull her tit out for someone other than her—”

“Mama,” his voice came out raised. “My girls are here. They can hear you.”

As if in her anger she’d forgotten they were even there, she gave a dazed look to first Poppy and then Opal, who had just begun to climb the steps to the porch. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. A long damn day.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry I raised my voice to you, Mama.”

“No,” she said. “You were right to.”

Jesse turned and held the cigar box out to Opal. “Here, girl. You take this for me.” She scooted closer and he pulled it up and out of her reach. “Do not,” he stressed the second word, “try to open it.” He lowered it into her waiting hands. Luckily for them all, his girls weren’t disobedient like he’d been as a boy.

“What is that?” his mama asked, though Jilo let out an ear-piercing scream that nearly drowned her out. He reached out for his daughter, more than a little relieved when his mama surrendered her to him without a fuss. He’d almost thought she might refuse to send the girl home.

“Nothin’, Mama,” he said, feeling more than a little guilty. “Just something that reminds me of Nana,” he added, hoping it was a large enough nugget of truth to negate the lie.

“She always did like her cigars,” his mama said, her expression softening at some happy memory.

He took advantage of the moment. “I gotta get the girls home, Mama,” he said again.

“This should be their home . . .”

“I know, Mama,” he said, hoping to keep her calm. “Soon. I promise. I’ll get all this worked out.” Relaxing back onto the swing, his mama began stroking Poppy’s hair.

He felt a chill run down between his shoulders. What if he was taking the one thing that had been keeping his mama safe here alone all these years?

If she knew, she would understand. If she knew, she would want the girls to be protected. If she knew, she would want this last bit of the magic her own mama raised her to fear right out of her house.

“You’re gonna be okay?” he asked.

“ ’Course I’m going to be.” She turned to Poppy and smiled. “Your nana is going to be just fine.”

Jilo had fallen momentarily silent, but she began wailing in earnest to make up for the respite she’d allowed their eardrums.

“Come on,” Jesse said, waving Poppy off the swing. He hated that the girls were going to have to walk so far with dusk giving way to full dark. He’d planned on getting a ride from Cousin Harry and his new wife, Ruby, but they’d taken off in a hurry in the confusion following the discovery of the boy.

“All right, I’m going to get this one to her mama. I love you,” he said to his mama, then carried Jilo, still pitching a fit, down the steps, his older girls following on his heels like goslings along the dusty road.

Jesse led the girls up Ogeechee, which bordered the clearing where the boy’s body lay exposed to the elements and any animal that chose to get at the meat. The thought made him shudder and break out in gooseflesh. He held Jilo a bit more tightly and sent up a prayer that the child’s soul was at peace. He felt a twinge of shame as his eyes touched the cigar box in Opal’s arms. A prayer would suffice for the dead, but for the living he was glad to have something that packed a bit more of a punch.





FIVE


A soft kerosene glow filled May’s kitchen; other than the occasional flash of heat lightning, the oil lamp on her table served as her sole source of light. The city hadn’t yet seen fit to run the power lines to the small community west of Ogeechee, even though May could see the electric glow of Frogtown only spitting distance north. The city kept promising, but their promises weren’t worth the breath they used to make them. She wasn’t bothered by any of that right now, though. There were other problems weighing on her mind.

“What were you trying to tell me about the little one, Mama?” May sat at her empty table, in her empty house, posing her question to the empty air. Another wave of heat lightning lit up the room with three quick, bright flashes. “She ain’t got no magic. She ain’t even your blood. Not really. You know that.”

May wrapped her hand around a steaming cup of chicory, shuddering at the thought that what was left of Rosie’s boy lay not much more than a stone’s throw from her property line. It shamed May to think she didn’t even know the child’s name. It shamed her worse to think Rosie might be wondering where he’d got to. She shook that thought off. From what she knew of Rosie, the woman probably had not even noticed the boy was missing. Still, the mother in May ached for her.