Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(75)
“I haven’t made up my mind,” she said. “I’m not saying you can stay on. Not permanently. But you don’t have to leave today.” He fell into her, wrapping his arms so tightly around her she had to fight to catch her breath. She managed to free one arm, which she wrapped around his back, pulling his sobbing head into her bosom. “Shhh . . .” She comforted him just as she might Robinson. “Shhh . . .”
Jilo laid the hen down on the wide, bloodstained tree trunk they’d been using as a chopping block, her subconscious saying a prayer her conscious mind would rebel against, for the beast about to die at her own hand. She held the bird tight and swung the hatchet hard, doing her best to make sure the hen didn’t suffer. The body kicked a few times, but did not, much to her relief, find its feet and take off running. She’d seen that happen once when she was girl, and it had put her off chicken for nearly a year.
“Willy,” she called out. He came out the back door and down the steps, carrying a pitcher of water and a kitchen towel. Without being prompted, he poured water over her outstretched hands till they were as clean as hands that had just taken a life—of any kind—ever could be. He handed her the towel, and she wiped her hands dry. “You finish plucking her, then singe off the fuzz.” He nodded. “There’re matches and some newsprint in the drawer in the kitchen. You know which one?” He nodded again. Of course he knew. He’d lived with them for nearly a year now. This, she realized, was his home. “You be careful. Don’t burn yourself. And make sure you keep the fire good and far from the house. You hear me?” He nodded a third time. She realized he was afraid to speak lest he say something that would change her mind. She reached out, letting her fingers brush his cheek, and said, “When you’re done, bring it in. I’ll cut it up and get it ready for frying.”
She heard the cry of the front screen door, announcing Binah’s return. Oiling the door never worked, and it occurred to her for the umpteenth time that she ought to have the thing replaced, but at this point it would almost be like losing an old, if annoying, friend. She went in through the kitchen, where Robinson seemed content enough sitting in his high chair and banging a wooden spoon against its tray, and headed down the hall. She stopped before the open bedroom door. Binah sat on her bed, the contents of her book bag spilled out around her. Jilo entered the room and closed the door behind her.
“Please tell me you aren’t in love with that boy.”
“In love with what boy?” Binah looked up at her, one arched eyebrow and a confused smile on her face. Her eyes widened as meaning of Jilo’s question seemed to dawn on her. “Willy?” She began laughing, then her laughter stopped abruptly, and any signs of amusement fell from her face.
Jilo folded her arms across her chest and nodded at the chifferobe where she kept her clothes. “You know about him, don’t you?”
Binah’s look of concern faded, her mouth pursing and her brows edging downward. She pushed herself up from the bed and stood directly before Jilo. “Yes,” she said, and paused. “I know. And if you’re telling me you didn’t, at least deep down, then you’re lying to both of us.”
Jilo looked away, casting her gaze at the floor near Binah’s feet. She took a step back, reaching behind her, and opened the door. “Willy,” she called loud enough to make sure the boy would hear her out in the yard, even though she suspected that he was lurking nearby, straining his ears to hear what they were saying, rather than cleaning the bird like she’d asked. “Bring Robinson and get in here.”
“What are you doing?” Binah asked, a fierce, protective tone in her voice.
Jilo felt a tiny bit proud of her baby sister, who seemed to have transformed into a fierce mama lion ready to defend her cub. She didn’t say a word till Willy appeared in the doorway, Robinson in his arms.
Willy’s face looked ashen. His lips were trembling, and his eyes looked like the dam was going to burst at any moment. Jilo pulled Robinson into her own arms. “You can stop with all that. I’m not,” she said, then paused. “We’re not sending you away.” The boy looked up, his expression brightening, but still cautious. “Now get in here.” Willy stepped across the threshold, his shoulders slumped forward, still expecting the other falling foot to crush him.
Jilo shifted Robinson onto her hip, then lugged the ever-growing boy over to the chifferobe. After tugging open both doors, she turned back to face Binah and Willy. “I still don’t understand this. Any of this,” she said, “but then again, there’re a whole hell of a lot of things in this world I don’t understand.” She cast a quick glance down at her own boy, hoping that she was doing right by him, then returned her gaze to Willy. “Out there”—she nodded toward the door—“you won’t be safe if folk were to learn about this. There are a lot of people who’d want to kill you. You understand me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Willy said.
If his expression weren’t so grave, Jilo might have snorted over his calling her ma’am. But it was, so she didn’t. Instead, she swallowed, forcing herself to soften her tone. “Maybe someday, some place, things will be different. For your sake, I hope so. But for now, that’s what we can expect. In here, though, with that door closed, you’re safe. You do what you need to do.” She crossed back to the chifferobe. “These things on the left side.” She made a show of running her hand down the garments. “You can have them. They don’t fit me anymore anyway. The things on the right, though? Those are mine. Do not touch them.” She paused, casting a glance down at the boy’s feet. “And Willy?”