Devils Unto Dust(17)
I sigh and brace myself for the kitchen, where the twins and Micah are yelling at each other, their voices overlapping so no one can understand what’s being said. The whole scene is almost comical, as Micah towers over the twins, but their ferocity is equally matched. Sam sits at the table, watching the fight like an amused spectator trying not to laugh. He catches my eye and winks, suppressing a grin.
“—big ugly cactus brain—”
“—I’m telling Willie—”
“—if you bite me again—”
“Enough!” I yell, loud enough to be heard. “Were y’all raised in a barn? I know Ma taught you better than this.” They fall silent, and Micah at least has the decency to look sheepish. “What, we don’t get enough trouble from strangers, you gotta fight each other, too? Shame on you.”
“Sorry, Will,” Micah says.
I glare at the twins until they, too, mutter apologies.
“Too right, you’re sorry. Now what happened to the plate?”
They all start to talk at the same time, and I close my eyes and sigh.
“Never mind,” I say. “It don’t matter. Just—just all of you, clear out and go wash up.”
The boys and Cath file out of the kitchen dejectedly while I turn back toward the door to pick up the largest pieces of broken pottery. Of course it would be one of our good plates, the ones my parents got for their wedding, and not the usual dented tin ones. There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see Sam holding the broom, sweeping the smaller pieces into a pile.
“Thank you.”
“Sorry,” Sam says with a guilty grin. “I shoulda been keeping a closer eye.”
“You just would’ve seen it break closer.”
“I guess y’all had a rough time this morning,” Sam says. “It’s enough to make anyone rowdy.”
“Micah told you about it?” I dump the shards of porcelain out the window, where no doubt I’ll step on them later.
“Yeah. That was a real low move of your pa, to skip town. It ain’t your fault he stole that money, and y’all shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
Anger bubbles up in my throat, scratchy and sour. He may come over every day, it may be the truth, but Sam isn’t kin; he hasn’t earned the right to talk about Pa like that. I know he’s a thief and a scoundrel, but he’s still my pa. He still sang songs to us and made Ma laugh, and when he came home drunk and flush he would pick up the twins, one in each arm, and dance them around the kitchen.
“Sam, I appreciate your concern, but this is a family affair and I’m not having this talk with you. Now I need to start dinner, and I hate to be rude, but I can’t feed any extra mouths.”
Sam hands me the broom quietly and gets his hat from the rack.
“I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sorry.”
The door closes softly, and I wince. Now I feel mean; I wish Sam had slammed the door, so I could be self-righteous in my anger, but that’s never been his way. I sit down heavily at the table, ashamed. Now I’m a bully as well as a liar; this has been a poor day for my character. Dinner doesn’t wait for self-pity, though, and I have to set the beans to soaking.
I find the sugar sack abandoned on the table and start to unpack it, putting the hominy and flour in the pantry and the dried apricots in a bowl. I pour out a good portion of the beans into a pot and cover them with water so they’ll soften before I cook them. I feel around the bottom of the sack and find Elsie has added a surprise: a small jar of sorghum molasses. I send out a silent thank you, hoping it makes its way to her. I save the twisted bit of paper for last, trying to guess what’s inside; with Bess, you never know. I unwrap the paper carefully and almost cry at the handful of peppermint drops. They’re sticky with age, but I can’t help myself: I immediately pop one in my mouth and let the cool sugar melt on my tongue. The rest I pour into my favorite chipped coffee cup that I hide on the top shelf of the pantry.
There’s still some meat left from the last snakes Micah and I killed, though it’s maybe a day away from turning. I cut the strips into smaller cubes, stretching it as far as it will go. I’ll throw it into the pot last, after the beans are all but done; snake is lean, and falls apart quickly. I turn to grab a rag to wipe my hands when a flash of brightness scurries across the wall and I jump back with a stifled screech.
“Calvin!” I yell, throwing my rag at the lizard now sunning in the window. “Get that yellow-bellied monster out of my kitchen or we’re having lizard for supper.”
Cal rushes in, crooning to his beloved pet. “Come here, Goldie,” he says, gently prying the lizard from the glass and cradling it to his chest. I’ll never understand his attachment to that scaly thing, but he loves it more than anything. Cal has always been like that with animals, and I guess you take what you can get when there’s nothing soft and furry to hold. I doubt that lizard even wants to be here, but it hasn’t found its way out of the house yet.
I drain the beans and start them cooking, adding a pinch of salt and some of the molasses for a touch of sweetness. This past year I’ve managed to become a half-decent cook. I would be better if I had more to work with, but like Calvin and Goldie, you do the best with what you’re given.
14.
“So what now?” Micah asks, setting bowls out on the table. “Does Elsie have extra work for us? I can do repairs at the Homestead if she’ll let me. We won’t come up with four hundred selling skins.”