The River Widow(19)

Buck’s booming voice brought her back to the present. He pointed at Daisy. “Now we’re talking. Now you’re talking like the Branch you are. You better believe she’s a scaredy-cat, one that’s scared for a damn good reason.”

Face burning, Adah summoned her willpower and held her tongue.

She didn’t think it could get worse, but later over dinner, Buck asked her out of the blue, “How’re you planning to earn your keep ’round here?”

Her fork nearly fell out of her hand. She had to remain here with Daisy until she could hatch a plan. Trying to appear unfazed, she said, “I’m looking after Daisy. And I’ll help even more in the fields, if you like. Les and I worked together some of the time. I know a bit about tobacco farming.”

Buck stabbed a piece of pork roast and stuffed it in his mouth. Still chewing, he said, “Is that all? That don’t bring in any money, now, does it?”

Adah searched her brain. She must do something to earn her keep. The Branches weren’t hurting for money; they simply wanted to make her as uncomfortable as possible. Then she remembered the woman who’d complimented her work after she’d laundered Chuck Lerner’s jacket. “I could take in laundry.”

“That’s it?”

Adah’s thoughts spun. “That’s all I can come up with at the moment. But I’ll give it more thought . . .”

Buck snapped his fingers. “Come to think of it, that ain’t such a bad idea. You can take over doing our laundry, too. Then we can fire that old colored washerwoman we been using.” Buck gave a slow blink. “Yep, I reckon you could take in laundry.”

“I’ll get to work on it right away. I can put up a note at church and ask around, too.”

“You do that,” he said, a bit of spittle at the corner of his mouth.

That night her mind fought sleep as it had been doing every night since the flood. The cow swirled in her brain. She doubted Buck or Jesse had ever noticed the cow before, but perhaps they had, and since the cow had never been branded, no one could ever prove it was the same one. It was nothing, she told herself. But the search for Lester’s body terrified her. Although if Lester was ever found, it would be in the water or where water had been. The dent in his temple could be blamed on debris having struck him while he was being swept away. It would corroborate her story rather than contradict it.

Only then did she remember something else Buck had said: Looked like your old milk cow out loose roaming around down close as we could get to your farm . Your farm. Of course. As Lester’s legal wife, she would inherit at least part of it, unless Les had a will that denied it to her. But Lester had never mentioned a will, and Adah thought the chances were slim to none that he had executed one she hadn’t known about.

The farm, useless as it was now, could still grow corn and other crops less labor intensive than tobacco. They’d always grown corn in the lowest of the lowlands anyway. She would probably own some of the property, which had to be worth something, even if it did flood from time to time. It would explain why the Branch family had been keeping her around. All along Adah had wondered about that and then had concluded that it would reflect poorly on the Branches if they threw their homeless, widowed daughter-in-law out on the street. Mabel cared about appearances, and besides, she disliked looking after Daisy. Adah was useful as a caregiver for the girl. Also, if they wanted to someday pin Lester’s death on her, they would need to keep her close at hand.

But the farm—that made even more sense. No doubt at some point they’d ask her to sign over her portion because they could use it and she couldn’t. It was true; she couldn’t run a farm on her own, and the house would probably be unfit for living. They would probably try to convince her of that.

As she lay there at night, the house talked to her; it moaned as if some benevolent creature had been trapped in it. Perhaps it was the good soul of a former family member who had wanted to escape the stigma of being a Branch. During harvest time, the Branches had always hired colored field-workers, who dotted their fields, backs bent, the sun pounding down. Everywhere they went, these colored workers were paid almost nothing, but it was widely known that the Branch farms paid even less than smaller spreads.

Two years earlier, when one worker had dared to question his wages, the man and his family were visited at their dilapidated shack a few days later by mounted Klansmen wearing white masks and robes and waving burning torches. They hadn’t set anything on fire, but the message was clear. The Paducah Sun-Democrat published an article about the rare KKK incident but didn’t name any suspects, and yet it was widely known—Adah had heard it whispered in church—the Branch clan meant to send the direst of messages: Don’t no one ever cross us.

The problem with still, dark nights was their witchy emptiness, which allowed all manner of fears to form and grow.





Chapter Seven

A late-February thaw brought a few unexpectedly warm days. One morning, when the day broke, sunlight beamed through the lacy curtains and filled the bedroom Adah and Daisy shared with a yellow glow.

After breakfast Adah let Daisy play on the front porch with her doll, which had been given to the girl the day before by a woman who also came bearing even more hand-me-down clothing and shoes for both Adah and Daisy. Finally Daisy had a pair of right-sized shoes: black patent leather ballet flats with a strap.