rinse water wasn’t so clear by the time I got through with it. It got dumped.
I hung all the wash out on the clothesline to dry and doused the fire under the big iron pot. Once the water had cooled to warm, I made good use of it by hauling buckets of it to the front porch and scrubbing down the wood.
I stood back and admired my handiwork. Clean sheets billowed in the breeze and the porch was free of unsightly mud marks. I figured I’d pretty well earned my late-afternoon break. And I knew just where I’d take it: Hinkle’s General Store. One thing I could be sure of when it came to Hinkle’s is that they would never, ever be out of Goo Goo Clusters. Eating one would cost me something, but smelling them was free. Besides, now that I’d used my last cake of lye, I needed to head down there and make a trade anyway.
I moved Mama inside to her chair in case Dr. Heimler decided to drop by this late. I fixed her a piece of dry toast and a cup of coffee, then went into the garden to gather some fresh broccoli, onions, and peas to bring to Hinkle’s. I’d been raised to keep my hands off the emergency savings jar Mama and Daddy had always kept behind the plates in the kitchen cabinet, except in a true emergency. I didn’t think I had a true emergency yet. I’d been feeding me and Mama just fine by fixing vegetables from our garden and catching fish from the pond. I traded any extras for other things I needed from Hinkle’s.
I could hear Ziggy in a barking ruckus all the way from the town welcome sign. The sign read: WELCOME TOBITTERSWEET, A GREAT PLACE TO GROW. FOUNDED 1843. Bittersweet residents prided themselves on keeping the sign in like-new condition. The red, green, and yellow paint looked freshly painted. Though why our town was called Bittersweet, I’d never understood. Wasn’t any around.
I rubbed the sign as I passed. It looked smooth as silk from afar, but it was rough as a corncob to the touch. A splinter stuck into my finger. By the time I worked it out, I was rounding the bend onto Main Street. Ziggy was still in an uproar. I squinted up at Mr. Reed’s, trying to catch a glimpse of Ben hard at work.
Not even going without Goo Goo Clusters could top the horridness of working for Mr. Reed. Three and a half dollars a week was good wages, but that didn’t seem a fair amount when Mr. Reed was involved. He would’ve had to come up with seven or eight dollars before I’d go rambling around all the sun-baked squirrel tails and coon furs hanging off his house. Heck, just making it to the front door was worth at least a dollar. The only clean spot on the place was Ziggy’s pen.
Mr. Reed took better care of that dog than most people take of their own children. I’d only been inside Mr. Reed’s a few times, each time being with Daddy in the fall when he delivered a load of sorghum cane to Mr. Reed for milling. Walking into Mr. Reed’s house was like walking into a cave. Dark and cold and dreary. Mr. Reed’s meetings with Daddy were always short, but it was enough time for me to notice Ziggy’s shiny silver bowl on the dirty kitchenfloor and Mr. Reed’s chipped ceramic one on the crumb-covered table. Mr. Reed had always been a few loops shy of a knot, but to me, this slapped a “crazy” stamp right between his eyes.
Though I knew Ben was somewhere among the mess, I couldn’t spot him. And I wasn’t about to go up there and track him down. Besides, he was probably still mad at me, and I’d promised myself I’d never again be around Ben when he was mad. It made me have a funny feeling, like I was suffocating on air. I headed on into Hinkle’s.
The bell above the door clanged as I entered. Brightly colored cans and boxes filled every spare space in the store, and tempting scents filled the air: freshly ground coffee beans, sweet peppermint, and vanilla. Mrs. Hinkle peered out from the back. “Lizzie Hawkins!” her shrill voice greeted me. “Wipe your feet before you come across this floor. I
I hung all the wash out on the clothesline to dry and doused the fire under the big iron pot. Once the water had cooled to warm, I made good use of it by hauling buckets of it to the front porch and scrubbing down the wood.
I stood back and admired my handiwork. Clean sheets billowed in the breeze and the porch was free of unsightly mud marks. I figured I’d pretty well earned my late-afternoon break. And I knew just where I’d take it: Hinkle’s General Store. One thing I could be sure of when it came to Hinkle’s is that they would never, ever be out of Goo Goo Clusters. Eating one would cost me something, but smelling them was free. Besides, now that I’d used my last cake of lye, I needed to head down there and make a trade anyway.
I moved Mama inside to her chair in case Dr. Heimler decided to drop by this late. I fixed her a piece of dry toast and a cup of coffee, then went into the garden to gather some fresh broccoli, onions, and peas to bring to Hinkle’s. I’d been raised to keep my hands off the emergency savings jar Mama and Daddy had always kept behind the plates in the kitchen cabinet, except in a true emergency. I didn’t think I had a true emergency yet. I’d been feeding me and Mama just fine by fixing vegetables from our garden and catching fish from the pond. I traded any extras for other things I needed from Hinkle’s.
I could hear Ziggy in a barking ruckus all the way from the town welcome sign. The sign read: WELCOME TOBITTERSWEET, A GREAT PLACE TO GROW. FOUNDED 1843. Bittersweet residents prided themselves on keeping the sign in like-new condition. The red, green, and yellow paint looked freshly painted. Though why our town was called Bittersweet, I’d never understood. Wasn’t any around.
I rubbed the sign as I passed. It looked smooth as silk from afar, but it was rough as a corncob to the touch. A splinter stuck into my finger. By the time I worked it out, I was rounding the bend onto Main Street. Ziggy was still in an uproar. I squinted up at Mr. Reed’s, trying to catch a glimpse of Ben hard at work.
Not even going without Goo Goo Clusters could top the horridness of working for Mr. Reed. Three and a half dollars a week was good wages, but that didn’t seem a fair amount when Mr. Reed was involved. He would’ve had to come up with seven or eight dollars before I’d go rambling around all the sun-baked squirrel tails and coon furs hanging off his house. Heck, just making it to the front door was worth at least a dollar. The only clean spot on the place was Ziggy’s pen.
Mr. Reed took better care of that dog than most people take of their own children. I’d only been inside Mr. Reed’s a few times, each time being with Daddy in the fall when he delivered a load of sorghum cane to Mr. Reed for milling. Walking into Mr. Reed’s house was like walking into a cave. Dark and cold and dreary. Mr. Reed’s meetings with Daddy were always short, but it was enough time for me to notice Ziggy’s shiny silver bowl on the dirty kitchenfloor and Mr. Reed’s chipped ceramic one on the crumb-covered table. Mr. Reed had always been a few loops shy of a knot, but to me, this slapped a “crazy” stamp right between his eyes.
Though I knew Ben was somewhere among the mess, I couldn’t spot him. And I wasn’t about to go up there and track him down. Besides, he was probably still mad at me, and I’d promised myself I’d never again be around Ben when he was mad. It made me have a funny feeling, like I was suffocating on air. I headed on into Hinkle’s.
The bell above the door clanged as I entered. Brightly colored cans and boxes filled every spare space in the store, and tempting scents filled the air: freshly ground coffee beans, sweet peppermint, and vanilla. Mrs. Hinkle peered out from the back. “Lizzie Hawkins!” her shrill voice greeted me. “Wipe your feet before you come across this floor. I
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