Read Online BlackWind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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want no Cullen wigglies a'growin’ in his little gal's belly and I can't say that I blame him. Seems to me, though, it's worth more'n five grand to see that don't happen, don't you?”
“I have no intention of cashing this.”
“You don't want it, I'll take it.”
“I'll be sending it right back to Dr. McGregor.”
Cullen's mouth turned hard. “You ain't gonna do no such thing.” With a speed that surprised Sean, the older man leapt to his feet and snatched the envelope from him.
Sean's hands doubled into fists at his side, but he knew it would be useless to argue with his father. When Tymothy Cullen drank, he got junkyard-dog mean and usually either his wife or son paid the price for that anger. Sean also knew that would not always be the way things would work.
“This will help pay for next month's bills,” Cullen asserted as he stuffed the envelope into his pocket.
“Do whatever you want with it,” Sean said, knowing full well his father would forge his signature on the back of the check and cash it. He hoped Dr. McGregor would find out and have the fool arrested.
“Good boy,” Cullen sneered. He sat on the step and stared up at his son with one eye squeezed shut. “How come you're so agreeable?”
“I didn't ask for the money and I don't want it.”
“Stupid little bastard,” Cullen said. “Throwing away perfectly good money.”
Sean shrugged, picked up his bike, and wheeled it under the carport where he locked it to one of the wrought iron roof supports. He walked to the carport door and went into the house. Inside, the aroma of meatloaf filled the kitchen. He grimaced and went to the stove to see what his mother had prepared for herself and him. Lifting a pot, he was relieved to find succotash, a stewed tomato, okra, onion, and corn mixture that was one of his mother's specialties.
“There is baked macaroni and cornbread in the oven,” his mother told him as she came into the small room. “Fix me some tea, will ya, laddie?”
Sean's lips moved into the smile he reserved for his mother and Bronnie. “This stuff is gonna give you diabetes one of these days,” he said as he poured her a metal tumbler of the thickly-sweet brew.
“At least I'll die a happy woman,” his mother countered, taking the tumbler from him. She looked deeply into his eyes. “You all right, laddie?”
“Aye, Ma,” he lied.
Dorrie Cullen sighed. “As all right as you're gonna be, I'm reckonin'.” She turned to the stove. “Call your Da in and let's hope he don't find no fault with my meatloaf tonight.”
“How long's he been drinking?”
“Since he closed up shop early and came home.”
Sean tensed. The last time his father had closed the shop early. a savage punch had sent his mother to the hospital with a broken jaw. That had been when Sean was nine. “What brought this on?” he asked, glancing worriedly at the back door.
His mother lifted her thin shoulders. “He's been gamblin’ again with them darkies what run the barbeque place two doors down. Shootin’ the craps, I suppose. Lost a hundred dollars or more.”
Sean's jaw tightened. “Did you give him the letter from Dr. McGregor?” He knew that wasn't the case, but wanted to know how his father came in possession of the missive.
“You know I didn't, laddie,” his mother answered in a hurt voice. “He went through your room lookin’ for loose money and that's when he found it.” She twisted her hands together. “It came this morning and I put it in your room knowin’ you didn't want him to see it. I asked him not to open it, but you know how your Da is.”
“That I do.”
“When he opened it, he let out an almighty whoop.”
“I'll bet.”
“What was in that letter, Seannie?”
“The solution to his problem, Ma. At least for the time being.”
She pulled open the oven door, took up a pair of potholders, and reached for the meatloaf, the sight of which made Sean queasy. “Call him on in, now.”
Sean went to the screen
“I have no intention of cashing this.”
“You don't want it, I'll take it.”
“I'll be sending it right back to Dr. McGregor.”
Cullen's mouth turned hard. “You ain't gonna do no such thing.” With a speed that surprised Sean, the older man leapt to his feet and snatched the envelope from him.
Sean's hands doubled into fists at his side, but he knew it would be useless to argue with his father. When Tymothy Cullen drank, he got junkyard-dog mean and usually either his wife or son paid the price for that anger. Sean also knew that would not always be the way things would work.
“This will help pay for next month's bills,” Cullen asserted as he stuffed the envelope into his pocket.
“Do whatever you want with it,” Sean said, knowing full well his father would forge his signature on the back of the check and cash it. He hoped Dr. McGregor would find out and have the fool arrested.
“Good boy,” Cullen sneered. He sat on the step and stared up at his son with one eye squeezed shut. “How come you're so agreeable?”
“I didn't ask for the money and I don't want it.”
“Stupid little bastard,” Cullen said. “Throwing away perfectly good money.”
Sean shrugged, picked up his bike, and wheeled it under the carport where he locked it to one of the wrought iron roof supports. He walked to the carport door and went into the house. Inside, the aroma of meatloaf filled the kitchen. He grimaced and went to the stove to see what his mother had prepared for herself and him. Lifting a pot, he was relieved to find succotash, a stewed tomato, okra, onion, and corn mixture that was one of his mother's specialties.
“There is baked macaroni and cornbread in the oven,” his mother told him as she came into the small room. “Fix me some tea, will ya, laddie?”
Sean's lips moved into the smile he reserved for his mother and Bronnie. “This stuff is gonna give you diabetes one of these days,” he said as he poured her a metal tumbler of the thickly-sweet brew.
“At least I'll die a happy woman,” his mother countered, taking the tumbler from him. She looked deeply into his eyes. “You all right, laddie?”
“Aye, Ma,” he lied.
Dorrie Cullen sighed. “As all right as you're gonna be, I'm reckonin'.” She turned to the stove. “Call your Da in and let's hope he don't find no fault with my meatloaf tonight.”
“How long's he been drinking?”
“Since he closed up shop early and came home.”
Sean tensed. The last time his father had closed the shop early. a savage punch had sent his mother to the hospital with a broken jaw. That had been when Sean was nine. “What brought this on?” he asked, glancing worriedly at the back door.
His mother lifted her thin shoulders. “He's been gamblin’ again with them darkies what run the barbeque place two doors down. Shootin’ the craps, I suppose. Lost a hundred dollars or more.”
Sean's jaw tightened. “Did you give him the letter from Dr. McGregor?” He knew that wasn't the case, but wanted to know how his father came in possession of the missive.
“You know I didn't, laddie,” his mother answered in a hurt voice. “He went through your room lookin’ for loose money and that's when he found it.” She twisted her hands together. “It came this morning and I put it in your room knowin’ you didn't want him to see it. I asked him not to open it, but you know how your Da is.”
“That I do.”
“When he opened it, he let out an almighty whoop.”
“I'll bet.”
“What was in that letter, Seannie?”
“The solution to his problem, Ma. At least for the time being.”
She pulled open the oven door, took up a pair of potholders, and reached for the meatloaf, the sight of which made Sean queasy. “Call him on in, now.”
Sean went to the screen
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