Read Online BlackWind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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door. “Supper's ready!”
“Put this ungodly concoction on the table for him and I'll get us the macaroni,” his mother ordered, placing the sizzling meatloaf on a hot pad on the counter.
Sean retrieved another set of potholders from the drawer and, with his lips pursed tightly, he carried the meatloaf to the table and placed it in front of his father's plate. He avoided looking at the gray-brown meat.
“The succotash smells great, Ma,” he said as he watched her ladle their main course into a soup tureen.
“Smells like crap to me,” Cullen grunted. He let the screen door slam behind him as he plopped down at the table. “Get me another brew, boy.”
Sean exchanged a glance with his mother, but he did as he was told. After fetching the ice-cold bottle for his father, he brought the cornbread to the table for his mother, pulled her chair out for her, then took his seat, ignoring the snort of disgust from his father at the courtesy.
“Always puttin’ on the Ritz, ain't you, Seannie? Where does such highfalutin’ crap getcha?” Cullen popped the cap from the bottle with a church key.
“He's just showin’ his Ma some respect,” Dorrie said quietly.
Sean tensed. It was such innocuous remarks that, for whatever reason, set his father off. But the old man seemed not to have heard, for he was swilling down a long drag of beer. He grimaced as the man gave a loud belch, then another for good measure.
“Will you say Grace, Tymothy?” Dorrie asked.
Cullen shook his head. “Let His Holiness do it.”
Dorrie reached for her son's hand. Her tired, sad eyes locked with Sean's and she lowered her head.
“Bless us, Oh Lord,” Sean prayed, “and these thy gifts that we are about to receive from thy bounty.”
“Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy grits that we are about to receive from the county.” Cullen giggled as he ladled a big slice of meatloaf onto his plate.
Dorrie's mouth tightened at the sacrilege, but she made no comment. She passed the macaroni to Sean. “Would you slice me a piece of cornbread, laddie?”
“Just a minute,” Sean said, realizing he would have to leave the table to get a knife. Before he could, a powerful backhanded blow from his father's left hand slammed into his face and knocked him out of his chair. He hit the floor hard on his left hip, his nose gushing blood.
“When your Ma tells you to do something, you'd best hop to it, boy !” Cullen shouted.
Dorrie gasped and started to get up, but her husband's furious bellow kept her in her seat.
“Leave him be, Dorrie!”
Sean lay where he landed, attempting to staunch the flow of blood with the heel of his palm. He knew his nose was broken and his upper lip had been split from contact with his father's heavy signet ring.
“Get your lazy ass off the floor and clean up that mess,” Cullen demanded, “before I have to drag you up.”
His nose throbbing, the smell of the blood, and the taste of it in his mouth making him sick, Sean pushed up from the floor. He knew if he made one sound, said one word, his father would be on him like a tiger on a wounded gazelle. He dared not even look the older man's way for fear the vicious temper would erupt and someone would suffer the consequences.
“Lily-livered little pantywaist,” Cullen mocked. “Not man enough to stand up for himself and too damned stupid to even try.” He stabbed a chunk of meatloaf and crammed it into his mouth.
Stumbling to the sink, Sean pulled a handful of paper towels from the rack and, with his nose still bleeding, went back to clean up the splatters on the floor.
Sean sensed his mother wanted to help him, but she knew better than to try. Things would be worse for him, and more so for herself, if she dared. She sat still, her head bowed, her lips trembling.
“Eat your damned food, woman!” Cullen demanded.
Dorrie reached for her fork and gently slipped the utensil beneath a pile of macaroni. She moved the pasta from one side of her plate to the
“Put this ungodly concoction on the table for him and I'll get us the macaroni,” his mother ordered, placing the sizzling meatloaf on a hot pad on the counter.
Sean retrieved another set of potholders from the drawer and, with his lips pursed tightly, he carried the meatloaf to the table and placed it in front of his father's plate. He avoided looking at the gray-brown meat.
“The succotash smells great, Ma,” he said as he watched her ladle their main course into a soup tureen.
“Smells like crap to me,” Cullen grunted. He let the screen door slam behind him as he plopped down at the table. “Get me another brew, boy.”
Sean exchanged a glance with his mother, but he did as he was told. After fetching the ice-cold bottle for his father, he brought the cornbread to the table for his mother, pulled her chair out for her, then took his seat, ignoring the snort of disgust from his father at the courtesy.
“Always puttin’ on the Ritz, ain't you, Seannie? Where does such highfalutin’ crap getcha?” Cullen popped the cap from the bottle with a church key.
“He's just showin’ his Ma some respect,” Dorrie said quietly.
Sean tensed. It was such innocuous remarks that, for whatever reason, set his father off. But the old man seemed not to have heard, for he was swilling down a long drag of beer. He grimaced as the man gave a loud belch, then another for good measure.
“Will you say Grace, Tymothy?” Dorrie asked.
Cullen shook his head. “Let His Holiness do it.”
Dorrie reached for her son's hand. Her tired, sad eyes locked with Sean's and she lowered her head.
“Bless us, Oh Lord,” Sean prayed, “and these thy gifts that we are about to receive from thy bounty.”
“Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy grits that we are about to receive from the county.” Cullen giggled as he ladled a big slice of meatloaf onto his plate.
Dorrie's mouth tightened at the sacrilege, but she made no comment. She passed the macaroni to Sean. “Would you slice me a piece of cornbread, laddie?”
“Just a minute,” Sean said, realizing he would have to leave the table to get a knife. Before he could, a powerful backhanded blow from his father's left hand slammed into his face and knocked him out of his chair. He hit the floor hard on his left hip, his nose gushing blood.
“When your Ma tells you to do something, you'd best hop to it, boy !” Cullen shouted.
Dorrie gasped and started to get up, but her husband's furious bellow kept her in her seat.
“Leave him be, Dorrie!”
Sean lay where he landed, attempting to staunch the flow of blood with the heel of his palm. He knew his nose was broken and his upper lip had been split from contact with his father's heavy signet ring.
“Get your lazy ass off the floor and clean up that mess,” Cullen demanded, “before I have to drag you up.”
His nose throbbing, the smell of the blood, and the taste of it in his mouth making him sick, Sean pushed up from the floor. He knew if he made one sound, said one word, his father would be on him like a tiger on a wounded gazelle. He dared not even look the older man's way for fear the vicious temper would erupt and someone would suffer the consequences.
“Lily-livered little pantywaist,” Cullen mocked. “Not man enough to stand up for himself and too damned stupid to even try.” He stabbed a chunk of meatloaf and crammed it into his mouth.
Stumbling to the sink, Sean pulled a handful of paper towels from the rack and, with his nose still bleeding, went back to clean up the splatters on the floor.
Sean sensed his mother wanted to help him, but she knew better than to try. Things would be worse for him, and more so for herself, if she dared. She sat still, her head bowed, her lips trembling.
“Eat your damned food, woman!” Cullen demanded.
Dorrie reached for her fork and gently slipped the utensil beneath a pile of macaroni. She moved the pasta from one side of her plate to the
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