Read Online Blood of the Earth by Faith Hunter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Faith Hunter
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to be alive.
Not happy about the damage to the house. I’d have the insurance company out tomorrow afternoon, and I’d have to find a way to pay the deductible. I knew exactly how much cash I had on hand and it came to enough to pay for a single pane of window glass. I hadn’t looked at the other mess, the damage inside. The dollar signs were adding up fast and I hadn’t even gone to work for Rick yet. It could only get worse. I would be smart to kick them to the curb, but I couldn’t. We were bound now, in a way, by the death of Brother Ephraim, and by my claiming Paka. I didn’t know what I could do about any of it.
Having people in my house was unexpected. Except for a rare townie customer looking for an herbal remedy, I’d been alone here since John died. I’d gotten used to the feel of the floor beneath my feet, untouched by the vibrations of other people walking, used to the empty table and chairs. The silence. Used to washing only one plate. One glass. One fork or spoon.
In theory, after John died, I could have left, sold the land to a development company, moved to the city. But I stayed here, probably foolishly, waiting to see if my sisters would ever come to their senses and run away from the cult, from their lives in multiwife marriages, to freedom.
Now there were people here and the house felt full, as if it needed to stretch to contain us all. The dirty dishes on the table were . . . more. The noise was more. The more I might have had if John had given me children. But he hadn’t been able to give his wives babies and the others had requested divorce, which he’d granted, and left him for other men, all except Leah. She had died here in the farmhouse, in the bed in the biggest bedroom on the south side of the house, leaving John alone except for me. Later he had died in that same bed. I hated that bed but I hadn’t been able to throw it out. Instead, I slept on the sofa or in the small cot in the loft that had been mine since I came here. Or on the screened porch in the hammock. I slept with guns at every window. I slept safe, for the most part. Safe, but alone.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Rick asked, his tone gentle.
“About what?” I asked. Tears pricked my eyes and I stood quickly, dipping my head forward so my wet hair slid over my face and shoulders and down to my hands as I cleared the table. “About what happened in the woods? What my life was like with John? Why I left the church? Why I still live here?” I glanced at him as I stood and stacked the heavy stoneware, none too gently. The
clank
of pottery and the
clink
of utensils sounded thunderous in the silent house. “What do you want to know?”
Rick tilted his head, observing me, his black eyes still kind. No man had ever been kind or gentle to me. Not even John, no matter that he’d loved me, saved me. He’d never been tender even when he finally took me to wife at age fifteen—he hadn’t known how to be. But he’d given me freedom and safety and that was worth so much more than any kind of gentleness that there might have been.
I set the dishes in the sink and put the vegetable leftovers into the steel composter on the back porch, the meat scraps and juices into a separate tin, wiped off the plates. I stopped, staring out into the night, letting my senses free. Impressions came from the woods, fast and intense, much more so than only yesterday. The trees were happy, satisfied, alert, though not in any way that a human might have understood. Back at the sink, I piled up the dirty dishes, and realized that my tie to the woods was stronger. I had known for a long time that I wasn’t strictly human. Hadn’t been in years. Maybe forever. But this . . . this was different. This was more . . . more whatever I was.
And with the sensations coming at me from the woods, I also had to think about the fact that I had killed a man tonight. One who would have died anyway. But still.
That should have made me afraid,
Not happy about the damage to the house. I’d have the insurance company out tomorrow afternoon, and I’d have to find a way to pay the deductible. I knew exactly how much cash I had on hand and it came to enough to pay for a single pane of window glass. I hadn’t looked at the other mess, the damage inside. The dollar signs were adding up fast and I hadn’t even gone to work for Rick yet. It could only get worse. I would be smart to kick them to the curb, but I couldn’t. We were bound now, in a way, by the death of Brother Ephraim, and by my claiming Paka. I didn’t know what I could do about any of it.
Having people in my house was unexpected. Except for a rare townie customer looking for an herbal remedy, I’d been alone here since John died. I’d gotten used to the feel of the floor beneath my feet, untouched by the vibrations of other people walking, used to the empty table and chairs. The silence. Used to washing only one plate. One glass. One fork or spoon.
In theory, after John died, I could have left, sold the land to a development company, moved to the city. But I stayed here, probably foolishly, waiting to see if my sisters would ever come to their senses and run away from the cult, from their lives in multiwife marriages, to freedom.
Now there were people here and the house felt full, as if it needed to stretch to contain us all. The dirty dishes on the table were . . . more. The noise was more. The more I might have had if John had given me children. But he hadn’t been able to give his wives babies and the others had requested divorce, which he’d granted, and left him for other men, all except Leah. She had died here in the farmhouse, in the bed in the biggest bedroom on the south side of the house, leaving John alone except for me. Later he had died in that same bed. I hated that bed but I hadn’t been able to throw it out. Instead, I slept on the sofa or in the small cot in the loft that had been mine since I came here. Or on the screened porch in the hammock. I slept with guns at every window. I slept safe, for the most part. Safe, but alone.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Rick asked, his tone gentle.
“About what?” I asked. Tears pricked my eyes and I stood quickly, dipping my head forward so my wet hair slid over my face and shoulders and down to my hands as I cleared the table. “About what happened in the woods? What my life was like with John? Why I left the church? Why I still live here?” I glanced at him as I stood and stacked the heavy stoneware, none too gently. The
clank
of pottery and the
clink
of utensils sounded thunderous in the silent house. “What do you want to know?”
Rick tilted his head, observing me, his black eyes still kind. No man had ever been kind or gentle to me. Not even John, no matter that he’d loved me, saved me. He’d never been tender even when he finally took me to wife at age fifteen—he hadn’t known how to be. But he’d given me freedom and safety and that was worth so much more than any kind of gentleness that there might have been.
I set the dishes in the sink and put the vegetable leftovers into the steel composter on the back porch, the meat scraps and juices into a separate tin, wiped off the plates. I stopped, staring out into the night, letting my senses free. Impressions came from the woods, fast and intense, much more so than only yesterday. The trees were happy, satisfied, alert, though not in any way that a human might have understood. Back at the sink, I piled up the dirty dishes, and realized that my tie to the woods was stronger. I had known for a long time that I wasn’t strictly human. Hadn’t been in years. Maybe forever. But this . . . this was different. This was more . . . more whatever I was.
And with the sensations coming at me from the woods, I also had to think about the fact that I had killed a man tonight. One who would have died anyway. But still.
That should have made me afraid,
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