Read Online Burying the Honeysuckle Girls by Emily Carpenter - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Carpenter
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from someone’s distant woodstove, the musk of bear and deer and red fox and bobcats either bedding down or rousing for their night hunt. She thought she could even smell apples too, crisping on the trees.
She wondered what it would be like to tramp with Tom through the woods every night, after supper. Then turn homeward toward their big, brick house with the white painted door. Up to their bedroom to tangle together in soft sheets and blankets.
They’d been walking a good half hour when Tom beckoned her forward. “Almost there,” he said. He held out his hand, and she took it, holding it the last couple of yards. At a curve in the trail, he helped her over a fallen log, its center collapsed by rot and rain, and the scene unfolded before her.
A half-circle of black tree trunks stretched to the gray sky. In their center, between them, hung a strange form. Jinn thought at first it was some sort of sign, a banner like the ones they hung at the county fair. Only this banner had no words printed on it. And it was misshapen, somehow. Nothing was right about it at all.
She took one step forward. And then she saw.
Suspended by ropes between two longleaf pines, about six feet off the ground, was what appeared to be a large dog, its legs dangling downward. A length of rope was looped around its neck and stretched to one tree; another length was tied around its hindquarters and stretched to an opposite tree. The animal was motionless, a deformed monster, against the graying sky.
“It’s a calf,” Tom said. “Hereford. Only a couple days old. Whoever did this stole it from my place and brought it here. They strung it up and left it here. For days. They let it starve.”
Jinn moved closer. Reached her hand up and touched one small hoof. It was wet. She drew her finger back, rubbing the pads of her fingers together. Blood. She reached up again.
“Jinny, stop.”
Then her fingers found the cuts—tiny razor slices along its flank. She used both hands then and felt the sliced ears. The hacked-off tail. The empty, streaming eye sockets. She stepped back. Shook her head, slowly at first, then faster.
She stepped back again but stumbled this time, and Tom caught her. She held her bloody hands high above her head, the way Brother Daley did before he passed out communion, and coughed out a series of sobs that eventually turned into screams. Tom finally had to cover her mouth.
When she’d quieted, Tom whispered into her ear, “Willie found him up here.”
She tried to tell him to stop—she didn’t want to hear any more—but all that came out was a strangled whimper.
“It was Walter, Jinny,” he said. “Walter was the one who did it.”
At supper, Jinn thought if she put one forkful of chicken pie in her mouth, surely it would come spewing back out. So she sat very still and pushed the lumps of peas and carrots around in the gravy. Prayed that Howell wouldn’t bring up the meeting at the school.
He didn’t. After supper, he headed out to the porch to smoke and look through the mail. Jinn sent the children off to listen to Amos ’n’ Andy so she could scour the dishes. But she felt Walter’s eyes on her back.
She turned, wringing the dish towel to give her trembling hands something to do. “You still hungry?”
He was staring at her. “Willie told his pap what I done up there on the mountain, didn’t he? And then he told you.”
She knew she should speak, but she couldn’t. Her throat felt all closed up.
“You ain’t gonna tell Daddy, are you?” he said.
The boy was smart to be afraid. If Howell found out he’d stolen a calf and killed it, he’d be furious. He’d pull Walter out of school, once and for all, and put him to work. Calves weren’t cheap, they sold at auction for more than Howell could afford. More money than Howell wanted to hand over to the likes of Tom Stocker.
But Walter’s blank, cold eyes weren’t afraid. They were angry, brimming with warning. She pointed at him anyway, not
She wondered what it would be like to tramp with Tom through the woods every night, after supper. Then turn homeward toward their big, brick house with the white painted door. Up to their bedroom to tangle together in soft sheets and blankets.
They’d been walking a good half hour when Tom beckoned her forward. “Almost there,” he said. He held out his hand, and she took it, holding it the last couple of yards. At a curve in the trail, he helped her over a fallen log, its center collapsed by rot and rain, and the scene unfolded before her.
A half-circle of black tree trunks stretched to the gray sky. In their center, between them, hung a strange form. Jinn thought at first it was some sort of sign, a banner like the ones they hung at the county fair. Only this banner had no words printed on it. And it was misshapen, somehow. Nothing was right about it at all.
She took one step forward. And then she saw.
Suspended by ropes between two longleaf pines, about six feet off the ground, was what appeared to be a large dog, its legs dangling downward. A length of rope was looped around its neck and stretched to one tree; another length was tied around its hindquarters and stretched to an opposite tree. The animal was motionless, a deformed monster, against the graying sky.
“It’s a calf,” Tom said. “Hereford. Only a couple days old. Whoever did this stole it from my place and brought it here. They strung it up and left it here. For days. They let it starve.”
Jinn moved closer. Reached her hand up and touched one small hoof. It was wet. She drew her finger back, rubbing the pads of her fingers together. Blood. She reached up again.
“Jinny, stop.”
Then her fingers found the cuts—tiny razor slices along its flank. She used both hands then and felt the sliced ears. The hacked-off tail. The empty, streaming eye sockets. She stepped back. Shook her head, slowly at first, then faster.
She stepped back again but stumbled this time, and Tom caught her. She held her bloody hands high above her head, the way Brother Daley did before he passed out communion, and coughed out a series of sobs that eventually turned into screams. Tom finally had to cover her mouth.
When she’d quieted, Tom whispered into her ear, “Willie found him up here.”
She tried to tell him to stop—she didn’t want to hear any more—but all that came out was a strangled whimper.
“It was Walter, Jinny,” he said. “Walter was the one who did it.”
At supper, Jinn thought if she put one forkful of chicken pie in her mouth, surely it would come spewing back out. So she sat very still and pushed the lumps of peas and carrots around in the gravy. Prayed that Howell wouldn’t bring up the meeting at the school.
He didn’t. After supper, he headed out to the porch to smoke and look through the mail. Jinn sent the children off to listen to Amos ’n’ Andy so she could scour the dishes. But she felt Walter’s eyes on her back.
She turned, wringing the dish towel to give her trembling hands something to do. “You still hungry?”
He was staring at her. “Willie told his pap what I done up there on the mountain, didn’t he? And then he told you.”
She knew she should speak, but she couldn’t. Her throat felt all closed up.
“You ain’t gonna tell Daddy, are you?” he said.
The boy was smart to be afraid. If Howell found out he’d stolen a calf and killed it, he’d be furious. He’d pull Walter out of school, once and for all, and put him to work. Calves weren’t cheap, they sold at auction for more than Howell could afford. More money than Howell wanted to hand over to the likes of Tom Stocker.
But Walter’s blank, cold eyes weren’t afraid. They were angry, brimming with warning. She pointed at him anyway, not
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