Read Online Chanda's Wars by Allan Stratton - Free Book Online Page B

thighs, she looks like a rotten pear.
    â€œYour grampa must be asleep,” Granny says. “Your Auntie Lizbet’s taking a break, bless her heart.” Bless her heart? When I came to find Mama, sainted Auntie Lizbet swung that cane to crack my head open. Mama had been left alone, dying, at the abandoned ruin on the cattle post. Auntie Lizbet said she deserved it. She said it was god’s will, and the will of the ancestors.
    By the time we pull up, everyone’s come to bid welcome. Uncle Chisulo lifts Granny out of the cart like she was a feather pillow, while Uncle Enoch wrestles our bags over the side of the cart by pushing off with his belly. Their wives, Auntie Ontibile and Auntie Agnes, are right behind, wiping their hands on their aprons. They’re identical twins. I tell them apart by the dent in Auntie Ontibile’s forehead, from where she got kicked by a goat when she was little.
    Last to join us is Auntie Lizbet. I shoot her a look that says: Remember what you did to Mama? What you said to me? Her head drops. She turns away.
    I’m all in knots. Aren’t I here to heal old wounds? Isn’tthat what Mama would do? Why can’t I forget? Why don’t I forgive? What’s wrong with me?
    â€œThanks for the ride,” Granny says to Nelson. He nods. I smile awkwardly. A chorus of g’nights, and he leads his mules home.
    â€œYou three will be staying in my room,” Auntie Lizbet says. “I’ll be in with your granny and grampa.”
    â€œWe thought that’d be best,” Granny adds. “You’ll have some privacy, and your auntie will be handy if Grampa’s legs cramp up in the middle of the night.”
    â€œGood, yes, thank you,” I say. All I want to do is put the kids to bed, flop on my mat, and sleep till Judgment Day. But everyone’s planned a welcome party, so after we drop our bags inside, we come back out to sit around the firepit.
    I open Mrs. Tafa’s wicker baskets and give them all their presents. Mrs. Tafa chose well. My uncles are pleased with their socks. My aunties admire the stitch work on their pot holders. And Granny cradles the preserves.
    â€œI’ll bring out the biscuits,” Auntie Lizbet says. “Just the thing to put that marmalade to the test.” She hobbles to get them. Iris follows, staring in bug-eyed wonder at her foot.
    â€œIris! No!” I cry.
    Auntie Lizbet whirls around, catching Iris in the act. “What are you gawking at?”
    â€œYour hoof,” says Iris.
    The world stops breathing.
    â€œMy…what?” Auntie glares.
    â€œYour hoof!” Iris exclaims again. “It’s so…so…clumpy.”
    Auntie Lizbet grips her cane. “Who taught you your manners, girl?”
    â€œNobody,” Iris says brightly.
    â€œNobody?” Auntie Lizbet pounds her cane. “Nobody???” She suddenly bursts out laughing. “Can you beat the nerve of the little thing!” She peers at Iris over her spectacles. “So, nobody taught you manners?”
    â€œNo, Auntie,” Iris says, innocent as you please. “Not a blessèd soul.”
    Auntie puts on a stern look. “Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”
    â€œOh yes,” Iris says.
    Auntie beams. “What a little sweetness.”
    Iris bats her eyes at me. I could smack her.

11
    A S SOON AS the party’s over, I put the kids in bed, roll onto my mat, and fall asleep.
    Mama is sitting beside the termite mound. “There’s going to be a storm.”
    My head is thick, but I know one thing for sure: “This isn’t real, Mama. It’s just my old dream.”
    â€œAll the same, there’s going to be a storm.”
    I close my eyes and kick myself. “Wake up, wake up.”
    When I open my eyes, the mound is gone. But I’m not on the mat in Auntie Lizbet’s room either. I’m back on the flatbed to Tiro. It’s night. Did I