Read Online Deep in the Heart of Trouble by Deeanne Gist - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Deeanne Gist
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“Hadn’t seen ya around much lately,” Harley said.
She offered him a sliver of fruit. “I’ve been busy training Mr. Sharpley for the bicycle race.”
She offered Tony a piece, too, but he declined with a wave of the hand.
Harley popped his slice into his mouth. “How come you’re not trainin’ him tonight?”
“I had planned to spend the evening with Papa, but he retired early.”
“I hear Sharpley’s purty fast.” He slid a black piece onto a square that would allow him to jump one of Tony’s, unless Tony jumped him first.
Tony propped his elbows on his knees, trying to figure out if it was a trap.
“I have high hopes for Mr. Sharpley,” she said. “You should come by one evening and see him for yourself.”
“Sure. That is, if Ma will let me.”
“I’ll speak to her for you.”
The boy beamed. “See?” he said to Tony. “I done told you she was a good egg.”
Her gaze touched Tony’s before skittering away. Just then, several chattering women poured through a curtained partition at the back of the store, disrupting their concentration.
Essie moved to greet them. Tony stood.
“Hello, Essie, dear. Have you seen the babies yet? Precious, simply precious.”
“Yes, Mrs. Vandervoort. They are indeed adorable. How do you do, Mrs. Tyner, Mrs. Whiteselle?”
The women greeted Essie with warmth, then swept past her and Crook, pulling on their gloves while continuing to extol the virtues of the babies they’d been to visit.
“Hey, Harley,” said a girl of about eight with reddish brown braids. “Whatchya doin’?”
“Climbin’ a tree. What does it look like I’m doin’?”
Scrunching up her nose, she stuck her tongue out at him.
Mrs. Vandervoort, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and shaped like a cracker barrel, signaled the children.
“I gotta go, Mr. Bryant. Miss Essie can take my place for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure—” he began.
“I’d be glad to finish up the game for you, Harley,” Essie said.
Smiling, the boy nodded. “Come on, Bri.” He waved to Tony and ran out the door to catch up with Mrs. Vandervoort, who looked better suited to be his grandmother than his mother. Brianna scampered behind him, braids bouncing.
Essie settled into Harley’s seat and took a small bite of orange. A drop of juice formed at the corner of her mouth. Without ever taking her attention off the board, she pressed the butt of her hand to the liquid, stopping its descent.
“I’m afraid Harley has you in a pickle, Mr. Bryant. Would you like to cry uncle?”
He had no interest whatsoever in playing checkers or anything else with this woman. But he’d be hornswoggling something fierce before he gave up, especially to her. “I’m not sure all is lost just yet.”
“Whose turn is it?”
“Mine.” Reclaiming his chair, he jumped the disc Harley left open.
She quickly moved a piece on the other side of the board. The store owner carried the carton of oranges inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.
“Your turn,” she said.
She studied him with eyes the color of bluebells, disconcertingly direct. Having a ten-year-old flounce him was humiliating enough. He wasn’t about to let Essie Spreckelmeyer do the same. Tony needed time to examine the board, but after she’d moved her piece so quickly, he’d look like a fool if he dawdled.
He slid a disc into her king row. She crowned it and moved one of her pieces toward the center.
“I’m calling it a day, Essie,” Crook said, removing his apron. “Will you turn down the lantern when you’re done and go out the back?”
“Of course.” She twisted around. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
He smiled. “You know I don’t. Just make sure this fella goes with you when you leave.”
“Will do. Good night, Hamilton.”
“Good night, Essie.” He nodded toward Tony. “Bryant.”
Crook’s footsteps clunked on a set of stairs behind the partition before the sound of a door opening and closing sealed
“Hadn’t seen ya around much lately,” Harley said.
She offered him a sliver of fruit. “I’ve been busy training Mr. Sharpley for the bicycle race.”
She offered Tony a piece, too, but he declined with a wave of the hand.
Harley popped his slice into his mouth. “How come you’re not trainin’ him tonight?”
“I had planned to spend the evening with Papa, but he retired early.”
“I hear Sharpley’s purty fast.” He slid a black piece onto a square that would allow him to jump one of Tony’s, unless Tony jumped him first.
Tony propped his elbows on his knees, trying to figure out if it was a trap.
“I have high hopes for Mr. Sharpley,” she said. “You should come by one evening and see him for yourself.”
“Sure. That is, if Ma will let me.”
“I’ll speak to her for you.”
The boy beamed. “See?” he said to Tony. “I done told you she was a good egg.”
Her gaze touched Tony’s before skittering away. Just then, several chattering women poured through a curtained partition at the back of the store, disrupting their concentration.
Essie moved to greet them. Tony stood.
“Hello, Essie, dear. Have you seen the babies yet? Precious, simply precious.”
“Yes, Mrs. Vandervoort. They are indeed adorable. How do you do, Mrs. Tyner, Mrs. Whiteselle?”
The women greeted Essie with warmth, then swept past her and Crook, pulling on their gloves while continuing to extol the virtues of the babies they’d been to visit.
“Hey, Harley,” said a girl of about eight with reddish brown braids. “Whatchya doin’?”
“Climbin’ a tree. What does it look like I’m doin’?”
Scrunching up her nose, she stuck her tongue out at him.
Mrs. Vandervoort, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and shaped like a cracker barrel, signaled the children.
“I gotta go, Mr. Bryant. Miss Essie can take my place for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure—” he began.
“I’d be glad to finish up the game for you, Harley,” Essie said.
Smiling, the boy nodded. “Come on, Bri.” He waved to Tony and ran out the door to catch up with Mrs. Vandervoort, who looked better suited to be his grandmother than his mother. Brianna scampered behind him, braids bouncing.
Essie settled into Harley’s seat and took a small bite of orange. A drop of juice formed at the corner of her mouth. Without ever taking her attention off the board, she pressed the butt of her hand to the liquid, stopping its descent.
“I’m afraid Harley has you in a pickle, Mr. Bryant. Would you like to cry uncle?”
He had no interest whatsoever in playing checkers or anything else with this woman. But he’d be hornswoggling something fierce before he gave up, especially to her. “I’m not sure all is lost just yet.”
“Whose turn is it?”
“Mine.” Reclaiming his chair, he jumped the disc Harley left open.
She quickly moved a piece on the other side of the board. The store owner carried the carton of oranges inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.
“Your turn,” she said.
She studied him with eyes the color of bluebells, disconcertingly direct. Having a ten-year-old flounce him was humiliating enough. He wasn’t about to let Essie Spreckelmeyer do the same. Tony needed time to examine the board, but after she’d moved her piece so quickly, he’d look like a fool if he dawdled.
He slid a disc into her king row. She crowned it and moved one of her pieces toward the center.
“I’m calling it a day, Essie,” Crook said, removing his apron. “Will you turn down the lantern when you’re done and go out the back?”
“Of course.” She twisted around. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
He smiled. “You know I don’t. Just make sure this fella goes with you when you leave.”
“Will do. Good night, Hamilton.”
“Good night, Essie.” He nodded toward Tony. “Bryant.”
Crook’s footsteps clunked on a set of stairs behind the partition before the sound of a door opening and closing sealed
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