Read Online Flavors by Emily Sue Harvey - Free Book Online

connected and she winked. Her eyes twinkled at seeing me and I knew that, finally, my world was turning right side up again.
    Grandma’s face didn’t reveal what she thought of this sudden turn of events. We all knew Grandma took her time in taking to people. And we knew, too, that her tendency was to mother-hen her boys. Too, Maveen was a mill-hill girl, of the trashy variety in Grandma’s opinion. So Maveen’s destiny was in peril.
    Poker-face set, Grandma constructed a wire, wall-to-opposite-wall, across one bedroom, on which she hung a sheet to provide a bit of privacy for the newlyweds. Of course, since most all of us slept on pallets in the main sitting room for summer’s duration, Gene and Maveen had more seclusion than I’d ever imagined possible within the Melton ramparts.
    The next morning, Gene whispered to Grandma that Maveen needed a wash pan of warm water, soap and a wash cloth. Wordlessly, face emptied, Grandma carried the paraphernalia to a blushing Maveen, leaving her to care to her personal needs. Nellie Jane later pulled me aside to fill me in on the
details of Maveen’s bleeding episode, common to new brides on their first night of marriage. Yet another lesson in life’s mysteries, cinnamon-y and pungent flavored.
    I didn’t care about that. All I cared about was getting alone with Maveen and feeling her hugs and soaking up her words of warmth and celebration. My neediness seemed to swell as the strange edginess inside me prevailed.
    â€œHow’s my Sadie,” she breathed into my hair when I bearhugged her the first chance I got to slip into her bedroom. She actually stuck pretty close to those cramped, stuffy quarters during the first days of her marriage, coming out only to take meals with the family, unless it was to scoot out the door and disappear for long walks. Those times, if Gene wasn’t with her, I tagged along. Sometimes, even when he did accompany her, she called to me to join them. Maveen even went into the kitchen when meals were being prepared, but after being ignored by Grandma, she quietly gave up on helping.
    She and Grandma avoided each other’s eyes. I sensed it was a case of instant, full-blown hate.
    â€œI miss home,” I said sadly a couple of days after Maveen came to live there. We lounged on her bed, the only semiprivate place in the household.
    Maveen’s kind silvery eyes responded by misting over. “I know you do, honey.” Then she pulled me to her and hugged me, fiercely. Only when my face fit into her neck’s hollow and I smelled her clean, lilac scent did I realize that at least some of the dull ache inside me was from loneliness for those who tethered me to my sense of place.
    â€œGuess what?” she whispered. I was astonished to see a tear spill over and trail down her pale cheek. She quickly swiped it away and sniffled.
    â€œWhat?” I whispered back, knowing that many ears strained to hear anything she had to say. Grandma had not spoken to
Maveen unless necessity forced her to. Maveen, naturally affectionate, was shriveling before my very eyes in the apathetic environment.
    â€œI miss home, too,” she rasped as another, then another tear spilled over. I watched them trickle slowly down, over lightly freckle-spattered cheeks, then drip off her chin.
    â€œOh, Maveen.” My mouth wobbled and I began to silently weep with her. We hugged for a long time, together in our gloom.
    I felt it – the affinity. Somehow, I knew our hearts beat the same tempo just then. And I knew – though I could not articulate exactly what – that we were together.
    In our quest for ourselves.
    For our place.

    Gene switched shifts with a friend for a week in the cotton mill. He worked the third shift and that left Maveen sleeping alone. “He’s doing a favor for Earl. A couple of the guys are switching around and filling in all week. Gene drew the straw for third shift.” She