Read Online Morning Glory by Lavyrle Spencer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lavyrle Spencer
Tags: Fiction
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smiled.
"After breakfast I'm gonna cut that hair for you."
The grin mellowed and reached his eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly with a touch on his hat brim.
As he turned downyard with the pail swinging at his side, he wondered when he'd been happier, when life had looked more promising. She was going to keep him!
Herbert turned out to be a friendly cuss with big brown eyes and a brown and white hide. She and the goat seemed to be pals, exchanging a hello of noses. The mule was out behind the barn, too, with its eyes half closed, facing the wall. Will chose to milk the cow outside instead of in the smelly barn. He tied her to a fencepost, stripped off his shirt and hunkered on the stool while the heat of the sun pelted his back. It seemed he couldn't soak up enough of it to make up for the five years' dearth. Beside him the goat watched, chewing its cud. The cow chewed too—loud, grinding beats. Comfortable. In time Will's milking matched the rhythm of Herbert's jaws. It was soothing—the warm bovine flesh against his forehead, the warmer sun, the homely sound, and the heat building up the length of his arms. In time his muscles burned—satisfying, honest heat generated by his own body toiling as a body ought. He increased his speed to test his mettle.
While he worked, the hens came out of their night roosts, one by one, clucking throatily, walking as if on sharp stones, exploring the grass for snails. He eyed the yard, imagining it clean. He eyed the chickens, imagining them penned. He eyed the woodpile imagining it chopped, ranked and filed. There was one hell of a lot to do, but the challenge fired him with eagerness.
A mother cat showed up with three taffy-colored kittens, a trio of clowning puffballs with tails straight as pokers. The mother curled against Will's ankle and he paused to scratch her.
"What's your name, missus?" She stood on her hind legs, braced her forefeet on his thigh, begging. Her fur was soft and warm as she jutted against his fingers. "You feedin' those three, huh? Need a little help?" He found a sardine can inside the doorway of the barn and filled it, then watched the four of them eat, one of the babies with a foot in the can. He chuckled ... and the sound of his own laughter was so foreign to his ears it made his heart hammer. He tilted his head back and squinted at the sky, letting freedom and happiness overcome him. He chuckled again, feeling the wondrous thrust of the sound against his throat. How long since he'd heard it? How long?
When he delivered the milk to the house he smelled bacon frying from twenty feet down the yard. His stomach growled and he paused with his hand raised to knock on the screen door.
Inside the kitchen, Eleanor lifted her head and their gazes caught.
He dropped the hand and opened the door, taking the risk and finding it easy, after all.
"Met the animals," he announced, setting the pail on the cupboard. "Mule's a little stuck-up, compared to the others."
"Well, bless my soul," Eleanor remarked. "A regular speech."
He backed off, rubbing his hands on his thighs self-consciously. "I'm not much for small talk."
"I've noticed. Still, you might try it out on the boys."
The pair was up, dressed in wrinkled pajamas. The older one looked up from where he was entertaining the young one on the floor with five wooden spools. He stared at Will.
"Howdy, Donald Wade," Will ventured, feeling awkward and uncertain.
Donald Wade stuck his finger in his mouth and poked his cheek out.
"Say good morning, Donald Wade," his mother prompted.
Instead Donald Wade pointed a stubby finger at his brother and blurted out, "That's Baby Thomas."
Baby Thomas drooled down the front of his pajamas, stared at Will and clacked two spools together. To the best of Will's recollection he had never spoken to a person so young. He felt foolish waiting for an answer and didn't know what to do with his hands. So he stacked three
"After breakfast I'm gonna cut that hair for you."
The grin mellowed and reached his eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly with a touch on his hat brim.
As he turned downyard with the pail swinging at his side, he wondered when he'd been happier, when life had looked more promising. She was going to keep him!
Herbert turned out to be a friendly cuss with big brown eyes and a brown and white hide. She and the goat seemed to be pals, exchanging a hello of noses. The mule was out behind the barn, too, with its eyes half closed, facing the wall. Will chose to milk the cow outside instead of in the smelly barn. He tied her to a fencepost, stripped off his shirt and hunkered on the stool while the heat of the sun pelted his back. It seemed he couldn't soak up enough of it to make up for the five years' dearth. Beside him the goat watched, chewing its cud. The cow chewed too—loud, grinding beats. Comfortable. In time Will's milking matched the rhythm of Herbert's jaws. It was soothing—the warm bovine flesh against his forehead, the warmer sun, the homely sound, and the heat building up the length of his arms. In time his muscles burned—satisfying, honest heat generated by his own body toiling as a body ought. He increased his speed to test his mettle.
While he worked, the hens came out of their night roosts, one by one, clucking throatily, walking as if on sharp stones, exploring the grass for snails. He eyed the yard, imagining it clean. He eyed the chickens, imagining them penned. He eyed the woodpile imagining it chopped, ranked and filed. There was one hell of a lot to do, but the challenge fired him with eagerness.
A mother cat showed up with three taffy-colored kittens, a trio of clowning puffballs with tails straight as pokers. The mother curled against Will's ankle and he paused to scratch her.
"What's your name, missus?" She stood on her hind legs, braced her forefeet on his thigh, begging. Her fur was soft and warm as she jutted against his fingers. "You feedin' those three, huh? Need a little help?" He found a sardine can inside the doorway of the barn and filled it, then watched the four of them eat, one of the babies with a foot in the can. He chuckled ... and the sound of his own laughter was so foreign to his ears it made his heart hammer. He tilted his head back and squinted at the sky, letting freedom and happiness overcome him. He chuckled again, feeling the wondrous thrust of the sound against his throat. How long since he'd heard it? How long?
When he delivered the milk to the house he smelled bacon frying from twenty feet down the yard. His stomach growled and he paused with his hand raised to knock on the screen door.
Inside the kitchen, Eleanor lifted her head and their gazes caught.
He dropped the hand and opened the door, taking the risk and finding it easy, after all.
"Met the animals," he announced, setting the pail on the cupboard. "Mule's a little stuck-up, compared to the others."
"Well, bless my soul," Eleanor remarked. "A regular speech."
He backed off, rubbing his hands on his thighs self-consciously. "I'm not much for small talk."
"I've noticed. Still, you might try it out on the boys."
The pair was up, dressed in wrinkled pajamas. The older one looked up from where he was entertaining the young one on the floor with five wooden spools. He stared at Will.
"Howdy, Donald Wade," Will ventured, feeling awkward and uncertain.
Donald Wade stuck his finger in his mouth and poked his cheek out.
"Say good morning, Donald Wade," his mother prompted.
Instead Donald Wade pointed a stubby finger at his brother and blurted out, "That's Baby Thomas."
Baby Thomas drooled down the front of his pajamas, stared at Will and clacked two spools together. To the best of Will's recollection he had never spoken to a person so young. He felt foolish waiting for an answer and didn't know what to do with his hands. So he stacked three
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