knowledgeable air. “I know the work is important, but what about me?”
Mankin looked at her with fixed, twinkling eyes.
“Life’s a joy,” he said in her mother’s voice. “Stop feeling sorry and get up and do something useful.”
Sophie stuck out her bottom lip. “No,” she said stubbornly. “I’m just gonna lay here and let everyone get on with things as best they can.”
Mankin shook his small head, mouth in a somber line. “It just doesn’t work that way, Sophie.”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I was put here in the bayou for a reason. I know. I’m just...I’m tired, I guess.”
“Heal thyself,” he said with infuriating smugness.
She pulled her eyes away, letting her head fall to one side. “Bastard.”
She rose and moved to the bathroom. She could hear Clary working in the kitchen. The sound was comforting.
Clary had both doors open so a slow draft of healthy air moved through the entire house. Sophie inhaled and found growing herb smell mixed in with the cooking smells of roast chicken and stuffing.
“Working on lunch, I see,” Sophie said as she entered the brightness of the kitchen. She rubbed eyes not quite ready for morning sun.
Clary looked up from the onions she was chopping and smiled at Sophie. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I needed to cook this chicken Henry Collins sent. What’d you do for him?”
“Healed Cicely’s abscessed tooth.” Sophie yawned and opened the refrigerator.
Clary stared at Sophie as if ciphering a difficult equation. “That was two years ago.”
Sophie shrugged and nabbed milk from the icebox. “Guess he got in a habit,” she replied.
“Habit, hell. I didn’t know they were still coming from him. That’s a chicken a week for two years…”
Sophie laughed. “Don’t even try,” she said as she moved to the table, milk in one hand, a box of bran flakes in the other.
Clary laughed and resumed her task. “Damn,” she muttered.
“Where’s Grandam?”
“Church day,” Clary answered as she reached to close the refrigerator door that Sophie had left ajar. She favored Sophie with a sour look of reprimand.
Sophie grinned at her as she chewed cereal. She had forgotten that Tuesdays were Grandam’s day to quilt for the homeless. During the past six years the ladies auxiliary of the Light of Holiness Church had made nine quilts for the homeless shelter in Goshen. Making the quilts was also an important social outlet and know-it-all Irma Geneva Haws usually picked Grandam up on the way, no doubt giving her an earful of local gossip as they drove the sixteen miles to the church.
The kitchen fell silent again as the bayou morning intruded. Water lapped the shore outside, and a river otter, probably the small troublemaker Astute, scraped a piece of food against the tin underpinning of the house. The local family of otters had discovered the protective tin to be a great tool for cutting open crayfish and other river delicacies.
“What are you up to today?” Clary asked as she opened the oven to check on the cooking bird.
“Only one visit for a change, checking on Myria’s leg.”
She lifted the bowl and drank the last swallows of cereal-flavored milk. “Need to make some workings this afternoon, though.”
“For who?” Clary wiped her hands and sat at the table across from Sophie.
“I ain’t telling you squat...unless you give me a kiss.” Sophie leaned forward, exuding a charm Clary had always found irresistible.
“Behave yourself,” she admonished. “For who?”
“Salty sure has you whipped,” Sophie stated with some amusement.
“You know I don’t swing thataway,” Clary reminded her.
Sophie smiled wickedly. She so loved to give Clary a hard time.
“You’re just horny. You need to go out more, find you someone,” Clary said finally.
“Go where?”
“Go over to Thirsty’s.”
“Too many guys,” Sophie sighed. “And the women there out-butch me.”
Clary laughed. “I’m going to go get mint for this
Mankin looked at her with fixed, twinkling eyes.
“Life’s a joy,” he said in her mother’s voice. “Stop feeling sorry and get up and do something useful.”
Sophie stuck out her bottom lip. “No,” she said stubbornly. “I’m just gonna lay here and let everyone get on with things as best they can.”
Mankin shook his small head, mouth in a somber line. “It just doesn’t work that way, Sophie.”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I was put here in the bayou for a reason. I know. I’m just...I’m tired, I guess.”
“Heal thyself,” he said with infuriating smugness.
She pulled her eyes away, letting her head fall to one side. “Bastard.”
She rose and moved to the bathroom. She could hear Clary working in the kitchen. The sound was comforting.
Clary had both doors open so a slow draft of healthy air moved through the entire house. Sophie inhaled and found growing herb smell mixed in with the cooking smells of roast chicken and stuffing.
“Working on lunch, I see,” Sophie said as she entered the brightness of the kitchen. She rubbed eyes not quite ready for morning sun.
Clary looked up from the onions she was chopping and smiled at Sophie. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I needed to cook this chicken Henry Collins sent. What’d you do for him?”
“Healed Cicely’s abscessed tooth.” Sophie yawned and opened the refrigerator.
Clary stared at Sophie as if ciphering a difficult equation. “That was two years ago.”
Sophie shrugged and nabbed milk from the icebox. “Guess he got in a habit,” she replied.
“Habit, hell. I didn’t know they were still coming from him. That’s a chicken a week for two years…”
Sophie laughed. “Don’t even try,” she said as she moved to the table, milk in one hand, a box of bran flakes in the other.
Clary laughed and resumed her task. “Damn,” she muttered.
“Where’s Grandam?”
“Church day,” Clary answered as she reached to close the refrigerator door that Sophie had left ajar. She favored Sophie with a sour look of reprimand.
Sophie grinned at her as she chewed cereal. She had forgotten that Tuesdays were Grandam’s day to quilt for the homeless. During the past six years the ladies auxiliary of the Light of Holiness Church had made nine quilts for the homeless shelter in Goshen. Making the quilts was also an important social outlet and know-it-all Irma Geneva Haws usually picked Grandam up on the way, no doubt giving her an earful of local gossip as they drove the sixteen miles to the church.
The kitchen fell silent again as the bayou morning intruded. Water lapped the shore outside, and a river otter, probably the small troublemaker Astute, scraped a piece of food against the tin underpinning of the house. The local family of otters had discovered the protective tin to be a great tool for cutting open crayfish and other river delicacies.
“What are you up to today?” Clary asked as she opened the oven to check on the cooking bird.
“Only one visit for a change, checking on Myria’s leg.”
She lifted the bowl and drank the last swallows of cereal-flavored milk. “Need to make some workings this afternoon, though.”
“For who?” Clary wiped her hands and sat at the table across from Sophie.
“I ain’t telling you squat...unless you give me a kiss.” Sophie leaned forward, exuding a charm Clary had always found irresistible.
“Behave yourself,” she admonished. “For who?”
“Salty sure has you whipped,” Sophie stated with some amusement.
“You know I don’t swing thataway,” Clary reminded her.
Sophie smiled wickedly. She so loved to give Clary a hard time.
“You’re just horny. You need to go out more, find you someone,” Clary said finally.
“Go where?”
“Go over to Thirsty’s.”
“Too many guys,” Sophie sighed. “And the women there out-butch me.”
Clary laughed. “I’m going to go get mint for this
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