Read Online The Dry Grass of August by Anna Jean Mayhew - Free Book Online

kitchen without answering.
    I sat in a chair in the corner of the dining room with my supper plate balanced on my knees. If anybody spoke to me, I mumbled something and looked away. The party voices sounded like turkeys gobbling, nonsense noises punctuated by snatches of music, the tinkle of ice in glasses, the clink of silverware. When the record player quit, somebody called out, “Flip the stack, flip the stack.” A hazy cloud of smoke formed at the ceiling, drifting with the movement of people walking in and out.
    Uncle Taylor’s voice boomed from the living room, “Everybody gather around. I want to introduce my big sister.”
    The dining room cleared as people went to meet Mama. She’d chat with everyone she met. She loved parties.
    I was going to duck out the back door and go to the beach, certain nobody would miss me. But something shiny caught my eye under the hem of the tablecloth. The toe of a patent leather shoe. “Puddin!”
    â€œDon’t tell, Jubie.” I scooted under the tablecloth and drew in my feet, giggling with my little sister in our dusky cave.
    â€œHow long have you been under here?” I whispered, sitting back against one of the table legs.
    â€œFor the whole party.” She handed me a cookie. “I’ve got a lot. You can have more.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Mama was making a speech about how happy she was to be in Pensacola, how nice everybody was, how she didn’t know where Puddin and I’d gone. The chatter started up again as people crowded the dining room, their feet showing under the tablecloth.
    I heard Stell say, “Why, thank you, a gift from my boyfriend.” Her gold cross. “Our next-door neighbor.” How she met Carter. “Together we formed Charlotte’s first Young Life group.” Together, ha! She’d had to drag Carter into it.
    â€œYoung Life?” a woman asked.
    â€œA club for Christian teens.” Stell’s voice was full of pride.
    Mrs. Willingham said to someone, “Paula’s lucky to have her, that’s what I told one of her kids.” Her voice faded into the others as she walked away.
    Mary came into the dining room. I recognized her black lace-ups. “Commander Bentley, reckon it’s time for the apple pies?”
    â€œWhat do you think, Kay?” Uncle Taylor asked.
    â€œThey gobbled up your biscuits, Mrs. Luther, and I’m sure your pies will be delicious. Yes, it’s time.”
    I couldn’t get over her saying “Mrs. Luther.” I’d never heard anybody call Mary that.
    Mrs. Willingham, who was standing by the table, said, “Calling a colored gal by her last name is making a show of being broad-minded. Kay Macy’s a Yankee, you know. Maybe she’d be good for Taylor and Sarah, but maybe not.”
    â€œThank goodness that’s not your decision,” Mama said.
    â€œOh, Paula, I didn’t see you. Well, I do have opinions.”
    â€œPerhaps you should keep them to yourself.”
    â€œI’ve never been good at that. Just come right out with what I think.”
    Mama’s heels clicked across the foyer into the living room.
    Things got quiet. Puddin and I crawled out from under the table.
    Mrs. Cooper stood in the kitchen doorway. “There you are. Your mama’s been looking for you.”
    Puddin said, “Jubie found me under the table.”
    â€œCocktail parties aren’t a lot of fun for kids.” She took Puddin’s hand. “Sit on the stool and let me fix your barrettes.” She gave me a hug. “Nobody’s in the kitchen. If you scoot out the back door, you won’t have to help with the dishes.”
    As the screen door closed behind me, Mrs. Cooper said to Mama, “Mrs. Luther must be worn out. Why don’t we let her go to bed and I’ll finish up in here.”
    â€œAnother half hour won’t kill her,” Mama said. “I brought her along to