Read Online Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope by Robert Whitlow - Free Book Online Page B

her stomach until nothing showed except her feet.
    “She looks like the wicked witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz ,” Ellie said, reaching over to tickle her sister’s toes.
    Emma didn’t flinch. She wasn’t very ticklish. She threw out a wadded ball of white. Ellie picked up the sock.
    “Oops, it’s mine,” she said, then made a perfect shot into the laundry basket.
    WHEN WE RETURNED to the kitchen, the chicken livers were beginning to thaw.
    “Get Zach and meet me in the toolshed,” I said to the girls.
    On the far side of the chicken coop was a large shed that contained anything Mama didn’t want in the house. It had been freshly painted white in the past few months. I pulled open one of the heavy double doors.
    Inside, multicolored gourds hung in a row from a supporting beam to the right. I’d spent many hours hollowing out gourds so Mama could transform them into works of art. Her gourds were highly prized as gifts. She’d never entered them in the county fair, but she’d be a cinch to win. I stepped around our tractor. Other farm and garden implements were lined up in neat rows on the rough floor. Small bags of chicken feed leaned against seventy-five-pound sacks of the meal Kyle used in the feedlot. I heard footsteps behind me. It was Ellie. She was standing in the door, slightly out of breath.
    “Zach’s coming,” she said. “As soon as he finishes digging the hole he’s working on.”
    The fishing rods hung on the back wall of the shed. I took down four poles.
    “I use the green one, and Emma likes the blue one,” she said. “You and Zach can have the bigger ones.”
    Our tackle boxes were on a bench underneath the rods. I found the one we used for catfish. Zach came into the shed. I could see he’d been working. He wiped his forehead with one of the bandannas left over from our head-covering days.
    “Did you prove your manliness with the posthole diggers?”
    “I hit a few licks, but your brother and father could work for hours.”
    I handed him the tackle box. Our fingers touched for a second. I glanced at Zach’s face. It revealed nothing.
    “This will be easier than digging,” I said, clearing my throat.
    We piled into Zach’s car. The twins sat in the backseat with the fishing poles out the window. I placed the chicken livers at my feet beside a plastic jug filled with ice cubes and water. A picnic basket containing snacks and a quilt to spread on the ground were in the trunk. Putnam’s Pond was just around the bend from our house, and we could have taken a shortcut through the woods, but the twins wanted to ride in Zach’s car. And it was easier to drive than try to carry everything.
    “I wish you’d brought your motorcycle,” Ellie said. “I think it would be fun letting the wind blow against your face.”
    “Until a june bug flew into your mouth,” Emma responded.
    “Motorcycles aren’t safe. Mama says people don’t pay attention to motorcycle riders.”
    “Did she tell you that since I’ve been home?” I asked.
    “No.”
    Zach looked in the rearview mirror. “Emma, do you think motor-cycle riding is a sin?”
    “Not unless you go over the speed limit,” Emma answered.
    “Or don’t wear a helmet,” Zach added. “I always use a helmet, even in states where it isn’t required by law.”
    “Do you always obey the speed limit?” Emma asked.
    Zach looked at me. “I’m not sure if going from zero to sixty in less than four seconds is breaking the law or not, but I admit that I’ve gotten a few tickets.”
    “Daddy drives five miles faster than the speed limit signs say,”
    Ellie said. “So does Tammy Lynn. I’ve watched her plenty of times from the backseat. She’s a scary driver.”
    “I am not. I’ve never had a wreck or gotten a ticket.”
    “But you drove into a ditch on the way to choir practice at church last year.”
    “Trying not to hit a tortoise in the middle of the road. Turn here,”
    I said to Zach. “And the car wasn’t damaged.