Read Online Tomorrow River by Lesley Kagen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lesley Kagen
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locked onto something and then I hear him, too.
“Have you cleaned these stalls?” Papa. His voice is coming out of the barn, not more than fifty yards from us. I thought for sure he’d be occupied in his study already, but he’s come back from his ride much later than usual. “Did you throw down fresh shavings and clean the water buckets?”
Mr. Cole answers back soft-spoken so I can’t hear him.
I say urgently to Woody, “If he comes out, he’ll see us. Quick. Dive under the willow.”
Not a beat later, His Honor comes out of the barn. The handsomest man in all of Rockbridge County, the one who’s got midnight hair and eyes that are the same color as the whiskey and soda he drinks around that time looks even worse than he did last night. Taking unsteady steps our way, Papa shouts, “Girls? Is that you?”
The branches of the willow tree are wiggling and there’s no wind today. That’s what’s gotten his attention. I will them to be still.
“Twins?” he calls, coming closer.
“Scoot . . . scoot back,” I whisper frantically to Woody. We use our hands and heels to dig deeper into the branches. “And please, please, please, don’t start howling.”
“I see you,” Papa says, but I’m sure he can’t. He’s tripped down to the grass. He’s been worse the last few days because he gets extra soused whenever Grampa’s due to visit. I can’t really blame him. I have been forced to slug back a few when that old nincompoop shows up. I want to rush to his side and help him up, but I’ve fallen for that before, and Woody knows it. She holds me tight by the wrist until Papa struggles back up, first onto all fours, and then semiupright. He shakes his head like he’s forgotten what he was doing and turns back towards the barn.
Woody is fluttering. She wants to make a break for it, but I warn her, “Wait.” I inch forward until I can see Papa through the curtain of shimmering leaves. Maybe he really did see us. Sometimes he can fool us. Sometimes he can double back. I lean back to my sister and start counting slowly, “One Virginia, two Virginia,” and when I get up to “thirty Virginia,” I tell her, “All right. Get set, go!” On our dash to the house, I run backwards so I can keep an eye on the barn door. “Keep movin’,” I tell Woody when she looks at me bug-eyed.
Once we’re on the back porch of the house, I trap my twin between my arms, press her against the peeling white wood. “Don’t even swallow.” I squeeze her to make a big impression. “I mean it. Hold still.” I’m waving my hand and blowing on the bottoms of our shorts to dry them off the best I can. “We’re gonna sneak through the kitchen.”
I get Woody by the chin and raise her eyes up to mine so I’m sure she sees the seriousness daggering out of them. I’m leaving her out here until I can make sure the coast is clear. If Papa did double back and came in through the front door, we’ll run into him. He’ll do what he always does, inspect us like we’re pieces of fruit, looking to find the soft spots. I am especially gifted at fibbing so I could come up with a reason how our shorts got damp, but once His Honor goes after Woody, I’d be forced to tell him the truth and nothing but the truth about where we’ve been this morning.
I spit on the hinges so the screen door won’t squeak and stick my head into the kitchen.
There’s a pot top clattering on the stove and the transistor radio is playing a rhythm-and-blues song and the floor looks clean but tacky in places. That means Lou’s got to be close by. I’m praying that she’s not hiding in the broom closet, getting ready to pounce out at us screaming, “Gotcha!” the way she likes to do. She thinks that’s funny. I don’t think Woody could handle that right now. She’s already full-to-the-brim with scared.
“Shh.” I place my fingers to my sister’s lips until I remember how dumb that is. We begin creeping across the linoleum. “Get up on your
“Have you cleaned these stalls?” Papa. His voice is coming out of the barn, not more than fifty yards from us. I thought for sure he’d be occupied in his study already, but he’s come back from his ride much later than usual. “Did you throw down fresh shavings and clean the water buckets?”
Mr. Cole answers back soft-spoken so I can’t hear him.
I say urgently to Woody, “If he comes out, he’ll see us. Quick. Dive under the willow.”
Not a beat later, His Honor comes out of the barn. The handsomest man in all of Rockbridge County, the one who’s got midnight hair and eyes that are the same color as the whiskey and soda he drinks around that time looks even worse than he did last night. Taking unsteady steps our way, Papa shouts, “Girls? Is that you?”
The branches of the willow tree are wiggling and there’s no wind today. That’s what’s gotten his attention. I will them to be still.
“Twins?” he calls, coming closer.
“Scoot . . . scoot back,” I whisper frantically to Woody. We use our hands and heels to dig deeper into the branches. “And please, please, please, don’t start howling.”
“I see you,” Papa says, but I’m sure he can’t. He’s tripped down to the grass. He’s been worse the last few days because he gets extra soused whenever Grampa’s due to visit. I can’t really blame him. I have been forced to slug back a few when that old nincompoop shows up. I want to rush to his side and help him up, but I’ve fallen for that before, and Woody knows it. She holds me tight by the wrist until Papa struggles back up, first onto all fours, and then semiupright. He shakes his head like he’s forgotten what he was doing and turns back towards the barn.
Woody is fluttering. She wants to make a break for it, but I warn her, “Wait.” I inch forward until I can see Papa through the curtain of shimmering leaves. Maybe he really did see us. Sometimes he can fool us. Sometimes he can double back. I lean back to my sister and start counting slowly, “One Virginia, two Virginia,” and when I get up to “thirty Virginia,” I tell her, “All right. Get set, go!” On our dash to the house, I run backwards so I can keep an eye on the barn door. “Keep movin’,” I tell Woody when she looks at me bug-eyed.
Once we’re on the back porch of the house, I trap my twin between my arms, press her against the peeling white wood. “Don’t even swallow.” I squeeze her to make a big impression. “I mean it. Hold still.” I’m waving my hand and blowing on the bottoms of our shorts to dry them off the best I can. “We’re gonna sneak through the kitchen.”
I get Woody by the chin and raise her eyes up to mine so I’m sure she sees the seriousness daggering out of them. I’m leaving her out here until I can make sure the coast is clear. If Papa did double back and came in through the front door, we’ll run into him. He’ll do what he always does, inspect us like we’re pieces of fruit, looking to find the soft spots. I am especially gifted at fibbing so I could come up with a reason how our shorts got damp, but once His Honor goes after Woody, I’d be forced to tell him the truth and nothing but the truth about where we’ve been this morning.
I spit on the hinges so the screen door won’t squeak and stick my head into the kitchen.
There’s a pot top clattering on the stove and the transistor radio is playing a rhythm-and-blues song and the floor looks clean but tacky in places. That means Lou’s got to be close by. I’m praying that she’s not hiding in the broom closet, getting ready to pounce out at us screaming, “Gotcha!” the way she likes to do. She thinks that’s funny. I don’t think Woody could handle that right now. She’s already full-to-the-brim with scared.
“Shh.” I place my fingers to my sister’s lips until I remember how dumb that is. We begin creeping across the linoleum. “Get up on your
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