Read Online Whistling Past the Graveyard by Susan Crandall - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Crandall
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the time we’d finished dinner, the trash can in the kitchen was filled to the top. I picked it up and headed out the door while Mamie was busy putting bonnets on the leftovers and finding a place in the refrigerator for them.
It almost seemed too easy. I couldn’t let myself be fooled; I’d been caught plenty of times when I’d thought the coast was clear.
On the path to the trash barrel, I glanced back at the closed door; no Mamie peekin’ out.
I checked again when I got to the alley.
Coast clear.
Real quick, I set down the trash can and stepped up on the cinder block Mamie had put there so I could dump the trash. The barrel was half-full. At the top, there was a lot of newspaper, all loose and crumply, not folded like newspaper is supposed to be.
I had to hurry. I held my breath, hoping there wasn’t any maggoty garbage in there and stuck my hands in the newspapers. Nothing squishy or squirmy got against my skin. Instead I found a brown cardboard box, a little smaller than the box Mamie had sent some cookies to Daddy in. On the outside of the box, under a long row of stamps, was my name and our address. The brown mailing tape had been slit.
Mamie had opened a box that had been sent to me! I only once got a box parcel post; it had been from Daddy on my birthday when he hadn’t been able to get home.
After another look at the house to make sure Mamie wasn’t stickin’ her nosy nose through the crack in the curtains, I opened the flaps on the box. At first I thought it was empty, then I saw the envelope—a big manila one like Mrs. Jacobi used at school to keep flash cards in. It had my name on it, with big x ’s and o ’s, and I knew it was from Momma.
I felt my red rage coming on, but did like Daddy told me and took deep breaths until it passed. I couldn’t let Mamie know I’d found what she’d hid.
The envelope was stiff, not bendy. The flap on it had already been torn.
I heard the rattle of the back-door knob; thank goodness that door sticks. I stuck the envelope up under my shirt and grabbed the trash can. By the time Mamie had the door open and was asking what was taking me so long, I had the trash dumped and was on my way back to the house.
She looked at me real suspicious as she opened the screen and waited for me to come in.
“I saw a raccoon and chased it off,” I said before she could ask me more questions. Mamie hated raccoons in the trash. I just kept walking, afraid if I looked at her sneaky, package-opening face, my red rage would come barrelin’ back. “If it’s all right, Mamie,” I said real sweet, “I’m gonna go take my bath now. I don’t feel good.”
She reached out and put a hand on my forehead. “No fever. What’s ailing you?”
I had to think fast. What does Mamie hate as much as raccoons in the trash?
Me throwing up!
I grabbed my belly. “Uh-oh.” I ran straight for the stairs. “Oh,” Mamie called. “Let me know if you need me.”
Whenever I threw up, Mamie got all gaggy. I’d been throwing up on my own since I was three. It was just easier that way. Besides, wasn’t nothing Mamie could do but stand there and hold a cold cloth on the back of my neck—and gag. I could do both of those things myself. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I pulled the envelope out from under my shirt and stood there just staring at it, at the way Momma made a big loopy S at the beginning of my name and surrounded it with stars, like it was special. I wanted to open it, but I didn’t want it to be over too fast. So I sat on the edge of the tub and held it against my heart.
Just to make sure Mamie stayed away I made some retching sounds and flushed the toilet.
Then I slipped my fingers under the torn flap and unfolded it. My stomach felt fluttery and my heart was beating fast and loud—maybe I was getting sick.
Pulling the envelope open, I looked inside.There was only one thing in there, a little record, one of them with the big hole in the center that only plays one song on each
It almost seemed too easy. I couldn’t let myself be fooled; I’d been caught plenty of times when I’d thought the coast was clear.
On the path to the trash barrel, I glanced back at the closed door; no Mamie peekin’ out.
I checked again when I got to the alley.
Coast clear.
Real quick, I set down the trash can and stepped up on the cinder block Mamie had put there so I could dump the trash. The barrel was half-full. At the top, there was a lot of newspaper, all loose and crumply, not folded like newspaper is supposed to be.
I had to hurry. I held my breath, hoping there wasn’t any maggoty garbage in there and stuck my hands in the newspapers. Nothing squishy or squirmy got against my skin. Instead I found a brown cardboard box, a little smaller than the box Mamie had sent some cookies to Daddy in. On the outside of the box, under a long row of stamps, was my name and our address. The brown mailing tape had been slit.
Mamie had opened a box that had been sent to me! I only once got a box parcel post; it had been from Daddy on my birthday when he hadn’t been able to get home.
After another look at the house to make sure Mamie wasn’t stickin’ her nosy nose through the crack in the curtains, I opened the flaps on the box. At first I thought it was empty, then I saw the envelope—a big manila one like Mrs. Jacobi used at school to keep flash cards in. It had my name on it, with big x ’s and o ’s, and I knew it was from Momma.
I felt my red rage coming on, but did like Daddy told me and took deep breaths until it passed. I couldn’t let Mamie know I’d found what she’d hid.
The envelope was stiff, not bendy. The flap on it had already been torn.
I heard the rattle of the back-door knob; thank goodness that door sticks. I stuck the envelope up under my shirt and grabbed the trash can. By the time Mamie had the door open and was asking what was taking me so long, I had the trash dumped and was on my way back to the house.
She looked at me real suspicious as she opened the screen and waited for me to come in.
“I saw a raccoon and chased it off,” I said before she could ask me more questions. Mamie hated raccoons in the trash. I just kept walking, afraid if I looked at her sneaky, package-opening face, my red rage would come barrelin’ back. “If it’s all right, Mamie,” I said real sweet, “I’m gonna go take my bath now. I don’t feel good.”
She reached out and put a hand on my forehead. “No fever. What’s ailing you?”
I had to think fast. What does Mamie hate as much as raccoons in the trash?
Me throwing up!
I grabbed my belly. “Uh-oh.” I ran straight for the stairs. “Oh,” Mamie called. “Let me know if you need me.”
Whenever I threw up, Mamie got all gaggy. I’d been throwing up on my own since I was three. It was just easier that way. Besides, wasn’t nothing Mamie could do but stand there and hold a cold cloth on the back of my neck—and gag. I could do both of those things myself. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I pulled the envelope out from under my shirt and stood there just staring at it, at the way Momma made a big loopy S at the beginning of my name and surrounded it with stars, like it was special. I wanted to open it, but I didn’t want it to be over too fast. So I sat on the edge of the tub and held it against my heart.
Just to make sure Mamie stayed away I made some retching sounds and flushed the toilet.
Then I slipped my fingers under the torn flap and unfolded it. My stomach felt fluttery and my heart was beating fast and loud—maybe I was getting sick.
Pulling the envelope open, I looked inside.There was only one thing in there, a little record, one of them with the big hole in the center that only plays one song on each
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