Blackberry Days of Summer by Ruth P. Watson

Author:Ruth P. Watson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strebor Books

CHAPTER 17

CARRIE

A knot formed in my stomach as Momma closed the squeaky front door behind her. Suddenly, I was overcome with an air of helplessness. Inching my body out of the bed, I felt nothing but stillness all around me. Another Saturday that Momma had to leave. I quickly made certain the old rocking chair was secure under my bedroom doorknob, careful not to make a sound as I checked it. I hurried and washed in the old tin washtub. As usual, I braided a cornrow on each side of my head. I put my journal under my pillow and made up the bed.

I removed the old rocking chair and looked down the hallway, making sure that I didn’t see Mr. Camm. I opened the door real slow, hoping that it would not squeak and wake him. As I stepped out on the porch in the direction of the barn, I heard him call.

“Good mo’ning.”

“Morning,” I said sullenly.

I had a funny feeling about the day, like something awful would happen. I took off in a hurry toward the chicken coop to gather the eggs. Every few steps I glanced over my shoulder. I hoped that he was not watching me. I grabbed the eggs as fast as I could from the smelly hen’s nest. I was determined to spend as little time as possible in the chicken coop, not wanting to be trapped. I slowed down when I crossed where Mr. Camm was standing, hoping not to draw attention to myself. Didn’t want to let the son of a bitch know I was scared of him.

Once I was inside, I grabbed the broom and started sweeping the hallway and the kitchen, continuing to make sure I was alone. Just as I began to feel safe, I heard the kitchen door squeak as it slowly opened. I shivered as Mr. Camm came inside. My chest started to heave again, and my breaths came short and fast. I braced myself against the wall and inhaled deeply to calm down. My legs trembled like shivering leaves moved by a brisk wind.

“Ain’t you gonna fix us something to eat?” He moved closer to me. He stank of corn liquor and sex.

“Momma left some fat meat and biscuits on the stove,” I said.

“I want you to fix me some of them eggs you got there,” he demanded.

I clenched my fist. “Yes, sir.”

I prayed, Father, please make this man leave me alone. I swept up the dirt from the floor and washed my trembling hands at the sink. Mr. Camm pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Leaning back, he gazed at me, sliding his tongue over his lips. His stench made me gag, but I forced the choking sensation back.

I grabbed the cast-iron frying pan hanging on the wall and poured bacon grease in it. I cracked two of the hen eggs that I had gathered that morning and beat them together. Mr. Camm’s eyes were focused on me, panning my body from head to toe.

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