Girl at the Grave by Teri Bailey Black

Author:Teri Bailey Black
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2018-08-07T07:00:00+00:00

21

Sam came over on Saturday to help clean up the kitchen garden, yanking away old plants and winter debris.

“You should make it bigger,” he said, standing in the middle of the weedy patch. “You need the food. I can take down that tree if you want.” He waved a muddy glove at the back end of the garden.

“All right.” I liked the idea.

“What about that one?” Sam asked, nodding toward the house.

I followed his gaze to the largest tree in the yard, but my mind was already tightening with resistance. The tree was too close to the house, and blackened by the fire, but my mother had told me stories about climbing it to go through Daniel’s bedroom window. He’d hammered strips of wood onto the trunk, like a ladder, and insisted that all his friends enter his room that way during the summer, even my mother in her dresses. With Daniel, she’d said, everything had to be an adventure. She’d told me about the maps he’d pinned on his walls and his plans to explore the west. Dreams that never came true.

“No, leave it,” I told Sam.

“Suit yourself.” He picked up the heavy ax. “But mark my words, one of these days it’s going to fall on the house.”

He hacked at the smaller tree in the back of the garden, then dragged it away and started digging at the roots. “Ground’s still cold,” he said, sniffing. “Better wait a few weeks to seed.” He wiped at his nose and ended up with a muddy mustache that made me laugh. “Oh, you think you look any better, Mistress of the Manor? You should see your forehead.”

I immediately wiped at my forehead with a dirty hand, and Sam laughed. I threw the muddy weed I’d just pulled, and he tried to catch it, but slipped and fell. I howled in delight—then lost my own balance and landed in the soft mud.

We battled on, pulling weeds and throwing them, trying to not laugh so we didn’t get mud in our mouths. Somehow, through the scuffle, the tree roots got hauled away and the ground cleared for seeding.

“You better grow some impressive-looking cabbages after all this,” Sam said, pulling mud out of his straw-colored hair.

“I don’t like cabbage,” I said. “I’m going to grow peas and carrots—and strawberries. Loads of strawberries. I’m not going to eat anything but strawberries for a month.”

“Better save some for the jam.” Sam looked down at himself. “Ma’s gonna have a fit when she sees me. She just pressed this shirt last night. Maybe I should jump in the creek on my way home.”

“You’ll die of pneumonia. It’s freezing.”

“No deadlier than Ma’s temper.”

Sam finally left for home, and I went inside for a much-needed bath of my own. I tracked mud up and down the staircase, fetching clothes, but I didn’t care. I felt giddy from the day. I dragged the old tub in front of the fire and filled it with steaming water, then closed the curtains and undressed.

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