Quilt of Souls by Phyllis Biffle Elmore

Author:Phyllis Biffle Elmore [Biffle Elmore, Phyllis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Charlesbridge
Published: 2022-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

Bessie’s Wrath

It was friday morning, and I was up extra early. The day before, Grandma had told me that the fabulous Miss Sugar would come by right after school and take me to spend the weekend with her. My time with Miss Sugar was the only thing I loved as much as sitting with Miss Jubilee. Grandma reminded me not to dawdle on the way home because Miss Sugar wouldn’t wait. “When Miss Sugar’s ready to go, she’s ready to go,” with or without me, as Grandma made perfectly clear.

This would be the first time I’d gone to Miss Sugar’s house on a Friday evening. Occasionally, she’d pick me up on a Saturday and drop me back at Grandma’s on Sunday afternoon. But an extended period with her was a brand-new experience. Ever since Grandma told me, I couldn’t think of anything else. The sound of Miss Sugar’s car and the feel of climbing onto the warm leather seats hung in my consciousness. I could almost smell the fumes.

The long day allowed my mind to ramble over how I could get home faster than usual. I wanted to be there when Miss Sugar pulled up to our door. I didn’t want to miss her grand entrance, which was always priceless. At that moment, I decided to take the shortcut. This was such an elaborate, clandestine operation that it had to be carried out with precision. I didn’t even tell Brenda, because if she slipped up and told her grandmama, it would get back to my grandma through the country grapevine. As much as I loved Brenda, sometimes she could be prone to diarrhea of the mouth.

My dilemma was this: There was one path Grandma demanded I travel to and from Bethel Hill, and that was the long, out-of-the-way southern route. It was a straight, narrow dirt road, totally devoid of adventure. It took me over an hour to walk to and from school using this path. The Conkabayou route, however, was due west, through the woods, and took half that time.

My classmates didn’t have to go anywhere near the Conkabayou to get to their houses, because they only lived a hop, skip, and jump from Bethel Hill. I actually had to bypass their homes to reach this shortcut, crossing the dirt road in front of the school and zipping through the Moore Place community. If I went this way, in no time I’d be stepping foot inside my grandparents’ backyard. But I’d also pass Ant Bessie’s house, which sat about a mile from my grandparents’ place and another mile from my school. The only thing that separated her property from our pasture was Grandpa’s fishing pond. Since my grandpa and Ant Bessie were siblings, this stretch of land was jointly owned and considered “Horn” property.

The low-lying Conkabayou Bridge itself sat off the sparsely traveled Highway 28. A dark, brush-filled swamp about fifty feet below the bridge ran parallel with the road for nearly three miles. A stretch of this area, called “the Bottom,” was murky marshland, shadowed by dense woods.

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