Sing in the Morning, Cry at Night by Barbara J. Taylor

Author:Barbara J. Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2014-05-20T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

VIOLET WRAPPED A RED WOOLEN SCARF AROUND HER NECK, tucked the cigar-box dollhouse under her arm, and stepped out into the biting January morning. She hadn’t skipped school since Miss Reese’s home visit in October, but she decided the whipping she’d surely get would be easier than another day of uncertainty. A few inches of snow had fallen overnight, and as she started down the hill, she placed her feet inside the tracks made by the miners before sunrise.

When Violet reached the bottom of Spring Street, she turned right, toward the square. Having been to Poli’s Theatre twice, she knew how to make her way downtown in the direction of the State Hospital. Scranton had already had its share of weather that season, but it hadn’t had any new snow until now for at least a week. Violet marveled at the snow’s ability to transform the city. Tree limbs curtsied under its weight; lampposts donned hats of it.

Once Violet crossed over to Murray’s, where she and Stanley had bought their gumdrops so long ago, she found that most of the storekeepers had already thrown ashes on their sidewalks to keep customers from slipping, though foot traffic still seemed light for that hour of the morning. She continued on her way, down to Green Ridge Street, toward Penn Avenue. She knew the hospital to be a straight shot after that.

Violet noticed the storeowners, driving their wagons toward town. She remembered the day she and Stanley had seen the Billy Sunday signs on their way to the Wholesale District. And how later that afternoon, they tried unsuccessfully to see a minstrel show. Stanley still called her a baby whenever he thought of her dragging him out of the theatre. She’d done it to protect their souls. Did it matter now?

Still four blocks away, the hospital loomed, like Goliath before the Israelites. Violet’s heart began to pound as she imagined poor Stanley, lying helpless in a hospital bed. Would he wake for her? Was he already dead? It’s my fault—the one truth she remembered in the morning light. If only Daisy were here to walk with her, to hold her hand. Violet’s legs kept moving forward, but her thoughts circled round, in search of answers.

“If you’re not a sight for sore eyes,” Doc Rodham said when he and Violet nearly collided on the sidewalk. He took her hand warmly and led her inside.

* * *

The widow’s faith began to falter. She placed her hand on the boy’s forehead and erupted into sobs. “Mój Bóg, dlaczego ma ty opuszczony mi?”

“What’s wrong? What are you saying?” Violet asked as she ran the length of the ward toward Stanley’s bed. “Is he dead too?”

“No, no, my sweet.” The widow reached out, pulled the girl in before helping her off with her scarf and coat. Violet kept a firm hold on the cigar box. “I thought that God had forsaken me,” the widow explained, “and I foolishly asked him why. I see now He never left me.

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