The Road to Bittersweet by Donna Everhart

Author:Donna Everhart [Everhart, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-11-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Papa insisted on going a bit further south each day, driving through little smatterings of towns here and there. Those who even bothered to listen to a bunch of scrappy-looking folks sing till their throats was raw must’ve believed we was off our rockers. At the end those long days, I urged Papa to return to where I’d met Clayton, telling him water was convenient and besides, no one had chased us off like before. Momma was withdrawn most of the time, and when she did speak up, she’d comment on money spent driving hither and yon. Papa turned her off like a radio most days.

Clayton was always at the waterfall, and always entertaining. His confidence sat well with his good humor. I’d never had a friend like him before. Not even in school. These times with him was special, and the more I spent alone with him, the more I wanted to escape from our worries.

“Watch this!” he’d yell, and then do some ridiculous dive as if entertaining me was the most important thing he had on his mind. Afterwards, he’d get serious, and would practice till his mouth, fingertips and toes was blue. Clayton had more energy than anyone I’d ever seen. He couldn’t sit still a minute. Somehow, at some point, our time together would end with him chasing me around the woods, ducking behind trees only to spring out, grab me and swing me around. It was like a game, only I realized he was doing this so he could put his hands on me. I was more than happy to follow suit, and would run from him shrieking, until one day I got dizzy, and had to stop. I stooped over, my hands on my knees, I broke out in a cold sweat and feared I might throw up right at his feet.

“Wallis Ann? What’s wrong, you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sick? Should I go get your folks?”

“No! I’m fine. I didn’t eat much today.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

I shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m all right.”

“You don’t look all right. You’re white as the inside of a biscuit.”

I flipped my hand, dismissing his concern, wishing I had the biscuit he talked about.

He said, “You sure?”

I figured out a little lie. “Momma says I have iron poor blood.”

“Oh. Maybe you should eat more.”

Would, if I could.

Eager to move on, I asked him, “What do you want to do now?”

Clayton was still giving me the once-over.

“Sit. Tell me more about your family. You ain’t ever said much about them. You said you had a sister? What was her name, Laci?”

“Yes.”

“She older?”

Hesitant, I rubbed my hands across the tree trunk we sat on. “Yes, she’s older and she’s . . . different.”

“What do you mean?”

I don’t want to talk about Laci.

Clayton only looked curious, and I relaxed.

“She don’t talk. Never has. She can play any instrument you give her though. Piano, fiddle, banjo, dulcimer . . . no telling what else.”

“Really!” Clayton sounded impressed. “And you sing?”

“Yes.”

“Sing something.”

“Now? It would sound better with Laci and her fiddle.

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