The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1) by McGee Stephenia H

Author:McGee, Stephenia H. [McGee, Stephenia H.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
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ISBN: 9780997866070
Publisher: By The Vine Press
Published: 2014-12-17T05:00:00+00:00

Ruth tried to ignore the apprehension clawing at her insides. Miss Lydia had made a huge step, coming here. She’d thrown aside her place in the world to walk into Ruth’s. Of the two of them, Miss Lydia had more to lose by taking to Ruth than Ruth had by returning her attempts. What would the white folk think of it? But, since the only white folk at Ironwood were Mr. Harper and his wife, Ruth released her hold on her fear and swung open the door to her room.

Miss Lydia followed Ruth inside, her wide hoops swishing against the narrow doorframe. She paused, looking very out of place. Ruth had always thought her room a large space of luxury, but it suddenly felt shabby and unfit for the lady standing in it.

Miss Lydia studied Ruth’s furnishings with curiosity and a slight look of disgust. Ruth waited patiently for her to discover the reason she’d brought her in here. Ruth lifted the lamp high.

Miss Lydia gasped. “What is this?”

Ruth swallowed the caution begging notice. “My story.”

“You can write?”

“And read, some. I know we ain’t supposed to know how. But my grandma worked in the big house. She was really smart, and she picked it up durin’ the white kids’ lessons. She taught me. It came so easy. She even found an old story book one of the kids had thrown out and snuck it to me.”

“You wrote your story on the walls?”

Ruth dropped her eyes. She’d made a mistake. When would she ever learn? No misbegotten friendship changed the differences between them. How could this white lady ever understand? “I’m sorry. I just had to get it out.”

“Yet another thing we share,” Miss Lydia whispered, but Ruth was already talking.

“I’ll clean it off. I wasn’t thinking. I guess I thought no one would see it. I’m the only one that comes back here. I….”

She stopped. Miss Lydia looked amused and patted her hand. “Ruth, I don’t care that you wrote on the wall. I care that you shouldn’t have had to. I can get you paper and ink to write with.”

Ruth let out a slow breath. “I’d like that very much. I ain’t sure why I got to write. It’s just something in me. I got to get it out. There is peace in getting the story outside of me.” It sounded crazy. She couldn’t expect for anyone to understand the strange thing that happened. How somehow writing those words was better than dreaming them.

Miss Lydia bobbed her curls as if they were talking about something as mundane as which dress she wanted for the day. “That’s because in your heart you are a writer. So am I.”

Ruth stilled. At what point would she stop being surprised at what this woman said? She sank down on the bed. “No. I ain’t. Maybe you could be if you really wanted to. But not me. It just ain’t meant to be.”

Lydia sat down stiffly next to her. Her gaze traveled across Ruth’s crude scratching.

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