One Night in Sixes (The Children of the Drought Book 1) by Arianne 'Tex' Thompson

Author:Arianne 'Tex' Thompson [Thompson, Arianne 'Tex']
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Solaris
Published: 2014-07-19T22:00:00+00:00

AS STORES WENT, Halfwick Wholesale was a fine one. You could buy all the usual dry goods and durables, send your mail, and look through the catalogs they kept at the counter. But the real gem, the hidden treasure of Hell’s Acre, was in the back room, where Nillie – who had by far the strongest talent of the three – would freeze anything of yours as long as it was wet, and make ice that Will sold for three cents a bag.

Elim lusted to have her there with him now, to have her reach up and comb through his wet hair with her pale fingers until it turned cold and stiff and made ice water run over his scalp. And he wanted her to do as Lady Jane did the first Sunday of every month, after he’d had his bath and knelt down in front of her chair, and before she cut his hair she would put her fingers through it and massage his scalp until everything in his whole body went slack, and all his senses were swallowed up by the gentle kneading of her fingers and the clean linen smell of her dress.

But they were miles and days away, and the one lady left to Elim had nothing to comfort his headache.

“I did,” he said wearily. He stared down at the handprint burned into his chest, feeling the dirt between his bare toes, and knew the Sibyl was closing in on him. “Everything I might’ve done wrong and how I’m sorry for it and everybody that might’ve done me wrong and how I don’t blame them for it and everything I have and how I’m thankful for it. I done and said it all – there ain’t anything left.” Elim stared at the sprinkling of brown hairs in the dirt around his feet. Leave it to Molly to make him a rosary from her summer coat.

Día gave him another drink. “Then you have done all you can. Is that no comfort to you?”

No, it wasn’t. Getting down would have been a comfort, and a mercy. Going home would have been a comfort and a mercy and a signed guarantee of his forgiveness. Hanging here heathen-marked and baking to death just proved that Elim’s oldest fear was justified: that although by grace of God he had been picked up out of bastardy to enjoy a privileged life, had eaten at table and had presents at First Night and been groomed and tutored and doctored and loved, that this love was at last conditional, and that having failed Him once, he had now been stripped of all blessings, and left to the fate of a common mule.

Elim closed his eyes. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

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