Brave Enemies Read Free Page B

his boot again and squashed the pieces so blood ran out and guts, and the feet looked like little wings mashed into the dirt.
    â€œLet that be a lesson, Josie,” Mr. Griffin said. “Can’t nothing hide in this world.”
    And then he would tell me to clean up the mess he’d made. He’d grind his heel in the dirt to get the blood off, slap his pants, and walk away.
    I would take a spade and scoop up the bloody pieces and throw them out back where the chickens would peck them clean. The backyard was littered with pieces of bleached terrapin shell.
    When Mama married Mr. Griffin I was just a girl without any bosoms. I fed the chickens and ran in the woods till I was out of breath. I was a silly girl that wanted a daddy in the house almost as much as Mama wanted a husband. My real daddy had died of the fever when I was nine and Mama and I had been alone in the house in the woods north of Charlotte until Mr. Griffin came.
    A woman and a girl can’t keep a place, even if they work like Trojans. There’s too much chopping and sawing and lifting that has to be done. Somebody has to hitch up the horse and plow, and somebody has to pull out stumps, and somebody has to kill hogs. Mama was afraid of strangers, but she hired a man when she could, though he always left. She couldn’t afford a servant.
    It seemed the most wonderful thing when Mr. Griffin came. He showed up as a peddler, and he stayed to dinner, and he stayed the evening to fix Mama’s clock that had stopped. And after that he came back several times, and then Mama married him.
    â€œJosie, we’re going to be a true good family,” he said, and took me on his knee. I hadn’t sat on a man’s knee since Daddy died, and I felt happy and safe to be held by big strong arms and hands that brushed across my chest.
    â€œJosie, you’re going to be me own true love,” Mr. Griffin said, and kissed me on the forehead.
    But Mr. Griffin made me work harder than Mama had. He said a young lady should not be spoiled. A country lass could not be dainty. He made me milk the cow and strain the milk. He made me carry corn and water for the horse. He made me clear out the stall with the wooden fork and tote water from the spring.
    â€œWe must all do our share to help your darling mother,” Mr. Griffin said. He said it while he sat on the porch smoking his pipe. Or he said it while he sat on the bank watching the cow graze in the weeds by the branch. He said it while he leaned on the milk gap and I carried leaves to spread in the cow stall.
    â€œThe Lord has put us here to earn our keep by the sweat of our brow,” Mr. Griffin said.
    Mama was so happy to have a man in the house and in her bed she would not disagree with him about a thing. She was afraid, and she believed her duty was to obey. She believed a woman just had to keep her mouth shut. When I argued with Mr. Griffin and he raised his voice, she pulled herself into a shell just like a terrapin. She hunkered down in a corner and wouldn’t say a thing. Even if she didn’t take his side in a quarrel, she never took mine either.
    My first bad quarrel with Mr. Griffin came when I was fifteen. I was beginning to have a woman’s shape by then and Mr. Griffin fastened his eyes on me when I was alone. He followed me with his eyes and ran his eyes up and down my bosoms in a way that scared me. When I was bathing he came into the room and then lingered as he excused himself.
    â€œMe and you don’t have to fuss,” he said one day when he caught me in the corner of the bedroom where I was making their bed. I tried to turn away and duck under his arm.
    â€œI’m the best friend you’ll ever find,” he said. He smelled like tobacco smoke gone sour. Before I thought, before I could stop myself, I kickedhim hard in the ankle. It just happened that Mama walked into the bedroom at that instant and saw me do it.
    I kicked Mr. Griffin so hard he