The Last Stand of Daronwy Read Free Page A

Oldsmobile, in clean jeans and a different T-shirt but the same mud-splattered jean jacket. The sun was setting on his last day of freedom, transforming the clouds in the wide Texas sky into violet and golden swirls. Country music streamed through the radio as his father drove toward the Rainbow Bridge, a marvel of WPA engineering, and the tallest bridge in the South for a time. The bridge towered over the wide mouth of the Neches where it emptied its load of chemicals, oil, and silt into Sabine Lake, the final stop before reaching the Gulf of Mexico. On their right was the first port, a sprawling Texaco refinery. Orange tongues of flame danced atop flares, licking the underbellies of clouds as they floated over the cracking units and cooling towers. The amber halogens that covered the refinery were just beginning to wink on. Farther upriver, the port of Beaumont was barely visible, silhouetted against the setting sun. Atop the bridge, they passed through a choking cloud that smelled of rotten eggs, but no one in the car commented. It passed as quickly as it had come.
    Jeremy’s great-grandmother lived in a small clapboard farmhouse that had neither air conditioning nor heat. On cool winter days like this, she would light her gas-powered space heater. Jeremy wanted to believe that it really had come from space. About the size of R2D2, the heater had the rectangular shape of a prototype droid. The menacing blue flames inside it looked like a jagged row of teeth, and the orange plumes licked over them like a capricious snake tongue.
    She was a small woman with curly, gray-streaked black hair that she kept trimmed short. They had arrived with fried chicken from Church’s, and she made dirty rice for Jeremy and homemade macaroni for Rosalyn. The moment they stepped inside, aromas of food mixed with the musk of the turn-of-the-century house, and Jeremy’s stomach growled.
    Falling in and out of Cajun French, Grandma and his parents talked about people he didn’t know. They spoke of who was doing well and who had cancer now. Grandma knew everyone in Texas and Louisiana and how all of them were related to their family. When he was excused, Jeremy went into the front room. Crochet projects covered the couch. Since the couch doubled as a giant pincushion, he sat on the floor as he flipped on the television to watch Knight Rider .
    Instead, he saw a giant tree fall across the screen. The mosquito song of chain saws blared through the tinny speakers. Jeremy took a step back from the TV to see clearly. People stood in a giant version of Twin Hills, cutting trees down and setting them on fire. Where was this ? Rosalyn whined about something. Jeremy clenched his hands into fists and tuned her out. Where was this happening ? The newscaster was saying something about farming, about progress, but nothing, absolutely nothing, about where this was happening.
    â€œJeremy, I want to watch cartoons!” Rosalyn reached for the knob on the TV.
    â€œNo!” He pushed her, but she pushed him back. Jeremy caught himself on the edge of the TV as the newscaster said, “reporting from Brazil.” Brazil was a long way away.
    â€œJeremiah Trahan!” He glanced up at his dad. “Apologize to your sister.”
    â€œSorry.”
    A triumphant grin spread across Rosalyn’s face. She loved to get him in trouble.
    â€œRosalyn, there aren’t any cartoons on Sunday night. Jeremy, Knight Rider is on channel six. Can the two of you manage not to kill each other while we help Grandma with the dishes?”
    â€œYes, sir,” they said in unison.

    â€œAre you ready for school tomorrow, mon cher ?”
    Jeremy turned away from the TV at the sound of Grandma’s voice and found her sitting on the couch. She wove a crochet needle like a frantic moth dancing around a light bulb. The pink needle darted in and out, making knot after knot, but her eyes never left his. “No, ma’am. I hate