Walking Through Shadows Read Free Page A

fried chicken, and I always got more toys for Christmas and birthdays than my cousins who had to share Santa’s bounty. But I was lonely most of the time, especially during the long summer vacations, and so when Lil’ Bit came, I was his most ardent fan.
    As if reading my mind (Was she going to turn out to be supernatural like my mother?), Sheila said, “Your little brother sure is sweet. How old is he?”
    “Nearly six months, but…” I was going to explain that Lil’ Bit wasn’t actually my brother by blood, but decided that would turn into a long story and I had lots of questions jumbled around in my head. “So what’s gonna be your job at the dairy?” I pictured her in boots, shoveling oats into troughs.
    “Cleaning mostly. Washing milk bottles, the floor, whatever needs a good scrub. Your daddy says the men ain’t good at woman’s work, and you got to be careful with the milk ’cause of bacteria. I think that’s like a disease you can get.”
    “You’re the first woman Daddy’s ever hired,” I said, hoping she realized the significance of this fact and would work hard to please him so I could keep my new Best Friend.
    She stopped, belongings in mid-air. “That so? I didn’t think about being the first one. Mrs. Bell, she’s the lady at church who told your mama’s friend about me, all’s she said was she was maybe gonna find something for me to help out.” Leaning over, she pushed her bag against the foot of the bed, then straightened the sheet and white chenille spread Mama had given her. She took a step back, an admiring smile on her face. “Oh, this is just wonderful. Don’t it look nice?”
    I disagreed, but I smiled back and shook my head yes. I was burning to know more about that family of hers but I knew it was impolite to ask personal questions of someone you’d only known a few hours. But it was nearly eight o’clock and the sun had turned the light in the room to cotton candy pink, and I decided at that moment that it was best to begin our friendship without rules. “Is the bruise on your arm why you came?” I was nearly whispering, frightened she would be mad at my audacity, which Mama said was unbecoming in a lady.
    Sheila looked surprised, not by the question, but by the bruise itself as she raised her forearm and looked at the dark blue finger marks. “Oh that! Oh, no, that’s just where my papa grabbed me. I broke the slop jar.” She wrinkled her nose. “Whew, it were one big mess. I was taking it out and banged it on the wall and it spilled all out. Papa come in the room just then and law law you should of heared the hollering. He slapped me good too.” A frightened, tight look came over her face as her jaws locked for a moment and her eyes opened wider. “I ain’t too clumsy though. I ain’t gonna break no milk bottles. I’m gonna be extra extra careful.”
    “Daddy wouldn’t hit you for breaking something,” I said, wondering if this were true. “Least he hasn’t ever hit me, unless you count a regular whipping for big punishments. Even then, he doesn’t hit you hard.”
    Sheila shook her head. “My papa says ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ least once a day, and me being the leastest smart of his young’ns, I reckon there wasn’t never a chance I’d be spoilt.”
    I ducked my head, supposing she was thinking I was one of those rotten kids who always gets their way. “Well, guess I’d better go.” I didn’t move, hoping for something from her although I had no idea what.
    “Yeah, I better get to bed. Mr. Cotton said milking starts at two o’clock in the morning, and I’m supposed to be there at four o’clock sharp. Oh!” She reached beneath the pillow and brought out the wind-up alarm clock Mama had loaned her. “Better set this for quarter to.”
    Still I waited for more as I watched her struggle with the brass key. I breathed in the scent of the sooty walls, the residue of the bodies that had hung from the large rusting hooks above our