Where Southern Cross the Dog

Where Southern Cross the Dog Read Free Page B

Book: Where Southern Cross the Dog Read Free
Author: Allen Whitley
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forward to explaining this new development to Judge Bertram Long, the sitting county judge.
    Collins reached inside his vehicle for the radio. “Yes, Sheriff,” said the dispatcher on the other end of the radio.
    â€œSend out the body buggy. I got someone needs a ride.”

CHAPTER 3
    When you get to Clarksdale.
    â€”Muddy Waters
    TRAVIS WAS AWAKE LONG BEFORE THE COFFEE’S AROMA wafted upstairs. The groans and rumblings of the trucks headed to the cotton fields and the wagons hauling cotton to the gins had started shortly after dawn, rousing him from a deep and satisfying sleep. But he hadn’t gotten up. Now, however, he could smell bacon, eggs, potatoes, coffee, and biscuits. He lay in his bed, enjoying visions of breakfast the way he used to daydream under the magnolia in the backyard. Then he heard his sister Rachel tiptoeing down the hall. Her footsteps slowed, and he sensed her arm rearing back with a tight fist. Three loud bangs on his door shattered the silence.
    â€œBreakfast is ready!” Rachel yelled. “Hurry up before it gets cold!”
    Travis smiled, pleased that he was already getting to her so early in the day. “Thanks, Sissy,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
    Plopping his feet on the floor, Travis got out of bed and pulled on a white robe. He looked at himself in the mirror above his chest of drawers. His dark eyes stared back as he picked up a brush and pushed his thick brown hair back to the right, keeping a crooked but discernible part on the left. His walk yesterday had left a touch of sunburn on his forehead and nose, but in a day or two, the red would turn a deep brown like it always did.
    He headed downstairs, smiling again as he listened to his mother ask Rachel, as she had for years, to please knock quietly on Travis’s door the next time. Rachel was already at the table, picking through her eggs and fried potatoes while the radio played softly in the background.
    â€œAnd that was ‘Deep in a Dream,’ by Artie Shaw,” the radio announcer said. “That song is sure to be one of the most popular hits of 1938. It’s been one of our favorites, and our listeners’ too, for over eighteen weeks now. We’ll be back in a moment.”
    â€œGood morning, Mom,” Travis said, leaning down and lightly kissing his mother on the cheek as she stood in front of the stove.
    Margaret gently pushed back her curly auburn hair from the sides of her face so she could see her son’s face better. “Glad you’re home safely.”
    â€œGot your favorite radio station on?” Travis said.
    â€œOf course,” she smiled, setting a plate down at Travis’s usual spot, then wiping her hands on the beige apron that covered her maroon dress.
    â€œMorning, Rache,” Travis said as he sat down. His sister cut him off with a glance, and he turned his attention to the breakfast before him. He sized it up, deciding what to sample first. He took a sip of his coffee, and then broke a perfect, glistening egg yolk with his fork.
    Travis looked up from his plate at Rachel. She was fifteen, no longer the childish girl he once knew. Even as she glared at him, her green eyes and jet-black hair were almost magical. Her complexion was a nutty brown that radiated, as it always did, from the first days of summer until almost Christmas.
    The clothes she wore were in no way provocative—Travis’s parents would have none of that—but they hung on her in a way that hinted at her athleticism, confidence, and femininity. The day Travis would have to scare off countless unacceptable suitors was approaching. Shortly, his sister would be a woman of the South. Not a belle, but a woman. She could cook, tend house, mix drinks, and do everything her mother could. Well, almost. Her cooking skills needed a little fine-tuning, but not much.
    Travis mused about Rachel in silence. It wasn’t that Travis and Rachel didn’t get

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