Chapter Eighteen
“And every morning we would be up before the sun came over the hills.” Kenzi used a warm, wet washcloth to clean Hattie’s face before bed.
“In the dark?” Hattie asked, her nose wrinkled in distaste. She’d inherited her mother’s ability to sleep in past the rooster’s crow.
Kenzi tapped her chin, thinking back to those summers with Harrison. He was always hard to wake up, sleeping like a bear with his gangly arms and legs hanging off the twin mattress. Even so, he usually beat Kenzi down to breakfast. She’d make sure her hair was pulled back and her face washed.
One of the memories she cherished was of her mother using a warm washcloth towash the sleep right off her cheeksin the morning. When she had a bad day, she liked to wash her face and remember her mama’s soft blue eyes and gentle touch. Her voice, on the other hand, was laced with authority.
“The sun was awake but not up, so there was enough light to see by.” Kenzi pointed to her bed, and Hattie climbed in.
“Were you cold?”
“It was summer. And working in the morning was better than working in the middle of the day.”
“Why?”
“Because Harrison would get all sweaty and smell bad.”
Hiding her mouth behind her hand, Hattie giggled. “Boys are gross.”
“Yes, they are,” said Raquel from where she leaned against the doorway. “And don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t.” Hattie shook her head solemnly.
Kenzi turned her back on her sister. Dealing with the formidable tip to Raquel’s shoulders was too much for today. She still needed to check on Lunette. “Boys are gross when you’re little, but as they grow up, they’re not so bad.”
“Like Uncle Nash?”
Kenzi’s hand went to her chest to hear this little darling, whom she loved more than anyone, say Nash’s name with so much sweetness. “Do you like Uncle Nash?” She fidgeted with the blankets, tucking them under Hattie’s arms. Would he like being called Uncle Nash? Her eyes burned with unshed tears at the tender thought.
“He gave me a pig-back ride for my bird-day.”
“For your birthday?”
“Yep.”
“That was nice of him.”
Hattie’s lower lip pouted out. “Father didn’t want to pig-back with me.”
“Clyde was here?” Raquel entered the room and stared down at Kenzi sitting on the side of Hattie’s bed.
Kenzi held back her growl and focused on Hattie. “Your father is too proper for his own good.”
“I want a farm story.”
“Oh, you do?” She wracked her brain for a new story. “Okay, you’re going to get the bestest farm story I’ve got, because it’s your birthday and you’re three now.”
“I big.”
“The biggest niece I have.” Hattie grinned.
Raquel took up court in the rocking chair, crossing her perfect legs and resting her dainty hands in her lap.
“The summer I was fifteen, Mrs. Raymond had a vegetable garden. She spent hours weeding and watering and tending to the plants so they would grow nice and big.” She paused to gauge Hattie’s interest. So far so good. “She grew carrots this long.” She held her hands apart as if telling a fish story. “And there was so much zucchini we fed it to the pigs.”
Hattie giggled.
