Daisy jumped onto the bottom of the bed, sniffed my ankle, and rested her chin there. Shortly, the lil dog snugged up alongside me and lay her head on my belly.
Suddenly, I felt a weak flutter. Daisy jerked her head up, noticing it too. She peered down, tilting her face from side to side.
In awe, I pulled up the cotton gown and stared at the naked flesh on my belly, the babe stealing my heart.
Gently, Daisy poked and sniffed me, then flattened her chin atop my small, rounding belly.
I smiled, thinking of Junia. How the sweet beast always sponged up my worries.
Daisy looked up at me with big, doleful eyes. I ran my hands over her head, ruffling her furry face. She released her own sputtered worries in a long, bumpy sigh.
The baby was safe.
I needed to rest to keep us safe.
I sank deeper into the comfortable mattress, my breaths easy and relaxed for the first time in a long time. From the kitchen, I could hear the rise and fall of the Claxtons’ voices, reminding me of my parents and their nightly kitchen-table conversations, which would soothe and lull me to sleep when I was young.
Outside, the lilt of child-song carried down streets as tired mothers corralled their young’uns under starless city skies. Somewhere, the ribboned trill of a cricket protested, pulling me home toward the piney woods of Troublesome.
Wriggling my toes, I stretched under the scent of oily city breezes skittering across the washed cotton linens under my chin, a gentle nod culling my worries.
Weren’t long before the city noises cobbled across the final lullaby of a child’s laughter, lifting memories of Honey. Daisy’s snores climbed into the whirs of a tottering fan, and the fat, deep hours of sleep came calling.
Twenty-Five
Monday morning found Daisy sharing my pillow, whistling snores against the back of my head.
I carefully untangled a paw from my hair and moved her away as I sat up, trying to adjust to my new surroundings.
Mrs. Claxton cracked open the door. When she saw Daisy on the bed, she chided, “Law, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She won’t have a thing to do with any of my guests, and now look at her, cozying in your bed. Daisy.Daisy, get your hairy bottom down.Now.You have the rug over there. Stop being a pest.”
“Ma’am, I don’t mind. She’s good company.”
Daisy slunk off the covers and back over to her rug. She peered up at me and thumped her tail, an elvish grin stretching across her snaggletoothed mouth.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Mrs. Claxton invited. “I thought I’d let you sleep in on your first day.”
It was going on six thirty, and I couldn’t recall the last time I’d slept past four a.m. Feeling lazy, I guiltily hurried to dress.
At eight thirty, Mrs. Claxton brought in three bottles of milk and two loaves of bread left by the dairy and bread trucks before we headed for the library. “He forgot to take the empties again,” she said.
I stood at the front door, inspecting the empty glass bottlesshe’d left behind. I’d read about it many times, that you could get such riches delivered directly to city doors, but seeing it actually happen on Mrs. Claxton’s porch was a wonderment that left me dumbfounded.
In the hot days of summer, the milk would be curdled and bread moldy before they ever found my cabin door in Troublesome Creek or our home in Thousandsticks. I scooped up her newspaper and followed her back inside.
“We’ll walk to the library today,” Mrs. Claxton said as she grabbed a brown sack and her shiny, bulky pocketbook, then stepped outside. “It’s only a little over two miles, and the fresh air will do us both good.”
Several times, I gawked at the folks bustling to and fro on the sidewalks in their business suits and stylish dresses. Boxy city buses whizzed past, crowded in between the blaring horns of black automobiles with their sloped tails and sleek, long-nosed bonnets sporting polished ornaments.
Mrs. Claxton led us west on East Washington, stopping to call out each street name. “Cussy, we’re going to slip onto Hancock and then over to Main. Then down Liberty and over to Ninth Street, where we’ll jump over to Tenth. Remember, the library’s address is on South Tenth Street—604 South Tenth, to be exact. Okay? I want you to learn the way in case I’m not here or you get lost.”
I turned the directions over in my mind, stopping to look up at the street sign at each crossing. “All those names. Never seen so many streets in my life, Mrs. Claxton. Why, it’s a wonder anyone ever makes it anywhere in this big maze.”
When I stepped down off the curb, she yanked me back just as an automobile blasted its horn and whizzed past.
“Chile,alwayslook up and down the street for vehicles before crossing. You almost gave me a heart attack.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
The July heat and fuel mingled with smoking factories, businesses, and people scurrying with the energy of panther beestwitching for their next meal. More than once, I stopped to stare up at the tall brick buildings soldiered above us. Many times, I jumped at a blaring horn.
