A Land More Kind Than Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

about.” But I already knew what kinds of things men like my daddy talked about. They talked about burley tobacco and farming and other men they knew who got new cars or new girlfriends or whose wives had got sick and died without nobody expecting it. I couldn’t figure out what was so special about that kind of talk that made it something me and Stump couldn’t hear. I wanted to tell her that all Daddy talked about was the kind of stuff folks talk about while they’re working or while they’re sitting around and visiting. Only thing she ever talked about was God and Jesus and Pastor Chambliss and what all they had going on down at the church. Sometimes I wanted to say, “If it’s so great down there, then why can’t you get Daddy to go with you?” and “If it’s so wonderful, then why can’t me and Stump go inside too?” I wanted to tell her that I got tired of hearing about that kind of stuff, but I didn’t say nothing about what I thought because I didn’t want her getting out that belt and whipping me again.
    Joe Bill reached out and punched me in the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “You ain’t being a sissy, are you?”
    â€œYou go on up there,” I told him. “You’re the one that wanted to come up here so bad, and I ain’t letting you get me in trouble. They’re going to be getting out here pretty soon, and my mom will have a fit if she catches me spying.”
    â€œIt ain’t even close to noon yet,” Joe Bill said. “On Sundays they don’t even let out until one. It’s going to be a while. Besides, it ain’t really spying anyway. I bet she would’ve let you go inside with Stump if you’d have asked. It ain’t wrong to look in there just because you didn’t ask.”
    â€œThey didn’t ask me either,” I said. “Mr. Thompson came down and got Stump, not me.” But even as I said that, I was glad Mr. Thompson hadn’t come down to the river looking for me. I didn’t want him holding my hand and leading me across the road to the church like he did with Stump. He was old and bald except where he had pale yellow hair sticking out from behind his ears. It was the color of dead grass, and his face and his arms and hands were covered in dark brown spots that looked like big freckles. His old yellow eyeballs were always wet, and they looked too big for his head, like they might just pop out on you any second. That morning, when Mr. Thompson reached for him, Stump put his hand behind his back and got up close to me. Even Miss Lyle made a face like she didn’t want Mr. Thompson touching Stump.
    â€œCome on, Christopher,” Mr. Thompson said. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve come down here to tell you that today’s your special day. We want you to worship with us this morning.” His breath smelled like Stump’s and my clothes after we played outside during the wintertime.
    â€œWhy is it his special day?” Joe Bill asked.
    â€œBecause,” Mr. Thompson said, “the Lord’s called him.” He went to take Stump’s hand, but Stump wouldn’t let him touch it. He’d closed his fingers around something and made a fist and he wouldn’t open them. “What’s he got?” Mr. Thompson asked. I looked at Stump.
    â€œLet me see your hand,” I said. Stump put his hand behind his back again and stood there looking toward the river like he couldn’t hear me. “Stump,” I said, “let me see what you’ve got.” He finally opened his hand, and when he did I saw that he’d picked up a little piece of quartz that he must’ve found while we were down at the river skipping rocks with Joe Bill. He was always doing that, picking up shiny rocks and keeping them in his pockets until we got home. We had a whole shelf in our room where we kept the rocks we collected. We even had us a big