At Every Turn Read Online Free PDF Page A

that do you for a few pretties?”
    President Grover Cleveland’s face stared up at me, Twenty Dollars inscribed beneath his name. “Actually, I need a bit more than that.”
    He chuckled and wagged his index finger at me. “I knew you’d catch on to your mother’s schemes one of these days.”
    Mother rolled her eyes and excused herself from the room as he picked up the money, slipped it back into his wallet, and returned the wallet to his pocket. “Just charge what you need. I’ll cover the bill.”
    I jumped from my seat, my hand restraining Mother’s exit. “Wait, Mother. You should hear this, too.”
    She stopped, returned to her chair, and pushed her half-empty plate toward the center of the table.
    I clasped my hands behind me. “It isn’t clothes, Father. Or anything like that.”
    His left eyebrow rose, giving his face a lopsided look. “Not tired of the Packard already, are you?”
    I shook my head.
    His eyebrows sank into a deep V. “Smashed it up, did you?”
    “Alyce!” Mother bolted upright.
    Father shook his head. “I always knew you would one day. Can’t drive as fast as you like to without losing control at some point.”
    “My Packard is fine. It’s just that I need . . .” My throat constricted around the largeness of the number. “I need three thousand dollars.”
    Mother gasped.
    “Three thousand dollars?” Father pulled the square of linen from its place in his collar. “What in heaven’s name for?”
    “Wait here. I’ll show you.” Before either could protest, I dashed up the stairs, grabbed the picture from my Bible, and scurried back to the dining room.
    I slapped it to the table. “There.”
    Both of my parents moved closer, peered down into the faces that lived vivid in my memory.
    “Why, they’re children.” Concern etched itself around Mother’s painted lips.
    “What does this mean, Ally?” Father’s grumble stirred the breakfast in my stomach once again.
    “A man and his wife who work in Africa came to our church yesterday. They live among the people in a place called the Gold Coast. In Africa. People with little to wear, little to eat.” I held my tongue before mentioning their need for Jesus. “I want to give three thousand dollars to help advance their work.”
    Silence.
    Mother dropped back into her chair. Father paced in front of the tall windows.
    “That charlatan Swan put you up to this.” Tight words, portending a storm of great force.
    I flinched but didn’t retreat. “No, sir. This was my idea.”
    He stopped pacing and faced me. “Well, it was a blame-fool one. I hear what you’re not saying, Ally. They’re over there touting religion to those unsuspecting people. I won’t be a party to it.” He stalked toward the door.
    I hurried after him. “But, Father, everyone’s expecting it.”
    He froze, then turned. “What do you mean everyone’s expecting it? Who thinks you have that kind of money?”
    “Everyone at church.” I moistened my lips. “I told them I’d give three thousand dollars to help fund the work.”
    “You did what?” His face turned the color of a ripe strawberry as his voice rose, the full fury of the storm lashing out. “Let me tell you, missy, not one cent of my hard-earned money is going toward this foolishness. Do you hear? If you’re so all-fired determined to participate in this scheme, you’ll have to scavenge for that money yourself. And don’t even think about wheedling it from your mother!”
    My mouth dropped open as he charged out of the room. Not since the day when Grandmother told him of my walk down the aisle at church had I seen him so angry.
    The front door slammed shut, tinkling the chandelier overhead. I sank back into my chair and groaned as Mother swished from the room after throwing me a disapproving look, but whether she resented my request or my making Father angry, I couldn’t tell.
    The silence made my thoughts loud. Where in the world would I find three thousand dollars? And how