Daisy Lane Read Online Free PDF

back on his bike, and said, “See ya later.”
    He had to stand up to pump the pedals hard enough to ascend the steep grade of Pine Mountain Road.
    When Grace got home she pulled the wagon around the side of the house and took the cash envelope into the second greenhouse. Her grandfather opened the envelope, took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Grace. He seemed neither pleased nor displeased at the number of twenties that were left in the envelope.
    “Matt said it was a good week,” Grace said.
    “You want more money?” he said. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
    “No, sir,” Grace said.
    “Well, keep your tongue in your head,” he said. “No one cares what you think.”
    “I turn sixteen next week,” Grace said. “Matt offered me a job.”
    “No,” her grandfather said. “I won’t have you consorting with tourists and college students. I know how the world is and you’re better off out of it than in it.”
    “I was just thinking it would be nice to have the extra money,” she said.
    “For alcohol and drugs, you mean,” he said. “You are your mother’s child.”
    “I need some clothes,” Grace said. “Some shoes.”
    She looked down at her sneakers, which cramped her toes and had a hole in the sole that kept her socks perpetually soggy. The laces had broken and been re-tied so many times there were more knots than string.
    “If anyone deserves new shoes it’s me,” Grandpa said. “Who does all the work that keeps a roof over your head and food on the table? I’m not paying for you to dress up like a whore and get yourself in trouble.”
    “I don’t want to do that,” Grace said. “I want to save money for college.”
    “College?” he said. “Talk about a useless waste of money.”
    “But I think …” Grace said before he cut her off.
    “What did I just tell you about saying what you’re thinking?” he said. “I forbid it and that’s all that needs said.”
    Grace took the wagon around the back of the house and stowed it under the steps. She carried the bag of groceries into the cold house, through the kitchen into the pantry, where she could unpack it without Grandpa watching her. In the bag were dented cans of vegetables and soups, open boxes of soda crackers, rice, oatmeal, and macaroni. Tucked away at the bottom of the box were six instant cocoa packets which were neither dented nor opened. Matt always included a treat, which she hid in a drawer under some tattered dish towels. If it weren’t for Matt’s contributions Grace didn’t know how she could feed herself and her grandfather on the twenty dollar weekly budget he allotted.
    Grace got started on her Saturday chores, which included sweeping and mopping the rooms on the first floor. Grandpa only allowed hot water for baths on Sundays, so she had to boil the water to get it hot enough to clean. The sharp-smelling mixture of borax powder, vinegar, and baking soda reminded Grace of her grandmother, who had taught her everything she knew about housekeeping. The best part about cleaning was the feeling of hot water on her hands. The worst part was waiting for Grandpa to find fault with everything she did.
    By lunchtime the kitchen floor was dry so that she could make a meal for her grandfather. He never commented on what she cooked, only noisily ate whatever was provided after a long, verbal prostration to God that he wasn’t worthy of the crumbs under His table. Meanwhile Grace hovered in the doorway to the pantry in case he wanted more, which he rarely did. Afterward, he left his dishes on the table and returned to his work without a word of thanks.
    Grace waited until he returned to the greenhouses before she ate her lunch. She knew from health class that she needed protein to grow, and because she had a vested interest in not always being the smallest person in her class, Grace ate a lot of peanut butter. She heated up some milk from the small cartons she had dug out of the trash cans behind the