Dear Austin Read Online Free PDF Page B

teased.
    But Darcy didn't pay him any mind. She was beaming with pride when Miss Amelia came out with the molasses and told her how becoming she looked in yellow.

    “It's mah favorite color,” Darcy admitted, “same as buttercups. I fixed myself up special on account of I'm going to pay a visit to mah friend Neddy, -who's feeling poorly with de whooping cough.” She leaned over to show us the little bunch of buttercups she had pinned to the frayed collar of her -worn blue dress.
    Jupiter, Possum, and I just shrugged, not being too impressed with buttercups. Miss Amelia smiled and went back into the house. Darcy stood talking about buttercups and telling us how she was going to pick a bunch for Neddy.
    “Why is it that people always bring flowers when a body takes sick?” Possum asked as he nudged one of the worms with his finger.
    “Or -when a body dies,” I said, looking over at Jupiter, who was lying on his back playing dead.
    “‘Cause buttercups always cheer a body up,” Darcy replied, giving her brother a poke.
    “Not a dead body,” I told her.
    “I'd think a licorice stick could cheer up a live body more than some old buttercups,” Possum said.
    Darcy frowned. “I reckon Neddy would bepleased to git a stick of licorice, but I don't have de penny to buy it with.”
    “Maybeyou could give her something else,” I said.
    Darcy twisted her torn ribbons as she tried to think.
    Jupiter sat up and put his fingers over Darcy's throat. It's what he does when he wants to hear a song.
    “Jupiter's right,” I said. “Why don't you sing Neddy one of your songs?”
    “But she's heard all I know,” Darcy moaned.
    I supposed she was right. Hearing an old song wouldn't be as special as hearing one brand new. We all hung around the porch pondering the situation, when suddenly I had an idea. “Why don't you come on over to Mrs. Simpson's this afternoon around three o'clock? Henry Fenton plays all kinds of tunes on his fiddle for our dancing lessons. All you have to do is sit outside Mrs. Simpson's window and listen. You could make up your own words and even put Neddy in the song if you like.”
    We all agreed that this was a good idea, andDarcy thanked me and said she would be by. So that afternoon, while Margaret Podorsky and I were waltzing beside Mrs. Simpson's window, I heard a familiar voice singing outside.
    Mrs. Simpson heard it too, and she stuck her head out the window to find Darcy Nightingale and her friend Etta May singing along with the music, making up the words as they went.
    “Be off with you now! Scat!” Mrs. Simpson snapped as she slammed the window shut. You would have thought she was shooing away a couple of cats. Darcy and Etta May took off running, but later on when Henry was playing the last reel, I spied a headful of yellow ribbons back under the other window that was still open.
    Mrs. Simpson didn't slam the window shut this time but rather went tearing for the door instead. I tried to warn Darcy, but it was too late, for Mrs. Simpson had gotten ahold of her arm. Etta May was lucky enough to get away and took off running down the street. Henry stopped playing, and we all stood frozen at the open window, watching.
    “This is a respectable house,” Mrs. Simpson fumed as she shook Darcy's arm.
    “I didn't mean no harm,” Darcy tried to explain.
    “The harm is that you are here at all,” Mrs. Simpson told her. “Why, I can't have a pack of pickaninnies hanging around, or proper folks wouldn't let their children come for lessons. So don't let me find you under my windows again. You keep yourself and your kind away from decent folks, or you'll find yourself singing in a cotton field under the shadow of a cat-o-nine-tails, where you belong…”
    Mrs. Simpson went on railing, but I couldn't hear any more of the hateful words she was spitting out. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart as I watched the tears well up in Darcy's eyes. She took notice of me then and dropped her head.