Icy Sparks Read Online Free PDF Page A

not,” I said.
    â€œMrs. Possum, would you care for a cup of tea?” she asked, turning her head in the possum’s direction.
    â€œA cup of cream only,” Mrs. Possum said in a high-pitched voice. “I don’t imbibe in caffeine when I’m nursing. And three tea cakes—please—that is, if you’ve enough.”
    â€œCream is good for a nursing mother,” Miss Emily explained, looking at me.
    â€œThat’s what Miss Gigi said,” I answered, staring back at her, trying to trick and confuse her, wanting to catch her when she threw her voice.
    â€œMiss Gigi?” Miss Emily said, suddenly twisting her neck. “Would you like a cup of tea? After all, you’re not a nursing mother.”
    â€œOui, oui,” Miss Gigi purred. “I adore the full-flavored taste of tea, with just a hint of lemon.” Speaking with a thick French accent, in a smug, self-congratulatory voice, she added, “But I hate children, especially babies.”
    â€œA tea cake?” Miss Emily asked, reaching over, holding up the tray.
    â€œSee this slim figure?” Miss Gigi hummed. “I didn’t get it from eating three tea cakes.”
    â€œSo what?” Mrs. Possum snarled from the other end of the table. “You got only your prissy body, no man and no kids.”
    â€œNo babies stealing my strength,” Miss Gigi seethed. “No babies leeching from my belly.”
    â€œBabies don’t leech!” Mrs. Possum growled. “Babies suckle down nourishment.”
    â€œYour babies leech,” Miss Gigi shot back. “They’re parasites, drinking down the vermin you eat.”
    â€œI’m warning you!” Mrs. Possum screamed. “Shut that arrogant French trap of yours or I’ll…”
    â€œYou’ll what?” Miss Gigi said softly. “Use your brats as switches and whip me till I’m quiet?”
    Miss Emily held up both hands. “No more sniping,” she commanded. “This is a tea party, not a prizefight.” Then, leaning over the table, she asked, “Icy Gal, do you like the tea cakes?”
    I nodded, bit into my fourth, and—with a full mouth—said, “Especially these little black things.”
    â€œPoppy seeds,” Miss Emily explained. “They’re little poppy seeds.”
    Picking one from off my lip, I stared at it on my finger and praised, “They sure are good,” as I licked it off.
    Miss Emily smiled, stretched herself far over the table, and raised up the silver bowl piled high with taffy. “My pièce de résistance,” she announced. “Icy Gal, will you join me?”
    My grin traveled the width of my face. Wanting Miss Emily to see it, I held it until she set the bowl down. Then, not saying a word, I grabbed a handful of pull candy, slipped a glob between my lips, elongated and smoothed it out, and delicately placed the other end between Miss Emily’s thin lips. Simultaneously, we both leaned back and watched the taffy grow into a lean, flexible cord connecting the two of us. After which we slowly ate our way forward, coming closer and closer, biting off mouthfuls until we touched noses. Our eyes met, declared love, and we both clamped down, breaking the cord, and swallowed our lumps of taffy.
    And although I had not mentioned a word about the jerks and eye pops, I understood, right then and there, that in her heart Miss Emily knew. She was simply waiting for me to tell her.

Chapter 3
    T he three of us were working in the vegetable garden, a rich patch of ground to the left of the house. Even though it was late afternoon, the sun was still bright in the sky. Years before, my grandparents had cultivated a large garden, at least half an acre, but as they grew older, they decided to make it smaller. “’Twas too much work before,” Patanni said, leaning over, holding the hoe with one hand, with the other ripping out a cluster of weeds