Palmetto Moon Read Online Free PDF

pattern with plump cherubs, and I’m certain Miss Mamie was not the decorator. But if she wasn’t, who was? When I sit up on the edge of the bed, the mattress dips into the slats that are too far apart. I run my hand over the small bedside table that smells sweet, almost like bourbon, and open the drawers. There’s nothing but a dark brown stain, most likely evidence of how the last poor boarder survived, or the reason they were expelled.
    A rickety-looking basin stand is beside the window with two threadbare towels folded over the spindle railing. My old suitcase sits on the luggage rack, a reminder of my old life and Rosa Lee and Desmond’s sacrifice. I’m sure when my absence was discovered, they were lined up with the rest of the staff and interrogated, but if anyone had looked on the Harrington chest in the foyer, they’d have seen the note I’d debated leaving. It was short, but not because I didn’t have time. I’d written it weeks earlier and stashed it in the pocket of my Sears dress. A lengthy explanation would have been a waste of ink and paper.
    Dear Mother and Father,
    I cannot live in the world you’ve planned for me, and regret circumstances have forced me to leave. Do not worry about me. As you’ve so often reminded me, I’m a Hadley. I will make my mark on the world.
    Love, Vada.
    It’s hard not to think about Darby, what leaving must have been like for her. Did Mrs. O’Doul pack her suitcase like Rosa Lee packed mine? Did she hold Darby close and tell her she loved her before she sent her away? Did Darby land someplace dreadful, or was she too heartbroken over what happened with Mr. McCrady to even notice? No. Darby is too Irish not to land on her feet, and too brave not to grab life by the scruff of the neck and shake it until she gets what she wants.
    The latches on the suitcase don’t stick this time, and seven dresses rise and expand like fat colorful loaves. The modest chifforobe has the appearance of a pine coffin stood on end and only has four hangers. I loop two sleeveless dresses on each hanger. The tags scream the names I’ve grown to love but will never be able to afford in my new life. Dior, Chanel, Nina Ricci. My thumb skims across the large showy Hardy Amies label before I rummage through the contents of my makeup bag to find the cuticle scissors. My hands shake as my finger slips under the satin squares.
    Knowing Darby is out there somewhere and she’s made a brave new life for herself makes me believe I can do it, too. I snip away the small neat stitches that anchor tags to dresses that are so beautiful, they used to make my heart ache. The excitement buzzes in my chest and grows a little stronger as each tag falls onto the scarred pine floor. I keep at it until I’ve cut away my past for good.

• Chapter Three •

    Frank Darling moves slower than a two-legged coon dog on a Monday morning. It doesn’t matter that it is Monday, lately his days at the Sit Down Diner are all the same. He knows the feeling comes from the thud in his gut that came when he had to turn tail and come back to Round O, something he swore he’d never do.
    When he turned eighteen, he tried to join the Navy to see the world. That was just before the war began, and with no boogiemen like Hitler and Mussolini trying to take over the world, there wasn’t a really high demand for soldiers, but he joined anyway.
    The Navy said he had a weak heart, a murmur. Nothing to worry about, the moonfaced nurse had promised as she stamped his file with thick black ink. REJECTED . His next physical, he coughed like he had the pleurisy and not just when he was supposed to. But the Marines, the Army, and the Air Force were all wise to that trick. Even the Coast Guard passed on him.
    He was so torn up after that, he did the only thing he could do and came back to Round O. That was ten years ago, and ever since, Frank believes he can hear his defect mocking him. It happens on days like today, when there’s a little