Sweet Song Read Online Free PDF Page A

flowing water, hearing it louder and louder in his ears. He became the spring scent on the wind, the odor thickening inside his lungs. Stepping blank-faced and steady behind a long row of blacks, he became the woods and the field, the shadow and light of himself building in contrasts his eyes were unaccustomed to.
    Soon a hawk-call broke his meditation. He stood on the ridge overlooking the valley, spring-brown creekwater throwing itself Southeast, completely unaware of the dead body poised over the dark cavern of a grave high on the hill.
    Leon stopped in the back of the crowd. He watched the grass, its green tips rising toward the sun.
    A preacher read from the Bible. Near the edge of the crowd, Hank and Earl poked at each other. Hillary came around toreprimand them. Light glistened from her eyes as she turned in the morning sun.
    Leon was surprised to see her so emotional about her mother’s death. She seldom had a kind word to say about Mona. She told Leon once that she thought her mother had given up.
    Her dress was clean and fit tightly to her skin, a Sunday dress she had outgrown awhile ago.
    Mr. Carpenter kept silent, staring down at the pine box all the while the preacher talked.
    Hillary made her way toward Leon. “Hi,” she said, standing next to him.
    Martha glared at Leon.
    “You should be with your pa,” he whispered.
    “He needs to be alone.”
    “I reckon.”
    Martha shook her head at the two of them. A cautionary reprimand.
    Hillary leaned into Leon and spoke into his ear. She smelled clean and good. “Meet me at the creek flat,” she said. “After.”
    They had met at what they called the creek flat on many occasions. That’s where Leon had learned to read in the late evening, near sunset, in the summers. Usually they met at the creek flat for half an hour or so. It was his favorite place to read, the sound of water in the background, an occasional birdcall.
    The creek ran high and the flat—a stony and gravelly area near a bend in the flow—was smaller than during the summer months. Only one creek flat developed close enough to their homes, much of the rest of the creek banks were either deep drop-offs or swampy, depending on where the creek cut through the land. The mud and swamp areas were shallow with broken branches of the creek meandering, making a wide sweep into the valley. Little islands of green, frog-filled areas rose and sank each year as spring flooding of the valley altered the creek’s flow toward the Susquahanna River.
    Leon clenched his jaw without answering. To meet at the creek flat during the day would be a treat. He knew work would carry on later in the day, but by the time everyone slowly made their wayback to their shacks, he and Hillary could meet, read, and he could run back home, hardly missed.
    Martha glanced back, disapproval shadowing her face. Leon knew that Hillary shouldn’t be so bold as to talk with him in front of everyone. He figured that everyone knew or thought they knew about him and Hillary. Leon had heard things said. He had heard different folks questioning his new speech, the ‘proper language’ they called it. He even tried to speak one way when people were listening and totally different when Hillary and he were alone together.
    Leon recognized very well what language was proper and what wasn’t, and it occurred to him that the difference usually meant saying the whole sound of a word instead of clipping it off at the end. That and sometimes the order in which the words came from your mouth made all the difference. He had learned, from Hillary’s continual scolding, to dislike the way most people spoke, including Hank and Earl who had no regard for learning.
    Excited about the possibility of reading something new at the creek flat, and in bright daylight, Leon could hardly wait for the funeral to end.
    His wish came true, as there wasn’t much to say about Mona. As suspected, everyone walked away even slower than they had arrived. Idle time was