The School of Beauty and Charm Read Online Free PDF

week,” he told Florida, gingerly taking the exercise ball she thrust into his hands.
    â€œDo you want me to flush that mouse down the toilet?”asked Florida. “Because I will. I have had it up to here this morning.” She adjusted the scarf on her head and added in pianissimo, as if she were just discovering a truth, “I can’t take anymore from you children. Or your father. I have
had
it.” Outside, the weird green sky was perfectly still, as if God were holding His breath. I sniffled, once. A Muzak version of “Delta Dawn” played softly on the intercom.
    Florida shook her head and looked away. “I am through with you all,” she said. “I have tried and tried. I can’t do it anymore. Henry may be lying in a ditch right this minute—in pain.” She grimaced. “While you two fuss and fight and bicker. Act ugly to your mother.” Tears welled up in her eyes. The tip of her nose turned pink.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mom,” said Roderick, but it was too late; Florida was past her boiling point.
    â€œUgly, ugly, ugly,” she said, describing us to God. “Ungrateful.” She took the vanilla extract from my hand and shoved it into the picnic basket. “You all will just have to fend for yourselves.” With that, she straightened her shoulders so that her zebra-print housecoat fell smoothly around her body, lifted her chin, and with a gaze that suggested she had never borne children and never intended to, she descended the stairs.
    Suddenly, the lights went out. The intercom made a sound like a zipper, and the music stopped.
    â€œLord!” called Florida, and I cringed, knowing that He had found me.
    Back on the stairs, Florida cried out to us—the Lord gave her the strength to reclaim us. “Children,” she said sharply. “We are having a tornado. For once in your lives, cooperate with your mother and get down in this basement.”
    C ROUCHED ON a die hassock, the white one with black dots, in the corner of the rec room, Florida whispered, “Hush,” even though no one had said anything. In the distance, we heard the faint whistle of a train flying through the tops of the pines. Roderick put his inhaler to his mouth and sucked in a cold breath. “Here it is,” Florida said. In the green light washing through the small window, she and Roderick looked like fish underwater. Under the pool table, America the Beautiful ran madly, turning the exercise ball in slow, hypnotic circles.
    The wind blew in a long, soft moan, then sharpened into a shriek that hurt the backs of my eyes. Florida gripped Roderick with one hand just above his elbow and tightened her arm around my waist until I could barely breath.
Whoo, whoo
went the wind, hollowing out again, and I began to hear the music inside the tornado, faint strains of Barbara Groche’s organ playing “A Closer Walk with Thee.”
    Reverend Waller was saying into his microphone, “Won’t you come? Jesus is calling you.” His thick, wet lips drew close to the wire mesh, bubbling the words on the electric current. “He wants you to come to Him, today, right now. Surrender your life to Him, welcome Him into your heart this minute. He wants to live inside you. Children, won’t you come home to Jesus? Come on down the aisle.” He stretched his arm out, holding his hand open for anyone to take. “There’s still time. Come on down and say, ‘Yes, Lord, yes! I surrender all!’” As I leaned against Florida, watching America the Beautiful spin in circles, the organ music faded, and from deep within the moaning sky I could hear the softest strains of Muzak.
    The tornado hit our backyard with a scream. The sound was so human that Florida hollered, “Lawd! Somebody is out there! Henry?” She stood up, as if she intended to go outside and look, but Roderick stopped her. He did exactly what Henry would have done. He said,