The Woods at Barlow Bend Read Online Free PDF Page A

was saying. In his wrinkled suit and loosened tie, he probably reeked of whiskey, even on a Sunday.
    Unfortunately, Uncle John was too far back to meet my stare.

 
     
    Chapter 5
    April 16, 1934
    Frisco City, Alabama
    Aunt Matt stayed with us since Momma died. I kept telling her that I could take care of everyone and that she could go home, but she insisted on being there.
    “Pretty girl, your momma would want me here.”
    Secretly, I loved having Aunt Matt with us, and Henry, too.
    Henry would come by every evening for dinner. He would tell us wild stories of his work with the railroad. Henry worked at the station loading and unloading the boxcars as the L&N came to the Frisco City station. He helped the passengers with their luggage and unloaded the shipments of fabric and other sundries shipped to our little town. He would tell funny stories of stow-away critters and sad stories of dirty, exhausted men looking for work. Most of these desperate travelers kept moving past Frisco City, unless, of course, the cotton or peanuts were ready for harvest. Sometimes, he would find a stowaway sleeping in an empty car. Henry would leave them be, though.
    “They ain’t doin’ no harm. Just lookin’ to get by,” Henry would say.
    Some how, having the seats filled at the table made losing Momma a little easier. I didn’t want Momma’s chair to be empty, but I couldn’t bear to sit in it myself.
    *****
    Aunt Matt and I were sitting on the porch that afternoon in April. We were shucking some butter beans for dinner from our small garden out back. Momma, Meg, and I planted the butter beans along with green beans, cucumbers, lettuce, turnips, and okra the prior fall. The butter beans were the first to come in, so Aunt Matt and I picked some and planned to add them to a pot of ham hocks. The beans and hot-from-the-oven corn bread would make a nice supper. I was already looking forward to corn bread crumbled in milk for an evening snack when two police cars pulled in front of the house. Cousin Stephen, accompanied by a serious-looking man in a dark jacket and scuffed boots, got out of one car, and Marshal Brooks of Frisco City, got out of the other.
    “Hattie, where’s your daddy?” Stephen asked. Daddy must have heard the cars pull up, because he walked out of the house as Stephen, Marshal Brooks, and the strange man stepped up on the porch.
    “Stephen, wh at are ya doing over in these parts?” Daddy asked as he looked from man to man and stopped at the strange man in the dark jacket, “Billy, what are you doing in Frisco today? Ya sure Clarke County is safe with two of their finest over here?”
    Frisco City was located in Monroe County, one county over from Stephen’s jurisdiction. Daddy seemed to know the strange man, but I’d never laid eyes on him. He was a big wall of a man with thick, dark hair. I wondered for a second how many yards of fabric Momma would have had to use to make a jacket that big. I wondered if Momma had ever met this man and what she would think of his unruly head of hair.
    T he presence of two police cars on our typically quiet street created a spectacle. Several of our neighbors gathered on their porches and strained to hear what the men were discussing. At least they were honest about their eavesdropping.
    “Mr. Andrews,” the strange man said with a deep, steady voice, “we need you to come with us.”
    “Hubbard, we’ve got some questions about Addie,” Stephen told Daddy, and then quietly, “Hub, John Howard has been running his mouth. I’m sure we can clear all this up at the station.”
    Daddy stiffen ed at the mention of Momma. He hadn’t talked about what happened since that Saturday in January. To be completely honest, he hadn’t really talked much at all. Aunt Matt kept saying that he would “brighten back up once his heart don’t hurt”, but over two months passed without much from him other than short orders to Aunt Matt and a “be back later” to us as he was already