Tomorrow River Read Online Free PDF Page B

up!” I scream at her.
    “Why ya got to be like that?” E. J. says, shoving me to the side. “Ya know she don’t understand.” He gets down on his knees and draws a twig out of her mussy hair. Thumbs a smudge off her cheek. What I wouldn’t give for her to look up at me and say in that silky voice of hers—“I’m sorry I was thinking of runnin’ off. Don’t know what got into me, pea. May I have a cuddle?”
    Oh, this temper of mine!
    You know I can’t help it. I inherited the tendency to go off like that. But unlike some others in my family who shall remain nameless (my grandfather), at least I know that I need to apologize. I get busy loosening Woody’s laces, saying, “Rabadee,” over and over again. That means “I’m sorry” in our twin talk. I’m going to have to ask for E. J.’s forgiveness, too. Not the way I did with my sister because that’s unbecoming to a Carmody. I’ll make amends the same way I always do with him, by way of this joke I got in a piece of Bazooka gum. I think it’s close to idiotic, but he seems to get a kick out of it no matter how many times I tell it.
    “Hey,” I say, poking him in his narrow back.
    “Yeah?” he says, still fussing over my sister. He’s tucking her shirt back into her shorts.
    “It’s a good day for the race, wouldn’tcha say?”
    He turns to me, struggles to stay straight-faced. “And what race might that be, Shenny?”
    “Why, that would be the human one, E. J.”
    Laughing uproariously, quick-to-forgive E. J. helps Woody up off the ground, brushes the dirt off her legs, runs his hand down her hair.
    I am feeling sinfully envious of him. My sense of humor seemed to disappear right around the same time Mama did. “I almost forgot,” I say, popping the top of my lunch box. I hand E. J. the leftover bacon and flapjacks I swiped off my breakfast plate when Louise was too busy admiring her reflection on a pot bottom to notice.
    E. J. stuffs the food into his mouth and says between chews, “Got somethin’ for you, too.” Of course, he does. His mama and papa may be forced to take seconds for the sake of their children, but everybody knows the Tittle boy would rather be hung by his thumbs than take a crumb of charity. I watch as he trots over to a felled tree and comes back with a pile of luscious-looking blackberries cupped in an oak leaf. “They’re from that patch near the falls,” he says, passing them to me. “Picked at dawn. Her favorite.”
    I slide the squishy sweetness into Woody’s already-open mouth. “See how she’s twitching around the corners.” I point at her full lips that we inherited from our mother. “That means—thank you,” I tell E. J.
    “I know that already.” With love oozing out of his muddy eyes, he wipes a bit of berry juice off her chin and says to Woody, “My pleasure, puddin’,” and then he punches me good-naturedly in the arm. “A good day for the race. That’s such a knee-slapper, Shen.”
    I know I shouldn’t encourage him, but really, no matter how bad he can work up my dander, all in all, he is a good and faithful sidekick. I can’t help myself. I whinny out, “And . . . they’re off!”
    Do I have to tell you that giggling boy ran into the woods at a full-out gallop?
     
     
    T he three of us are atop Honeysuckle Hill looking down at almost all there is of our town. It was named in honor of the famous Battle of Lexington-Concord. It’s not big, say like Charlottesville, nor is it important like Richmond, our state capital. What Lexington does have going for it is a goodly amount of historical charm. The Confederacy left behind 144 soldiers in the memorial cemetery to remind us of their valiant effort. People come from far and wide to do rubbings on their graves and pay homage to their sacrifice. You can also tour Stonewall Jackson’s house if you’ve got a mind to.
    In the evening, gaslights shine perfect polka dots onto pebbled sidewalks. And during the day, there are shops that sell