Absalom's Daughters Read Online Free Page B

the laundry alone.
    â€œWhat’s Henry do all day?” Cassie asked, on the way up the hill with the wagons.
    â€œHe lissen to the music on the reddio,” said Judith. “What you-all lissen to?”
    â€œWe ain’t got a reddio.” It was a luxury to let her tongue be lazy, as Grandmother would have said. To speak poorly let her feel like she was someone else sometimes.
    Judith opened one arm to the morning air. “Ever’body got a reddio. Even us, and we ain’t got nuthin’.”
    â€œWell, we don’t.”
    â€œYour granny afraid you gone hear somethin’?”
    â€œMy mother sings.”
    â€œI heard her singin’ out in back. She got a pretty voice. When you need music, y’all sing?”
    â€œGuess so.”
    Judith leaned against the weight of the wagon. “Even Duncan Justice and his boys got a reddio. They got one in some ol’ junk car. They sit out at night list’nin’ to the New York station.”
    Duncan Justice and his sons lived in a disintegrating house, which Cassie had never personally seen, on ten or fifteen acres just outside Heron-Neck. In his backyard, there was supposed to be a stone memorial to the Southern War Dead. Beanie Simms had told Lil Ma that Justice held a service for dead white folks every Sunday afternoon and was, besides that, a Ku Kluxer. Cassie wondered how Judith knew what the Justice boys did at night. “What’s on a New York station?”
    â€œColored music,” said Judith.
    â€œDuncan Justice ’s boys are listnin’ to colored music from New York ?”
    â€œMaybe not them,” said Judith, “but I know someone who does.”
    â€œWho?” Cassie wiped her face.
    Judith stopped. “The al-biner does.”
    They were halfway up the hill, across from Wivells’ long driveway. Ancient maples shaded the middle of the street, but dust hung in the humid air, thick enough to choke on. “The what?” said Cassie.
    â€œThe al-biner. Over at Wivells’. He their cousin or somethin’ from up North.” She leaned closer and whispered. “He got pink eyes . Like some kinda ghost.”
    â€œThe Wivells ain’t got no pink-eyed ghost livin’ there.”
    â€œHe ain’t no ghost. He’s alive as you an’ me. He told me ’bout the New York music. He goes out with the Justice boys to lissen to it. He got records, too. He played ’em for me so’s I kin sing ’em. You want to hear?”
    Cassie pushed her wagon against the curb. The fact was, Judith always sounded like she had a terrible sore throat or was just getting over one. Mrs. Duckett said Judith Forrest sounded just like a jaybird when she talked. Cassie thought what Mrs. Duckett said was true; she didn’t know exactly what to say right now.
    Judith let go of the wagon handle and put her hands on her skinny hips. “Don’t you think I kin sing?”
    â€œI guess you kin if you say so.”
    â€œDon’t you make fun of the way I talk.”
    â€œI ain’t sayin nuthin’ about you.”
    â€œThe al-biner says I could be a reddio star.”
    â€œWell, I guess you better show me.”
    Judith closed her eyes and clenched her hands together, swayed to music she was listening to inside her own head, and began to sing. To Cassie’s surprise, the hoarseness in Judith’s voice turned husky; the sound coming out of her mouth seemed to be coming from someone older than sixteen. The song was about walking out on youuu.
    In what seemed like the middle of the song, Judith opened her eyes and stopped. “The al-biner say I sing good enough to make money at it.”
    â€œI guess he knows,” said Cassie, impressed.
    â€œI guess he does,” said Judith, without a trace of modesty.
    *   *   *
    Judith knocked on the Wivells’ kitchen door. Bethel answered. There was no avoiding Bethel, but Cassie