Kindred Spirits Read Online Free Page B

their name, they will faint dead away
if they’re startled. When I was a little kid, I got into a lot of trouble for
banging on pots and pans to make the goats faint.
    The goats don’t seem to
hold my pranks against me, though. When I enter their pen, they butt me
lovingly, and while I fill their feed buckets, they bleat in appreciation.
    I go to the chicken coop
next. There are five hens (Mary Magdalene, Esther, Rachel, Sarah, and Delilah)
and one rooster named Samson. The hen’s job is to lay eggs, and Samson’s job is
to strut around and show off his good looks. I scatter feed on the ground, and
they peck happily.
    I still have forty-five
minutes to go until Adam and his parents get here. I go back to the house,
climb the stairs to my room, and try to read a mystery. But I can’t
concentrate. When the doorbell finally does ring, I jump about a foot, just
like it wasn’t the sound I was expecting all along.
    You can tell we don’t get
much company because when I go downstairs, Mom and Granny are standing in front
of the door, arguing about who should answer it.
    “Maybe Miranda should
answer it,” Mom says. “Adam is her friend.”
    “No,” Granny says. “It
ain’t proper to let a child answer the door. The door should be answered by the
lady of the house.”
    “Well, then, who’s the
lady of the house? You or me?” Mom sounds exasperated.
    “Well,” Granny ways,
“some folks would say it’s me on account of,’”
    I
can tell Granny’s about to go into a lengthy speech while the Sos are waiting
outside and wondering if anybody’s home.  Proper or not, I open the door
myself.
    Adam is standing in the
doorway between his mom and dad., who have dressed up for the occasion. Mrs. So
is wearing a simple blue dress in almost the same shade as her husband’s tie. I
look into Adam’s mind and see that he’s nervous, too, not nervous about our
house being spooky or my family being weird, but nervous that his family, even
though he loves them, will do something that will embarrass him. His thoughts
are the same as mine, and I instantly feel better.
    “Hi,” I say. “Dr. and Mrs. So, this is
my mom, Sarah Jasper, and my granny, Irene Chandler.” “Oh!” my mom says,
startled out of her argument with Granny. “How nice to meet you.  Come in.” The
Sos come in, but first they leave their shoes in a neat little row on the front
porch. I keep waiting for Granny to say something, but she just stares at the
Sos without even blinking.
    “I thought we’d have
dessert in the living room,” Mom says. “Why don’t you all sit down? Miranda,
come and help me in the kitchen for a minute.”
    Dr. and Mrs. So settle on
the wine-colored camel back sofa. Adam sits in the green wing-backed chair. All
the furniture in the living room is heavy and dark and old and looks like it’s
been here ever since the house was built. Old photos of the women in my family
hang on the walls, women with high collars and their hair in buns staring with
eyes that look like they can see right into your soul. And if these women were
still alive, they could do just that.
    Methuselah, Granny’s
African gray parrot, stirs in his cage and squawks, “a whistling gal and a
crowing hen always come to a bad end.”
    “Oh!”
Mrs. So laughs, sounding startled. “The bird talks.”
    “Allthetime,”Momsays.“He’s
practicallyanencyclopedia of old sayings.”
    “My ma taught him how to
talk. He belonged to her until she died,” Granny says. “he’s just about as old
as I am.” Granny gets up and opens the cage, and Methuselah hops on her
shoulder, pirate-style. Mr. and Mrs. So look fascinated, but it’s the same kind
of fascination that comes from seeing a two-headed cow or something else too
weird to be explained.
    Adam is all smiles. We
haven’t disappointed him. My family beats a horror movie any day.
    Methuselah nuzzles his
beak in Granny’s braids. “Be friendly. Talk to the folks, honey,” Granny says.
    Methuselah