Shivaree Read Online Free Page B

her. “Real nice.”
    “I’ve been up to that area,” the pastor called back to Willy. “You like snow, don’t you? I remember your mama telling us how excited you were the first time you saw it.” He paused. “Up there, you’re gonna see snow piled up almost as high as you,” he said and laughed.
    “What are they gonna do for coats?” his mama asked, sitting up straighter, and clasping Joy even tighter. It worried him that he could hear the worry in her voice. “It’s gonna get real cold up there soon, and Willy done outgrew the coat he wore last winter. I didn’t even think . . .”
    “The good Lord is gonna provide,” Pastor Williams interrupted her. “You just have faith. We’ll pass the plate this Sunday, see to it your sister can buy good, sturdy ones for them.” The pastor’s promise seemed to make Willy’s mama relax. She slid back down, and commenced to rocking his sister like she was a real baby, not the six-year-old she was. She might not be a baby, but she was still too little to realize they were gonna be gone a lot longer than their mama was letting on. Willy wished he couldn’t tell his mama was lying to them either.
    As they drove past, Willy’s eyes were drawn to a couple of people walking along the side of the road. He turned to look at them, as they in turn followed the passing car with their gaze. A skinny white boy in a plaid shirt and blue jeans, followed a few feet behind by an old woman, limp gray hair hanging pretty much down to her waist.
    “She the one sending those letters?” Mrs. Williams asked, and Willy turned back to see the preacher’s wife staring over her shoulder at the two they’d just passed.
    The pastor nodded without ever taking his eyes off the road. “That’s what we reckon. The scripture quoted was spelled correctly. Everything else was spelled phonetically, like the words were being guessed at.”
    “What letters are these?” Mrs. Marshall asked, piping up for the first time.
    “Nothing at all, sister,” Pastor Williams said. “Just the ramblings of an uneducated zealot more interested in watching the end of the world than making it a place Jesus would be proud of. Every church within twenty miles of Conroy, white and black, got one. Some written by hand, some carbon copies. But they’re just a bunch of nonsense, really.”
    “What did these letters say?” Mrs. Marshall pressed the reverend.
    Mrs. Williams looked back and shook her head. “Our Lucille doesn’t want to hear any of this now. And it isn’t really appropriate for the children to hear.”
    “I want to know,” Willy said, curious only because the details had been labeled unsuitable for him to receive.
    “Mrs. Williams said no,” his mama said, this time turning back so she could trace a finger along his cheek. Something about that gesture frightened Willy. It didn’t feel like a “watch your mouth,” it felt like a good-bye.
    “Suffice it to say,” the pastor said, “she spoke of end times and quoted Exodus 12:22. You can look that up for yourself, sister, when you get home tonight.”
    “I can look it up right now,” Mrs. Marshall said, tugging a well-worn black leather-bound Bible from her large purse. Willy watched as she flipped open to the passage, and read silently to herself. “Hmmm . . .” she said, closing the book and returning it to the bag.
    As they drew nearer to town, a wall of fog enveloped them, making it impossible for Willy to pick out most of the familiar landmarks. They rode on, no one speaking, till the car passed a nearly concealed sign that Willy knew to read “Welcome to Conroy,” even though he couldn’t make out the letters today.
    It was his mother who broke the silence that had fallen over them. “You’d better let us out a good distance from the station, Pastor.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous, Lucille,” he said, “I’m taking you and the children to the station. Gonna make sure they get off all right.”
    Willy could see Mrs.