Angels Read Online Free Page A

thought that’s what the Lord had in mind for her. It’s good she’s not a crybaby. Aunt Polly says crybabies should ask the Lord to help them accept His will. Sounds like after she mourned for Miss Jenny, she went her own way without payin’ much heed to her daddy—he was “a victim of the demon drink”—or his lady friends.
    When her Daddy died, that Gloria didn’t tell her, just rolled Coleman up in her pallet and shoved her in a car. A woman Coleman didn’t know drove ‘em all the way to New Orleans, Coleman sleeping in the back seat. I heard Aunt Polly tell Miss Ida that it sounded like Gloria gave Coleman a pill to make her sleep, so Coleman wouldn’t cry or fuss about bein’ snatched away like that. I told them what Coleman said about Gloria wanting to sell her, and Aunt Polly said we should all be even more thankful that Coleman had been found and brought home. Miss Ida just looked sick as an owl and didn’t say a word.
    Coleman said living with that Gloria in New Orleans was mighty bad, ‘specially right before she came to us. She wanted to find her kin, but she didn’t know where in North Carolina we lived, and anyway, she didn’t have money for a bus or a train. She thought of asking at the church for help, but she put it off, fearin’ they’d want to send her to an orphanage. Then Miss Laura Byrd turned up. “I knew her right away,” Coleman said. “I wouldn’t ‘a gone off with a stranger, but she looked and talked just like Miss Jenny, so I knew she was a friend.”
    When she met all the Byrds that came to call, Coleman’s eyes got big as saucers. She hadn’t known that the Byrds were a huge family—Aunt Polly says they’re more like a clan. She thought there were only the two she’d met, Miss Jenny and Miss Laura. She liked Aunt Mary Louise and the other grown-ups right away, and when she saw the little Byrds—some of them even smaller than she is—she laughed out loud. A bunch of little Byrds together is a mighty fine sight, and Byrd babies are as cute as kittens. I think Coleman likes bein’ with little ones, so she gets to be bigger than somebody.
    Coleman met Byrd children down at the river where I took her to play. The Good Hope River runs through Slocumb County on its way to the ocean, and it’s deep in some places—there’s a big pool down river we musn’t go near—but right behind our house it’s shallow, with rocks to climb on, and a sandy beach, and vines hanging from the trees. The water’s the color of tea, and warm where the sun shines on it, and icy cold in the shade. The river smells like sweet shrub flowers—some folks call it Carolina spice bush—except in real cold weather. Then it smells so icy, it hurts your nose, but it’s a clean, good smell even then. Parts of heaven must be like the Good Hope River.
    Most hot afternoons after they’ve finished their chores, the children from around here come to play in the water—Byrds, and black children, and white children—black hair, brown, blonde, towheads, and carrot tops; curly heads and silky ones; pigtails and buzz-cuts; and all ages, up to maybe twelve, and babies toted by their brothers and sisters. Mostly we walk or ride bikes to the river, but the Atkins children come on a mule, and once in a while, somebody’s daddy or big brother drops off kids in a truck. We make a lot of noise, laughing and splashing and yelling, but there’s nobody near to complain. Aunt Polly says it’s a place children can use their “outdoor voices.”
    That day there were maybe twenty young’uns playing in the river, and they all ran up to greet Coleman. I thought she might be shy of all those strangers, but not a bit of it. She smiled a great big smile and said, “Oh I just love those clean children! Ain’t they the purtiest things you ever saw?”
    Aunt Polly wouldn’t have liked how she talked, but I didn’t say a word. I decided early on I wouldn’t be a bossy boots just ‘cause I’m older than Coleman.