Darby Read Online Free

saying but a few words here and there.
    When I caused the floor to creak, Great-Uncle Harvey said, “Who’s sneaking around behind me?”
    “It’s me,” I said.
    “Darby,” my daddy groaned, “it’s past your bedtime.”
    I nodded. “Yes, sir. I just wanna ask Great-Uncle Harvey a question, is all.”
    “What can I do for you, child?” Great-Uncle Harvey spoke in his bullfrog voice.
    Feeling more skittish than a bird, I said, “You . . . you think you’d mind if I write my next newspaper report on you being blind and hearing so well and even dreaming of seeing sometimes?”
    My daddy swung about. “Darby, that’s disrespectful!”
    But Great-Uncle Harvey shook his head. “Naw, it ain’t, Sherman. Matter of fact, I’d be honored.”
    Frowning at me, Daddy said, “Great-Uncle Harvey, don’t feel obligated.”
    “I don’t at all, Sherman.”
    I climbed up the side of his rolling chair and balanced myself on one of the armrests so that I could give him a good hug. “Thanks, Great-Uncle Harvey,” I told him. “It’s gonna be real fun.”
    Hugging back, he said, “I’ve never been the subject of a newspaper report before.”

The next morning, I had to go to Sunday school, then to church, where I listened to our long-winded preacher. Sometimes his sermon goes so slow that my head gets woozy, and I got to leave before I faint. When that happens, McCall gets annoyed and says I embarrass him. The thing is, my daddy seems happy to go outside, where we sit on the steps and talk about the trees or the grass or something like that. Every so often, he’ll say, “Reverend Macy had a whole lot to discuss today.” Once he told me, “I was starting to get lightheaded, too.”
    When I finally got back home that morning, as fast as I could I put on a play dress and some old shoes. Grabbing up my notebook, I ran for Evette’s house. As I huffed through the cotton field behind Ellan, the sun got hot against my blond hair. Covering part of it with my hands, I yelled, “Evette! Hey, Evette! I got something to tell you!”
    Sticking her head through a half-torn screen, she looked out a back window. “I’m coming out.”
    “I don’t got long,” I hissed. “In just a little bit, I gotta eat Sunday supper.”
    “I’ll be there in a second,” she said, disappearing.
    Waiting for her, I threw dirt clods as far as I could. They whisked into the air and disappeared among the wavy rows of cotton plants that my daddy’s mules had tilled. All around, the sky was so clear and clean it seemed like the blueness was painted on a ceiling. And on account of it being Sunday, the fields in every direction were empty. Then I heard Evette’s front door slam, and I hurried around toward the side of her house, where I took hold of her hand. Together, we darted off toward the woods and hid ourselves behind a fallen-over tree trunk.
    “Guess what?” I said.
    “What?”
    “It was a good idea about being a newspaper writer. Maybe it is fun.”
    “Yeah,” she said, “that’s what I think.” She smiled. “If you wanna try it, I’ll help you. We could write things together.”
    “That’s okay. I don’t need to learn any more about writing.” Shrugging, I added, “Do you wanna know why?”
    Real slowly, she said, “Why?”
    “Well, it’s ’cause my very first newspaper story is being put in the
Bennettsville Times
this week. I just took it over to Mr. Salter, and he wanted it right away. Isn’t that something?”
    Evette leaned against the tree trunk. “You told me you was scared to write anything.”
    “I was . . . but I did it anyway.” I smoothed the trim of my dress so that I looked neater, more like a newspaper girl. “See, when I got home after we talked about writing for newspapers, I thought about toads and how they don’t really cause warts, and since you said writing was fun, I went and tried it. I asked Mama and McCall what they thought, and I even wrote about how your sister carried one all day and