Down the Dirt Road Read Online Free Page B

   She wanted nothing to do with any of it.   All she wanted was to hear Daddy’s old truck bouncing along the rutted track toward home, engine growling, alternator whining.   
        For three days after Daddy died , Momma stayed in bed and cried while Jennie took care of the chores, fed the animals and milked the cows.  Momma slept until noon every day and poured over old photo albums until the wee hours of the morning in between crying fits.  Jennie fielded phone calls, met well-meaning neighbors bearing casseroles in the kitchen and handled all of the arrangements for the funeral.  Momma never once acknowledged her presence until the day before the funeral when they climbed into Momma’s little car and drove thirty miles to the nearest mall to buy her the black sheath dress she now wore and officially hated.
         Now, Momma expected her to go back to the house and make small talk with the townsfolk about the weather and what a good man Daddy was.
        And because she was a good girl, the ever diligent daughter, she would.  All the while waiting for the chance to escape to her tree house, to cry for her lost father and contemplate the days, hours and minutes until she could finally escape the farm and make her own life as far from her e as the confines of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans would allow for.
        The black Lincoln Towne Car from the funeral home stood waiting, the driver with an umbrella held the door open for her and Momma. The rain was falling at a steady rate, no more wind driven sideways downpour.  The black dress had long since soaked through around her legs.  The light fabric clung to her tanned skin and rubbed against the gooseflesh that had formed there.  All she wanted was a pair of cutoffs and a soft, cotton tee shirt.  Momma would never allow such a thing though until all of the guests were gone. 
       The ride down the rutted track toward home was bumpy and uncomfortable.  Jennie kept her hands on the door handle, trying hard to keep herself on the leath er seat slick with rain water wishing she was in an old blue Ford pick-up.  Momma sat as still as a statue, eyes facing forward but focused not on the road ahead but some unknown picture in her mind.  Probably some long forgotten memory of Daddy, judging by the tiny sad smile playing at her lips.
         By the time the Towne Car pulled up in front of the two story farmhouse, the sun had begun to peak out from behind the he avy clouds, washing away the gra yness of the day and adding a touch of warmth to the air.  Jennie jumped from the car without waiting for the driver to open the door.  Splashing through the muddy water pooled in the driveway, she gave no mind to the fact that her pumps were soaked through by the time she reached the wide front porch.  Kicking the offending shoes off before heading inside, she pretended not to notice the streak of black one heel left on the white siding.
          Daddy would have made her stop and clean it off but what did it matter?  Daddy wasn’t here anymore.   And soon she wouldn’t be either.   Besides, it ’ s not like Momma would notice anyway.  She hadn’t paid attention to anything since…since that day.
         The kitchen counters were already covered with casserole dishes and trays of deserts and cakes.  Everyone the Marshall family had ever known had dropped off some sort of food dish for this afternoon’s reception.  Padding around the kitchen barefoot and in her still damp funeral dress, Jennie began to warm things that needed warming and arrange meals on the big wood dining table. 
        The kitchen door creaked open as she dug through a drawer in search of serving spoons and a spatula.
        “Jennie?”  The single word was timid, tentative.  She froze, her shoulders instantly stiffening at the sound of her former best friend’s lilting voice.
         She didn’t say anything, just went back to digging through the drawers. Maybe