Dunaway's Crossing Read Online Free

Now Miss Bea Dot had run out of paper for the thank-you notes, just when California was trying to cook dinner. A new box of stationery in hand, she hustled back, praying no motorcars stirred up the dust that stuck in her nostrils and throat.
    As she crossed Jones Street, Forsyth Park’s azaleas and oak trees appeared in the distance. Not much farther now, thank heavens. She just might be able to get back in time to iron the linens and polish the silver before the chicken was done. Lately she’d been trying as hard as Miss Bea Dot—maybe harder—to avoid Mr. Ben’s fury, and nothing sparked his anger more than a late meal. Fortunately, during Miss Bea Dot’s convalescence, Mr. Ben kept his temper on the back burner. But there was no telling when or what might turn that heat up.
    As she approached Gaston Street, the rumble of an engine taunted her. “Nasty motorcars.” She scowled, wondering about their appeal. True, the horseless carriage was fast, but it was also loud and expensive. She rolled her eyes at the amount Mr. Ben paid for his new touring car. The racket grew louder, and Cal tensed her shoulders, anticipating a deposit of dust on her clothes and face. Maybe she could get back to work before another one of those machines drove by.
    Holding her hand to her brow, she squinted against the afternoon sun. Ahead Lavinia Barksdale, engrossed in a letter, sauntered along Gaston Street toward the same corner California approached. The car’s rumble, now upon her, drowned California’s voice when she called, “Morning, Miss Lavinia.” Eyes still on her letter, Mrs. Barksdale stepped into the street to cross.
    “Miss Lavinia!”
    California grabbed Mrs. Barksdale’s arm and pulled her back as the Dodge full of Savannah High School students whipped by, the passengers oblivious to the near miss.  Lavinia yelped as California jerked her out of harm’s way. Pages of her letter flew above her, then fluttered to the ground like leaves.
    “What on earth!”
    “Miss Lavinia, you almost got yourself killed. You got to watch where you going.”
    Dumbfounded, Mrs. Barksdale watched the car disappear around a distant corner while Cal chased after the scattered pages of the letter, picking up papers in one hand while clutching the package of stationery in the other. She handed a wrinkled wad of pages to the perplexed woman.
    “Cal, thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.”
    “Well, I do. And it would a been some kind a mess. You best put that letter away til you get where you going.”
    “Actually, I was on my way to see Bea Dot.” Mrs. Barksdale folded the pages and stuffed them back into their envelope.  “I have a letter from Netta, and I wanted to show her.”
    “Hmph. You were bout to go in the wrong direction and get flattened.” Cal followed as Mrs. Barksdale crossed Gaston Street, this time keeping her eyes ahead of her. Almost single file, they walked toward the Ferguson house.
    “How is my niece, Cal? Is she recovering?” Mrs. Barksdale asked over her shoulder.
    California nodded gravely, more to herself than the lady in front of her. “People been coming every day. They’s got so much food in the house, Miss Bea Dot’s asked me to take some home. Don’t know why people think they got to bring food in a time a sorrow. Grieving people ain’t hungry.” At least black people weren’t. When she lost her own baby all those years ago, sorrow made paste of the smallest morsel of food. For weeks her mama got nothing down her but broth and coffee.
    “Poor child.” Lavinia sucked her teeth and shook her graying blonde head, her poofy bun an upside down mushroom of hair. “Considering how it happened, this loss must be even worse than any one of Netta’s.”
    California knew better, but she chose her words carefully. “Seems more relieved than anything.”
    Mrs. Barksdale stopped and turned, shading her eyes as she looked into California’s leathery face. “What