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Angel Sister

By Ann H. Gabhart

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CHAPTER 1

Something woke Kate Merritt. She opened her eyes, but in the deep of the night, the air in the room wrapped around her like a thick curtain. She blinked and stared toward the bedroom window open to the night air as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Not even a hint of moonlight was filtering through the white lace curtains.
Next to Kate, her sister’s breath was whisper quiet. Kate could barely see Evie’s shape right beside her in the bed, but she knew Evie’s red hair would be like a halo around her face on the pillow and the top sheet would be folded over and neatly tucked under her chin. Even in her sleep she would have a death grip on the sheet to keep Kate from pulling it off her. Kate always ended up in a jumble of bedclothes every morning with her pillow on the floor and her hair sticking out in all directions.
Just a couple of mornings ago, Kate’s mother told Kate not to worry about it. That at fourteen, Kate couldn’t expect to be as ladylike as Evangeline who was going on seventeen. “In time you’ll be more like your sister,” her mother had said as she smoothed down Kate’s dark brown hair.
Kate had jerked away from her mother. “Like Evie? I don’t have to be, do I? That would be awful. Really awful.” she said before she thought. That was one of Kate’s biggest problems. Saying things before she thought.
But she didn’t want to be like Evie. Ever. Evie said girls shouldn’t climb trees or catch frogs. Not to mention pick up a snake to see if its tongue was forked. Bugs and snakes sent Evie into hysterics no matter how harmless they were. She refused to play hide-and-seek after dark with the neighbor kids, claiming to prefer reading inside by the oil lamp, but the truth was she was scared of her shadow.
But she wasn’t only worried about things in the dark. Day or night she shrieked if anybody so much as mentioned Fern Lindell might be hiding in the bushes. Even at the grand age of sixteen when a girl was practically grown. True, Fern who lived down the road was off her rocker, but Kate wasn’t a bit afraid of her. At least not unless she was carrying around her little axe. Then anybody with any sense knew to stay away from her.
One thing sure, Kate had sense. She hadn’t ever shut her eyes and tried to hide from anything. That was because she was the middle sister. The middle sister had to learn early on to take care of herself, but Kate didn’t stop there. Half the time she had to take care of Evie too and all the time Tori who was only ten. In the cot across the room, Tori’s breathing sounded soft and peaceful. So Tori hadn’t been what woke Kate, but something had. Kate raised her head up off her pillow and listened. The middle sister had to make sure everything was all right.
Kate didn’t mind. She liked being responsible. She might only be fourteen, but she knew things. She listened and she heard and she did what had to be done. Of course sometimes it might be better to be like Evie who somehow managed to simply ignore anything that didn’t fit into her idea of how things should be or Tori who didn’t worry about much except whether she could find worms to go fishing. Neither one of them was staring into the black night, holding her breath, and waiting for the next sound to see if what had jerked Kate awake was their father trying to sneak in the house after being out drinking too much.
Victor Merritt learned to drink in France. At least that’s what Kate overheard Aunt Hattie telling Kate’s mother last spring. They didn’t know she heard them. She was supposed to be at school, but she’d run back home to get the history report she sat up late writing and then left on the table by the front door. Kate figured she’d have to sit in the dunce’s seat for being tardy, but at least all that work wouldn’t be for naught. Kate tiptoed across the porch and inched the door open to keep it from creaking. She planned to grab the paper and be in and out without her mother hearing her. That way she’d only be in hot water at school and not at home too.
They didn’t know she was there. Not even Aunt Hattie who just about always knew everything and had forever. After all she’d delivered nearly every baby who’d been born in Rosey Corner since the turn of the century thirty-six years ago. She especially knew about the Merritt family since she’d worked as a servant for them until Kate’s grandmother had died in the 1918 influenza epidemic. About the same time Kate’s father was learning to drink in the war over in France and Aunt Hattie’s boy, Bo, was getting killed and buried over there.
They didn’t fight together in the war over in France. Aunt Hattie said the white generals were afraid their spilled blood might mix. The French generals weren’t as particular so the American regiments of black soldiers fought side by side with the French to push back the Germans. A lot of them died with the French soldiers and never made it home. Not even to a grave on American soil. Aunt Hattie would never get to put flowers on her only son’s grave so she didn’t have much patience with other people complaining about much of anything.
“Tough horse feathers,” she’d say at the first sign of a whimper or complaint. “Praise the good Lord you is still breathing.”
A lot of folks in Rosey Corner avoided Aunt Hattie unless a baby was on the way or they needed somebody to do their wash, but not Kate’s mother. She said you might not be able to depend on a lot in this world, but you could depend on Aunt Hattie telling you the truth. Like it or not.
That morning last spring when Kate had crept back in the house and heard her mother and Aunt Hattie, it sounded as if Kate’s mother wasn’t liking a lot of things. She was crying. The sound pierced Kate and pinned her to the floor right inside the door. She hardly dared to breathe.
She should have grabbed the paper and gone right back out the door. That was what she should have done, but instead she stood still as a stone and listened. Of course she knew her father drank. Everybody in Rosey Corner knew that. Nothing stayed secret long in their little town that wasn’t much more than a wide place in the road. Two churches, one school, two general stores – the one run by her Grandfather Merritt had a gasoline pump – and her father’s blacksmith shop.
“But why?” Kate’s mother said between sobs.
Aunt Hattie didn’t sound cross the way she usually did. Instead she sounded like she might be about to cry herself. Kate couldn’t remember ever seeing Aunt Hattie cry. Not even when she talked about her son’s grave in France.
“Some answers we can’t be seein’, Nadine. We wasn’t over there. But our Victor was. Men right beside him died. He got some whiffs of that poison gas those German devils used. He laid down on the cold hard ground and stared up at the same moon you was starin’ up at but without the first idea of whether or not he’d ever see it with you again. He couldn’t even be sure he’d see the sun come up.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Kate’s mother swallowed back her tears, and her voice got stronger, more like Kate was used to hearing. “I mean why now? I grant you he started drinking over there, but when he got home, he didn’t drink all that much. Just a nip now and again to push back the chill and maybe soften the memories, but lately he dives into the bottle like he wants to drown in it.”
“It ain’t got the first thing to do with you, child. He still loves his girls.” Now Aunt Hattie’s voice was soft and kind, the voice she used when she was talking to some woman about to have a baby.
“The girls perhaps. Me, I’m not so sure anymore.” Kate couldn’t see her mother, but she knew the look that would be on her face. Her lips would be mashed together like she had just swallowed something that tasted bad and she was having to do all she could to hold it down.
“You can be sure. I knows our Victor. I’s the first person to ever lay eyes on him when he come into the world. And a pitiful sight he was. Barely bigger than my hand. His mama, Miss Juanita, had trouble carryin’ her babies. We lost the two before Victor. You remember Miss Juanita. How she was prone to the vapors. She was sure we would lose Victor even after he made the journey out to daylight and pulled in that first breath, but no how was I gonna let that happen. Raised him right alongside my own boy. Bo was four when our Victor was born.”
Kate heard a chair creak as if maybe her mother had shifted to get more comfortable. One thing sure it wasn’t any use trying to stop Aunt Hattie when she started talking about her boy.
“My Bo was a sturdy little feller. Stronger and smarter than most. Soon’s Victor started walking, Bo took it upon hisself to watch out for him. Miss Juanita paid him some for it once he got older.” Aunt Hattie paused as if realizing she’d gone a little far afield. “Anyhows that’s how I knows Victor hasn’t stopped carin’ about you, girl, ‘cause I know our Victor. He’s just struggling some now what with the way things is goin’ at his shop. Folks is wantin’ to drive those motorcars and puttin’ their horses out to pasture. It ain’t right, but a pile of things that happen ain’t right.”
Kate expected Aunt Hattie to start talking about Bo dying in France, but she didn’t. Instead she stopped talking altogether and it was so quiet that Kate was sure they’d hear her breathing. She thought about stepping backwards to get out the door, but it was just too quiet. She had to wait until somebody said something. Right now the only noise was the slow tick of the clock on the mantel and the soft hiss of water heating on the cooking stove.
Kate was up to fifty-five ticks when her mother finally spoke again. “I don’t believe in drinking alcohol to hide from your problems.”
“No way you could with how your own daddy has been preaching against that very thing since the beginning of time. Preacher Reece, he don’t cut nobody no slack. ‘Specially not his own family.”
“There are better ways of handling troubles than making more troubles by drinking too much.” Kate’s mother’s voice didn’t have the first hint of doubt in it.
“I ain’t arguing with you, Nadine. I’s agreein’ all the way.”
“Then what am I supposed to do, Aunt Hattie?”
“I ain’t got no answers. Alls I can do is listen and maybe talk to one who does have the answers.”
“I’ve been praying.”
“Course you have, but maybe we can join our prayers together. It says in the Good Book that where two or more agree on something, the Lord pays attention. Me. You. We’s two.”
“Pray with me right now, Aunt Hattie. For Victor. And the girls.” Her mother paused a moment and then went on. “Especially Kate. She’s picked up some of the load I can’t seem to make myself shoulder.”
In the front room, Kate pulled in her breath.
“Don’t you be worryin’ none about that child. She’s got some broad shoulders. Here, grab hold of my hands.” Aunt Hattie’s voice changed, got a little louder as if she wanted to make sure the Lord could hear her plain. “Our holy Father who watches over us up in heaven. May we always honor ever’ living day you give us. We praise you for lettin’ us have this very day right now. And for sending us trials and tribulations so that we can learn to lean on you.”
She paused a moment as if considering those tribulations. Then she went on. “Help our Victor. You knows what he needs better than me or even your sweet child, Nadine here. Turn him away from the devil’s temptations and bring him home to his family. Not just his feet but his heart too. And strengthen that family and watch over that family. Increase their joy and decrease their sorrow. Especially our Katherine Reece. Put your hand over top her and keep her from wrong.”
Kate didn’t wait to hear any more. She felt like Aunt Hattie’s eyes were seeing right through the walls and poking into her. Seeing her doing wrong right that moment as she stood there eavesdropping on them. Kate snatched her history paper off the table and tiptoed out of the house. Once off the porch she didn’t stop running until she was going up the steps into the school.
The prayer hadn’t worked yet. At least not the part about her father resisting the devil’s temptations if that meant stop drinking. Kate worried that the Lord hadn’t answered Aunt Hattie’s prayer because Kate had been listening when she shouldn’t have been. As if somehow that had made the prayer go sideways instead of up toward heaven the way Aunt Hattie had intended.
Now Kate stayed perfectly still to keep the bedsprings from squeaking as she listened intently for whatever had awakened her. The front screen door rattled against the doorframe. That could have been the wind if any wind had been blowing, but then there was a bump as somebody ran into the table beside the door. Kate let out her breath and sat up on the side of the bed to feel for the matches and candle on the bedside table. She didn’t bother fishing under the bed for her shoes. It was a hot night and her father had made it through the front door.
“Please don’t get sick.” She mouthed the words silently as she lit the candle. She hated cleaning up after he got sick. From the sour smell of alcohol creeping back into the bedroom toward her, she guessed he might have already been sick before he came inside.
She looked back at Evie as she stood up. Evie looked just as Kate had imagined her moments earlier, but she didn’t fool Kate. She was awake. Her eyes were shut too tight and Kate couldn’t be positive in the dim light, but she thought she saw a tear on her cheek. “No sense crying now, Evie. He’s home,” Kate whispered softly.
Evie kept pretending to be asleep, but tears were sliding out of the corners of her eyes for sure. Kate sighed as she held her hand behind the candle flame to protect it from a draft. “Go on back to sleep, Evie. I’ll take care of him.”
Kate carried her candle toward the front room where her father was tripping over the rocking chair. She wondered if her mother was lying in her bed pretending to sleep and if she had tears on her cheeks. She wouldn’t get up. Not even if Kate’s father fell flat on his face in the middle of the floor. She couldn’t. Not and keep cooking him breakfast when daylight came. Kate knew that. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did.

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