been speaking to you?" she asked quickly. I shook my
head. I wouldn't tell her about Elliot, not now, maybe
not ever.
"If s not because we've done anything wrong or because anyone is any at us. There is evil in our
house."
I held my breath. Did she know about Elliot
after all?
"But it won't be here long," she vowed. She
nodded. "Not much longer."
"What evil, Mama?"
"You know what evil. Don't start acting stupid
again," she snapped.
I looked away, but watched her out of the
corner of my eye. A moment later she smiled. "Baby
Celeste is really becoming something, isn't she.
Noble? You see it now, too, don't you?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Good. Then you understand why it is so
important we continue to protect her and nurture her
like some precious flower."
"Yes, Mama." I would do it anyway, I thought
After all, she was mine. Mama rose. "Get some rest.
We have difficult days ahead!'
She stepped off the porch and walked slowly
toward the old cemetery. I watched until she was
swallowed up by the darkness, then I went inside and
up to bed.
The difficult days she spoke of were filled with more and more tension because of the ongoing and sharper arguments between
Betsy and her father. I could see the increasing wear and tear in his face, hear the growing strain in his voice. Whenever he set eyes on her, he would look troubled. He tried tying the money he doled out to her to work responsibilities in the house. despite Mania's advice to let that be. When he forced her to help with the kitchen and the dinners, she broke dishes or made a bigger mess in the kitchen. She couldn't set a table neatly, and whatever cleaning she did had to be done over anyway. He was always after her to clean up her room, but she never made her bed and didn't change linen until he forced her to do so. If she ate anything in the house, she left the dish wherever she had been sitting or lying. She dropped crumbs, spilled things, stained furniture. He was cleaning up after her more than someone would clean
up after an errant puppy.