Free The Buried Book by D. M. Pulley Page A

ground and said nothing.

CHAPTER 11
    Did you ever feel like they were hiding something?
    Later that afternoon, Jasper dragged Wayne back into the barn.
    “I don’t understand what you think this has to do with anything,” his cousin protested.
    Jasper didn’t respond. The smooth prints of hard-soled shoes scarred the ground where the detective had stood and accused his father of terrible things. He tried to imagine his mother burying their family car under branches deep in the woods. It didn’t make sense.
    Did she ever mention any enemies to you? Anyone she felt threatened by?
    “She wrote that stuff years ago, you know,” Wayne continued, but he let himself be pulled along by the younger boy anyway. Probably because he felt bad for him. Jasper didn’t care why. The dried leather binding felt stiff in his hands as he pulled it from the gap between the siding slats and the girt. The yellowed paper still smelled of smoke and crackled as he ran his fingers over her name.
    “You have to show me how to read this.” Jasper sat down in the dirt with the book in his lap.
    “Why?”
    “Because I need to know what it says,” Jasper pleaded, grabbing his cousin’s arm and pulling him down to the ground. He shoved the book into his cousin’s hands.
    “All this thing says is your mom was a big blabbermouth as a kid.”
    “Shut up!” Jasper was on the verge of tears. “It’s all I have, and if you don’t help me . . . I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
    “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Wayne smacked the top of Jasper’s head. “Don’t give yourself a hernia. If I do this for you, whatcha gonna do for me?”
    “I’ll do all your chores for a week.”
    “Hmm. Two weeks and we have a deal.”
    “Fine.” Jasper sighed.
    “Alright. Then school’s in session. If you want to read this stuff, all you have to do is recognize the letters. It’s the same alphabet as before. You can read, right?”
    Jasper nodded. He’d been reading since he was four. Don’t go thinking you’re something special just because some things come easy, baby, his mother had warned when he started showing off. Knowing how to read don’t make you smarter than anybody else, and thinking you are is the surest way to ruin your life.
    “Good. Then you can read this stuff once you get used to it. A few letters look a bit strange, that’s all. There’s L . There’s an S . The ever-important I . Doubt you’ll even see a Q in this—them’s pretty rare. Now see if you can follow along with me.” Wayne cleared his throat and put on his best girlie voice.
    August 5, 1928
    Mama called me a liar again today. She says there’s nothing worse in this world than a dishonest woman. I’d like to argue that point, but what’s the use? Of course I know I shouldn’t lie, but I’m telling you it’s really not fair. You lie about one silly little thing like saying your prayers at bedtime or washing the dishes and you’re branded for life: Liar. And a young woman to boot. I guess I’m doomed.
    Papa says I don’t have the sense of a headless chicken. Isn’t that a gruesome thought? Me just running around the yard with my head cut off, possessed with a twitching ghost? If anybody bothered to ask me, I’d say the fact he doesn’t understand me doesn’t make me stupid. It’s more of a commentary on his intelligence than mine, don’t you think?
    Perfect Pearl is hardly a sister at all the way she’s constantly telling Mama all my secrets. She’s probably reading this right now, and if she is, she’d better understand that if she keeps reading, I’ll tell Mama all about her kissing Davey Harding behind the schoolhouse. I’m not kidding, Pearl. I’ve booby-trapped this book, and I’ll know if you’ve gone snooping.
    My brothers are hardly any better. All Leonard cares about are tractors, and my oldest brother, Alfred, hardly knows my name. He spends all his time over at the high school in Port Huron. It’s like I don’t exist at