Free Unto These Hills by Emily Sue Harvey Page B

I felt as though I were sinking in its murky depths. Something felt terribly wrong.
    “Mr. Melton —”
    In the next heartbeat, his hands were all over me, groping, probing, squeezing. I froze for several heartbeats, in shock. Emaline’s grandpa! Ohgodohgodohgod!
    I heard an endless, blood-curdling scream. “ Sto-o-op!” From nightmare murkiness, I recognized it as my voice. I cut loose clawing and scratching and shoving him away with all my might. I was bawling, crying my heart out and plastering myself to the corner farthest from him. “ Please, stop!” I sobbed, holding my hands out as a shield, “How could you? Emaline a-adores you! She thinks you’re the b-best grandpa in the whole world!” How wrong she is. Poor Emaline.
    At Emaline’s name, the old man froze for a long moment, then slumped back against the door. “You’re just so — enticing , Sunny. Your laugh and your smile make a man feel—.” He frowned, then blinked as if dispelling a mist. “ I suppose a girl can make up her mind to be nice, against all odds —” he said hoarsely, incredulously, swiping his weathered hand across dazed eyes.
    I snuffled and glared at him. “Why did you think I wasn’t?” I’d never given him any reason to think otherwise.
    Or had I? Apprehension paralyzed me for that long moment before he spoke.
    “What with you bein’ friends with Ruth Bond and all. And your sister. And your Mama ….” He shook his head and looked unseeing out into the rain, grasping the steering wheel so hard his body trembled.
    Anger turned everything red in that moment. It shot out my fingers, my toes, and flared out my mouth and nose.” I’m…not…my…maa-maaaaa !” I shrieked until my breath ran out, then burst into fresh sobs. “ I-I’m not!” My fists clenched as my head moved from side to side. “ I’m not ,” I finished in a hoarse whisper, snuffling like a year-old.
    He reached out to pat me but withdrew his hand when I shrank away. “ Don’t, Sunny,” he said quietly, cranked the truck and drove to the Bond dwelling. There, I wrenched open the door and jumped out.
    “Sunny?”
    I turned to look at him, on the verge of retching to hear my name spill from his disgusting mouth. “You ain’t gonna tell Emaline, are you?” His voice quavered with desperation and I saw his hands tremble. I didn’t feel sympathy for him. Only repulsion.
    I felt faint and fluttery, icy with outrage and principle.
    “No.” My reply was flat. “You see — I couldn’t stand to see her hurt.”
    I slammed the door and didn’t look back as the truck swiftly rumbled away.
    ~~~~~
    Miraculously, the new dress wasn’t wet. My hands still trembled as I placed it on the kitchen table while Ruthie Bond poured us coffee. I’d whiffed the inimitable aroma of rich coffee upon entering the sparkling clean Bond house.
    The linoleum rug gleamed and smelled of Johnson’s Wax. In the living room, little Sally sat on the floor, playing with empty thread spools I’d just given her. Using Sheila’s half-used-up water paint set Daddy had given her for Christmas, I’d shaded them different colors.
    Ruth reminded me of Eva Marie Saint, the leading lady in the new movie, “On the Waterfront .” Sandy-colored, shoulder-length hair curled under in a neat pageboy. Her face, nearly devoid of makeup, transformed when she smiled shyly from one demure and unassuming to one warm and approachable. She was slight in stature, and her walk was graceful and purposeful.
    If Ruth had noticed my shaken, tearful appearance when I arrived, she hadn’t let on. Of course, with it raining buckets and me drenched I don’t suppose tear-streaks were that evident. Her mama was off visiting relatives across the village this afternoon.
    Ruth set steaming cups on the glass-topped coffee table and motioned me to sit on the sofa facing her. Her obvious loneliness pulled at my heart. Despite her notoriety, she was known as being tight-lipped about herself. So when she