Free Whisper Town by Patricia Hickman

eyes locked with Oz Mills’s. Oz glanced at Jeb’s open shirt and then blurted out, “What’s going
     on?”
    Fern appeared in the doorway. She straightened her blouse and leaned against Jeb, pressing her face into his shoulder. One
     hand came up and clasped his upper arm. “We weren’t expecting company.”
    Oz slapped what looked to be a telegram into the palm of his hand. “So it’s like this, is it, Fern?”
    “From now on,” said Jeb. “May we help you?”
    Oz snapped, “Fern has a telegram, if it’s anything to you, preacher boy.” He held it out and Fern took it. Jeb read over her
     shoulder. Fern’s daddy had taken a turn for the worst and passed away.
    Fern pressed her face into Jeb’s chest and sobbed as though she had been orphaned. He could not hold her in the same manner
     he had for the last half hour. So he turned back into a minister. He rested the palms of his hands against her shoulder blades,
     let out a sigh, and said, “I’ll help you pack.”
    Angel fixed a supper of boiled oats and a side of eggs with a piece of crisped bacon dropped into the skillet to add flavoring.
     She burned the toast and the fog from charred bread hung over the stove like a storm. Myrtle cried relentlessly from her bedroom.
     Angel finally let out a tidal sigh and told Ida May to either go and close the door or try and rock the baby into a stupor
     until Belinda showed up again for the evening feeding.
    “I can’t stand the screaming of that kid. Day and night she torments me like a crazy woman.” Willie paced back and forth by
     the back door like he would run out of it any minute.
    Ida May pulled a chair up to the stove and then climbed onto it. “I’ll finish supper, how about, and you go and rock the baby,”
     she said to Angel.
    “Supper’s finished. Willie, go for jam in the cellar. Ida May, bring her in here and lay her on a blanket. Maybe if she’s
     where she can see all of us, she’ll not feel so left out.” Angel spooned eggs into the plates donated by the women’s committee.
     The plates were plain and stamped with lettering that no one could decipher, but they were by far the best plates for keeping
     the food warm.
    “Babies don’t know if they’re left out. That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said yet,” said Willie.
    “Count us out four bowls, Willie,” said Angel. “You want sugar in your oats, then it’s best to keep your opinions to yourself
     when you’re talking to the cook.”
    Ida May walked with measured steps when she carried Myrtle. Her shoulders were too small for carrying a baby over, so she
     cradled the little girl as though she might fold in two. “Willie, make us a little bed out of that blanket Angel left on the
     chair. Right h’yere on the floor, but not too close to the doorway.” She talked to Myrtle the whole time in a whisper, as
     though the two of them carried on in a mutual language only they possessed. Myrtle let out a breathy “aaahhhh” when Ida May
     laid her in the blanket, the kind of sound made by hot-air balloons when they land.
    The sound of the front door opening caused all of them to react with a common relief. “Jeb’s finally home,” said Willie, and
     he stepped toward the doorway to let Jeb know how bad Myrtle had been.
    “Eggs again.” Jeb could smell supper. He tossed some mail on a table in the parlor. “Does anyone care this place smells like
     an outhouse?”
    “Myrtle filled her britches,” said Ida May. She meandered around Willie and down the hall, muttering about some schoolwork
     to which she should attend.
    “I don’t clean up baby’s messes,” said Willie. He followed Ida May.
    Angel called them back to supper and then said, “You look flush, Jeb. You all right?”
    “Fern’s leaving for Oklahoma. Did you make bread?”
    “Not for good?”
    “Her daddy passed away in the night. I don’t want her driving alone. But she’ll have to drive herself all the way to Ardmore.”
    “She must be sad.” Angel