Free The Secret Sense of Wildflower by Susan Gabriel Page A

go after we counted them. Tonight, something’s different and Victor avoids looking at me in the eyes like he’s all of a sudden become shy. He talks to his father about business and keeps looking over like he’s trying to impress me with how much he knows about running a store.
    Meanwhile, all through supper, Mary Jane’s father scratches his wooden leg like it itches. He’d probably unscrew the thing and use it to serve up the cold, lumpy mashed potatoes if he thought it would get a laugh.
    Before dark, Meg and Mama show up at Mary Jane’s to walk me home. Even though the Sweeney’s have everything they could possibly want or need, Mama brings Mary Jane’s mother two jars of her canned tomatoes and a small quilt piece she sewed to put hot things on the dinner table.
    Our family has a habit of walking in the evenings when the weather is nice. Daddy always said it helped supper digest. But when we walk these days, there’s a big hole where Daddy usually stood and I think we all feel it.
    No one stands at the crossroads when we walk by. I think of Melody, living in a shack next to the oak tree where her sister Ruby died. I wouldn’t wish that life on anybody.
    Daddy would say the Monroes deserve our pity. We don’t have much, but we are rich compared to them. We are not to judge people who are going through hard times. He was big on being a good person. But people like Johnny make being a good person much harder than it sounds.
    The sun has long gone behind the mountain and the moon is rising. Shadows of trees blend with the darkness. Crickets sing their chorus, their music surrounding us.
    Meg locks her arm in Mama’s. Meg is good at getting Mama’s attention in a way that Mama doesn’t mind. The moonlight serves as a lantern as we walk in silence, our footsteps shuffling in the dirt. We find our way home in total darkness and it’s as if our feet have memorized the path.
    Back when Daddy used to walk with us he would hold my hand. I’d be on one side while Mama was on the other. He held Mama’s hand a lot, too, like they were still courting. Sometimes he would light his pipe and it would be so dark all we could see was the little bowl of fire kept alive by his breath. He knew the path up the hill to our house better than any of us and he would lead the way, guiding our steps to avoid every rock and root.
    Jasmine grows along the path and in summer our noses tell us when we are close to home. I imagine Daddy’s footsteps joining ours, him leading the way through the darkness, the smell of sweet tobacco mingling with the smell of jasmine.
    About halfway up the hill I shiver, even though it isn’t the least bit cold, and wrap my arms around myself. I sense someone watching us in the dark. I immediately think of Johnny and I am about to say something to Meg and Mama when I trip and fall to the ground. A hand jerks me up.
    “Don’t be clumsy, Louisa May,” Mama says. Her grasp pinches my skin and I pull away.
    “Are you okay?” Meg asks in the darkness.
    “I’m fine,” I say. My embarrassment chases away any remaining creepy feelings and I brush the dirt from my hands and knees, missing Daddy more than ever.
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN

    The next morning, the screen door slaps at my heels as I walk out on the front porch and a knot twists in my stomach. I have had the secret sense more often the last few days. It starts as a vibration in my chest and then extends to my fingertips like a mild charge of electricity. I pause, remembering a similar feeling the day Daddy died.
    “Where you headed, Louisa May?” Mama says from behind me. I jump before I can stop myself.
    “Why don’t you call me by my real name and maybe I’ll tell you,” I say. The words come out more hateful than I intend.
    “Wildflower…” she says. Her patience is as ragged as Daddy’s favorite shirt I keep digging out of the rag bin because she keeps throwing it away.
    “I’m not a child, Mama. You don’t have to know every single