Free Flowers in the Snow by Danielle Stewart Page A

working hard to keep from being seen. “It’s a whole mess of people coming down the hill like a swarm of angry bees. You gotta hide, girl.”
    “No,” Nate grunted, dragging Betty toward the side door. “You’ve got time. You can get up those rocks, but you’ve gotta go now.”
    “But what are they doing here? What’ll they do to you?” Betty’s heart was thudding fiercely when Nate swung open the side door.
    “It won’t be nothing compared to what they’ll be doing if they catch you here. Go on,” he said in a hushed voice as he shoved her forward again.
    The smell of wet moss overtook Betty’s nose as she shimmied herself up the rocks and tucked herself away where she couldn’t be seen. It would have been wise of her to run straight home, but something kept her frozen. She couldn’t see over the rock she was tucked behind, but she closed her eyes and strained to hear any noise she could. Her labored breathing settled, and she folded her hands together, praying hard for all sorts of things that were bolting through her head. She prayed she wouldn’t get caught. She prayed the crowd coursing through the dirt streets that separated the shacks would not hurt anyone.
    There were moments she wanted to cover her ears to block out the shouting of obscenities and hatred but she forced herself to listen. This was what Winnie had told her was going on in the world. This is what was happening here, and hearing it herself solidified it for her.
    Betty watched the sun fall below the tree line and heard the thundering crowd fall away. She wanted so desperately to go back and make sure Alma and Winnie were safe, but she knew she’d already be in trouble back home for being out past sunset. She stood, peered down quickly at the shack and then ran off into the woods. Whipping branches slapped across her face and thorny thickets latched to her socks as she raced back home.
    Her house came into view and her stomach turned with unease. Nothing about coming home ever felt good anymore. The only thing she craved now was the warm fire burning at Winnie’s house and a giant heaping of her special mashed potatoes. She’d trade any of her belongings for one tight hug from the woman who made everything feel a little less scary.

Chapter Eight
     
    Betty leaned back in her chair and took a long sip of her bourbon. Every wide eye was fixed on her, and she felt compelled to finish the story even though her heart was aching.
    “Were they hurt?” Bobby asked, breaking the silence that had enveloped them all as they sat motionless on the porch waiting to hear more.
    “Maybe we should take a break and come back tomorrow to finish the story,” Michael suggested, running his eyes over Betty appraisingly. He was usually the one in the crowd who could sense someone’s angst. As a lawyer, his time in the courtroom gave him the ability to read a situation before almost anyone else.
    “But I want to know what happened. Was Alma hurt? What were those people doing there that night? I don’t get it.” Frankie’s voice was splintered with confusion and worry that sent chills down Betty’s spine.
    “You don’t hear this from me too often, but I think maybe I made a bad judgment call tonight. You might not be old enough yet to hear all this,” Betty said, running a hand over Frankie’s cheek.
    Frankie huffed out her frustration. “You said I’m not much younger than you were while this was happening. I’m just listening to the story. You lived it.”
    “I didn’t have a choice. Everything I’ve told you up until this point is tame compared to where this story goes. I think maybe I made a mistake. You don’t even need to know this darkness exists.”
    “I want to hear,” Frankie insisted, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. “You wouldn’t leave Winnie’s kitchen when you wanted her to tell you all about the world. She tried to tell you to go and you didn’t. Everyone tells me all the time how much I’m like you.