Free Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) by Alice Duncan Page A

didn’t seem to care.
    “Yes. Harold says he wants to take me to lunch as a thank-you for getting his mother to see reason as far as Stacy goes.” I sat in my chair with a thump. “Sam told Harold he thinks she’s going to be sent to jail for three months!”
    Oddly enough, I found myself struggling not to feel sorry for Stacy, who had been, until a year or so ago, the bane of my existence. Well, along with Sam. Heck, even after she’d joined the Salvation Army, she’d still managed to plague me in one way or another.
    “No more than she deserves,” said Pa, who’d always taken a dim view of Stacy’s antics.
    “I guess you’re right. It’s just difficult to imagine somebody my age—and a female, to boot—being locked in the jug.”
    Pa shook his head and turned the page of the newspaper. “Act like a crook, get treated like a crook, rich female or poor male. Most of the time, anyway.” Pa knew as well as I did that rich people could get away with bad behavior a lot more easily than poor people could.
    “I guess you’re right.” Since Pa’s attention was otherwise engaged, I seized the opportunity, whipped my plate off the table and carried it to the kitchen sink. I heard the newspaper rattle and feared Pa had lowered it to look at me.
    “I hope you ate that wonderful breakfast your aunt prepared.” Pa’s voice seldom sounded severe as Ma’s occasionally did, because he was too much of a softy. That morning, however, I detected a definite hardness of tone.
    Fortunately for me, I’d been able to scrape my plate’s remains into the sink before Pa noticed, so I turned, smiled and showed him my empty plate. “See? I cleaned my plate.” There. I didn’t even have to lie that time. He couldn’t see what was left of my breakfast lying in the sink, from which I aimed to scoop it up and throw it away.
    His eyes narrowed. I braced myself. Pa wasn’t one to lecture, but he sometimes had a word or two to say about the behavior of his children. “Daisy, I know you miss Billy like fire, but you aren’t doing yourself any good by starving to death.”
    “I’m not starving to death!”
    With as stern a look as I’d ever seen on his face, he said, “Go take a good look at yourself in the mirror, Daisy. Your aunt is right. You’re wasting away.”
    “Nuts, Pa. I was too fat before. I’m just having . . . a little trouble eating as much as I used to, is all.”
    He shook his head, and I could tell he despaired of me, which made me want to cry again. Nuts. How come life was so blasted hard?
    Nevertheless, I decided that the whole world couldn’t be wrong about my altered appearance, so after I washed up the breakfast dishes, I decided to do what Pa had suggested, and took a good gander at myself in the bedroom mirror. Spike, bearing with him his expanded waistline, trotted along with me, probably in the hope of getting more food. I stripped to my combinations and stared at myself. Then I frowned.
    “Heck, Spike, I don’t think I look so darned skinny. I look like I’m supposed to look.”
    Spike snuffled, and I frowned down at him.
    “I do, too. All the fashion magazines claim ladies are supposed to have a slim and boyish figure these days. I’ve never had one until now.”
    My image in the mirror did make me think, though. It had only been a little over a month since Billy’s funeral. I had no means of weighing myself, but I had to admit that I did look kind of, maybe, possibly, the least little bit gaunt. My cheeks seemed to have caved in somehow, and my eyes looked back at me from hollows I’d never noticed before. The faded gray day dress I’d popped on that morning hung on me kind of like it did on the clothesline out back after it had been washed.
    “Oh, brother. How can I eat if food makes me sick, Spike?”
    Spike wagged his tail. I swear, if that dog couldn’t actually talk, he sure could communicate. What he was telling me then was that he’d be more than happy to help me out, and