Free Morgan James - Promise McNeal 02 - Quiet Killing by Morgan James Page B

I’d already risked a lot by sharing with Mrs. Allen. I didn’t want Susan to think me as bizarre as January.
    Susan was nodding her head. I took that as affirmation she understood what I was saying, and didn’t think me callous about Reba. “It does make me sad to know that Reba’s father felt he couldn’t raise her. Of course, considering the times, I don’t blame him for wanting her to be a white Connell and not a Beauchamp. He probably knew firsthand the kind of discrimination Reba would endure in Baltimore. It was all so wrong. Reba never had a chance to know her father.”
    “Oh Lordy, I wouldn’t want to even think about how my life would be if I didn’t have my daddy. The rest of the world might sell me out in a heartbeat, but my daddy would always be there to buy me back. From what you told me about the letter, it sounds like Mr. Beauchamp was a good man. Any man with theheart to cry when he hears his love has passed away has got to be good.”
    I agreed with her about Aiken Beauchamp, but wasn’t sure about my great grandfather. “I don’t know what to think about January though. Was he a good man? What kind of loony-tune person would exhume his wife and child because of an idea that Jesus was coming to lift them all up into heaven? And once he dug them up, where would he take them?”
    “Shoot, Miz P. you know where he’d take them. Any mountain man worth his salt would take his woman and child to the home place.”
    The realization flooded over me. Susan was right. Home would be where January would go. Home to the cabin on Fire Mountain. Up that logging road, in a creaking wagon…
    Susan poured me another cup of coffee and smirked. “Loony-tune? Is that an official diagnosis?”
    “Well, yeah. When it comes to my own family, I guess I’m entitled to say that.” I was trying to make light of January’s mental state, but all the while, what I’d learned about my great grandfather and great grandmother was nudging me toward a closed room in my mind, a room where sober voices stirred and shadows moved. Even as I stood in Granny’s Store and chatted with Susan, I could feel January pulling me down a hallway to that room where the voices lived. He had something to say, and he wanted to whisper it in my ear. To warm my suddenly chilly arms, I took my coffee and walked over to the front window to stand in a shard of sunlight settling on the wide plank floorboards.
    There was a message from Daniel on my home answering machine. I played it through twice. “Hey Babe,” followed by a few seconds of silence. “I don’t like to fight with you. I didn’t set out to make you mad last night. I just worry about you.” Another silence. Then. “Look, I been thinking, if you aren’t wanting to get married, that’s okay.” More silence. “I’ll take whatever you want to give. Just don’t shut me out.” Short silence. Then: “Thought I’d let you know. Time I drive home from the meeting; it’ll be pretty late tonight. I’ll call you in the morning.” More silence. “Or, you could call me. That’d be all right with me. No matter what time.”
    Cat and Junior’s food bowl was empty, and I’d left dirty dishes in the sink earlier. Time to think about Daniel’s message as I ran hot water in the sink and gave it a squirt of dishwashing soap. Was he saying he would leave me alone about getting married? Or, was he just smoothing things over to do battle another day? And why was marriage so scary for me anyway? I loved Daniel, and getting married wouldn’t really change our relationship, would it? Who was I kidding? Of course marriage would change things. I’d be risking hanging my heart out there again and…I didn’t want to finish my sentence.
    Tears threatened. I washed my face at the kitchen sink, dried it with a paper towel, and grabbed my corduroy jacket from the utility room coat rack. A long walk is always good medicine.
    When I had left the house that morning, I put Alfie in the fenced