Читать книгу The Book of Harlan - Bernice L. McFadden - Страница 22

Chapter 15

1922

Wednesday, the day Tenant had put aside to visit the sick and shut-ins, he arrived home in a jovial mood. He removed his favorite pair of brown shoes, put on his slippers, washed his hands, and sat down to a supper of roasted lamb, new potatoes, sweet corn, and blueberry pie for dessert. Afterward, he and Harlan went into the study and shut the door.

It had become a custom of theirs, not unlike Saturday-morning pancakes.

“What y’all in there talking about?” Louisa would tease.

“Man stuff,” Tenant always replied.

After the dishes were washed and put away, the family gathered in the sitting room to listen to the Amos ’n’ Andy radio show and laughed themselves to tears.

Later, Harlan kissed his grandparents goodnight, and headed up to bed—leaving Louisa darning socks and Tenant reading his Bible.

At eight o’clock Tenant’s eyelids drooped. When Louisa heard him snoring, she patted his knee. “Reverend, you sawing wood.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He set his Bible and reading glasses on the nesting table beside his chair and clapped his hands against his legs to get the blood flowing. When he was able to stand, he walked over to Louisa and touched her shoulder. “Will you be much longer?”

“No, I’ll be up soon.”

He kissed her and headed up to bed.

When Louisa finally entered the bedroom, Tenant was snoring like a freight train. Smiling to herself, she changed into her nightgown and slipped in beside him. Soon, she was fast asleep as well.

* * *

You don’t spend decades of your life with a man and not become so familiar with his behaviors and sounds that when something changes, you fail to notice.

It was closing in on three in the morning when Tenant’s body went silent. The silence was as loud as a church bell, as earsplitting as a siren; it tore Louisa from her sleep. She turned onto her side, floated her palm over Tenant’s open mouth, and felt the worst thing of all.

Nothing.