Cutler 01 - Dawn

'way he used to." Daddy shook his head. "Don't look good," he added.
    "He won't be as bad as Reuben!" I cried. "Jimmy's not evil. He wants to be good and do well in school. I just know he does. He just needs a fair chance. I can talk to him and get him to try again. You'll see."
    "I don't know. I don't know," he repeated and shook his head. Then he rose with a great effort. "Shouldn't have come here," he mumbled. "It was bad luck."
    I followed Daddy out, walking in the coolness of his shadow. Maybe it was bad luck to try to do things that are beyond you. Maybe we just belonged in the poor world, gazing dreamily at the rich people as they went by, and looking hungrily in store windows. Maybe we were meant to always struggle to make ends meet. Maybe that was our terrible destiny, and we couldn't do anything about it.
    "How come you never told me about Reuben before, Daddy?"
    "Well, he was in trouble so much, I just put him out of mind," Daddy explained quickly.
    We stepped out into the dreariest day I had seen in a long time, I thought. The sky was a bitter gray with a layer of clouds moving rapidly under another, thicker layer. The wind was cooler and sharper.
    "Looks like it's going to be a cold rain soon," Daddy said. He started the car. "Can't wait for spring."
    "When did you hear about your brother Reuben, Daddy?" I asked as we started away.
    "Oh, about two years ago or so," he said casually. Two years ago? I thought. But how could he? We weren't near the family then.
    "Do they have phones on the farm?" I asked incredulously. From all I had been able to learn about the farms back in Georgia, they sounded too poor to afford phones, especially if we couldn't.
    "Phones?" He laughed. "Hardly. They don't have running water or electricity. The homestead, if you can call it that, has a hand pump and there's an outhouse. At night they use oil lamps. Some of them crackers think a phone's the devil's own invention and never in their lives have put their ear against one or want to."
    "Then how did you hear about your brother only two years or so ago, Daddy?" I asked quickly. "Did you get a letter?"
    "A letter. Hardly. There ain't a one of them who can write more than his name, if that much."
    "Then how did you learn about Reuben?" I asked again. For a moment he didn't respond. I didn't think he was going to, so I added, "You didn't go back there yourself one time without us, did you, Daddy?"
    The way he looked at me told me I had hit the mark.
    "You're getting pretty smart, Dawn. It's not easy keeping something under the covers when you're around. Don't say nothing about it to your ma, but I did go back one time for a few hours. I was working close enough to make the drive and return the same night and I did it without saying nothing."
    "Well, if we were that close, why didn't we all go, Daddy?"
    "I said I was close. I woulda had to go hours back to get you and then hours back to where I was and then hours to the farm," he explained.
    "Who did you see on the farm, Daddy?"
    "I saw my ma. Pa died a while back. Just keeled over in a field one day clutching his heart." Tears came into Daddy's eyes, but he quickly blinked them back. "Ma looked so old," he added, shaking his head. "I was sorry I went. It near broke my heart to look at her sitting there in her rocker. Pa's death and Reuben's going to jail and problems with some of my other brothers and sisters grayed her skin as well as her hair. She didn't even recognize me, and when I told her who I was, she said, 'Ormand's in the house churnin' up some butter for me.' I used to do that for her all the time," he added, smiling.
    "Did you see your sister Lizzy?"
    "Yeah, she was there, married with four of her own kids, two not a year apart. She's the one told me about Reuben. I didn't stay there long, and I never told your ma because it was all bad news, so don't you go blabbing now."
    "I won't. I promise. I'm sorry I didn't get to see Grandpa, though," I said sadly.
    "Yeah, you would have liked him. He probably would have got out his harmonica and stumped out something for you, and then maybe the two of you would have sung and played something together," Daddy said, dreaming aloud.
    "You must have told me about his playing the harmonica before, Daddy, because that stuck in my mind."
    "Must have," he said. He started to hum something I imagined his father played, and I didn't say anything and he didn't say anything until we were home, but I wondered about Daddy and what other