Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

thought a moment.
    "There's another Heaven," he said, "just for animals, but not all animals, just for special animals, and right now, Cotton's strolling around, showing off her pretty coat of fur and making the other special animals jealous."
    "Did you put my hair ribbon in there, too?" Eugenia asked.
    "Surely did, Miss Eugenia."
    "Good," Eugenia said, and looked up at me. "Then my ribbon's in Heaven, too."
    Henry laughed and carried her back to the house. It took so long to undress her, I had to wonder whether the short trip was worth it or not. But from the look on Eugenia's face, I decided it was.
    We never took on a special pet again. I think we were both frightened of the pain that would come if we lost it the way we had lost Cotton. That sort of pain was something you didn't want to experience more than once if you could help it. Besides, we both had the unspoken but strongly felt belief that whatever we really loved, Emily would find a way to destroy and then later justify that destruction with some Biblical quote or story.
    Papa was very proud of the way Emily embraced religion and learned the Bible. She was already helping the minister in Sunday School, where she was even more of a tyrant than she was in Miss Walker's classes. Children were more apt not to pay attention in the church school, shut up on nice days when they wanted to be out playing. The minister gave Emily permission to whack the hands of those who misbehaved. She wielded her heavy ruler like a sword of vengeance, cracking the knuckles of any little boy or little girl who as much as smiled or laughed at the wrong moment.
    One Sunday she made me turn my hands over and whacked my palms red for daydreaming when the minister left the room. I didn't cry or even moan; I simply fixed my eyes on her and swallowed the pain, even though I couldn't close my hands for hours afterward. I knew it would do me no good to complain to Mamma about it later, and Papa would only say I had deserved it if Emily had to do it.
    That year, my first school year, it seemed to me that winter turned to spring and spring into the first days of summer more quickly than ever before. Miss Walker declared that I was doing the work of a second-grade student, reading and writing just as well and even better at math. Words were truly fascinating for me. As soon as I came upon a new one, I wanted to sound it out and discover its meaning. Even though all of Papa's books were still beyond me, I cherished my attempts to read them and understand. Here and there, of course, I did understand sentences and captions under pictures. With each discovery, I felt myself grow more and more confident.
    Mamma knew I was doing well, of course, and suggested that I should surprise Papa by learning how to read a Psalm', We practiced every night until I could pronounce all the words. Finally, one night at dinner, just before the end of the first school year, Mamma announced that I would open the meal by reading the Twenty-third Psalm.
    Emily looked up surprised. She didn't know how hard and how long Mamma and I had been working on it. Papa sat back and folded his hands on the table and waited. I opened the Bible and began.
    " 'The Lord is my . . . shep . . . herd, I shall not want.' "
    Every time I stumbled on a word, Emily smiled. "Papa," she interrupted, "we'll starve by the time she's finished."
    "Quiet," he said gruffly. When I finally finished, I looked up and Papa nodded.
    "That was very good, Lillian," he said. "I want you to practice it every day until you can do it twice as fast. Then you can read it again for us at dinner."
    "That will be awhile," Emily muttered, but Mamma smiled as if I had done something even more wonderful than learn how to read as well as a second-grader in one year. She was always eager to show me off and took every opportunity to do so, especially during her famous barbecues. The first one of the new summer was just a few days away.
     
    Grand barbecues had been part of the heritage of The Meadows for as long as anyone could remember. It was a traditional way to start the summer in these parts, and legend had it that no matter what day the Booths chose for their party, that day would be beautiful. The legend was upheld once again when the day of the barbecue arrived—a lovely June Saturday. It was as though Nature was at our beck and call.
    The sky was azure and never more perfect with its tiny clouds dabbed here and there as if painted on by God Himself.