smiled, and it was my PsyLED smile. Not a sweet one at all. “An elder who had a devil dog in his lineage. Because they come from the same kind of inbreeding as plant-people.”
Esther’s gaze turned inward. “Oh,” she said. “Them devil dogs . . . I never thought . . .” Silence stretched between us, and I waited, letting her think things through. Slowly, her shoulders went back. Her eyes dried. Her chin lifted. “I knew one. Lemme think on this a while. You’un made coffee? I smell it.” When I nodded, she said, “Let’s take a coffee break and eat the pumpkin bread Mama Grace baked.”
A coffee break is what the mamas used to do midafternoon, after a long day in the garden, or preparing and canning vegetables, or bending over a sewing machine, a loom, a quilting frame. It wasn’t a break in the work load, but more a time to do something less active in the heat of the day, like snap peas, hem a dress, sew on buttons, darn socks. It had often been a time of laughter and problem solving while the young’uns were napping. It was tradition. The good kind.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. “Anyone planning on going to war with the church should start with a strong cup of caffeine. Or in your case, a strong cup of decaf coffee or herbal tea.”
“You’un take the fun outta everything,” she grumbled. But Esther followed me down the stairs, listening to my suggestions and options for her future. Before Mud came in, my elder sister and I drank our way through a pot of herbal tea and half a pot of coffee, and ate half the loaf of spicy bread, while discussing potential plans of action. Esther never lost a narrow-eyed look of deep deliberation. I had a feeling that a corner had been turned, hopefully in a positive way, though the look in her eyes was stern and calculating. Under the table, I crossed my fingers for luck, though the church said that was a sin.
* * *
* * *
Mud came in the door with Cherry at her heels, chattering about the health of the greenhouse seedlings and more mature plants in the uncovered winter garden. “We’uns is got—we have turnip greens and collards and varicolored baby beets and four kinds of winter squash in the outside garden. We also got bunches of little rooted rosemary in pretty shapes like one a them bonsai trees. I think I can tie ’em up with bows and sell them at Sister Erasmus’ little shop during Christmas break.” She told Cherry to “down” on her pallet and poured herself a cup of coffee, liberally doused with cream and sugar, talking about scheduling a round of fall canning with the Nicholson women. She joined us at the table, stopped, and looked suspiciously back and forth between us. “You’uns is mighty quiet. Why’s that?”
“She’s having coffee and I’m having steamed weeds,” Esther said.
“We’re planning on going to war with the church,” I said.
“That ain’t no surprise. I’m in. As long as she ain’t living with us.” Mud pointed to Esther.
“She’ll be here a while,” I said placidly, sipping my coffee.
Mud slammed her cup onto the table and said, “I don’t want her living here. You and me get along jist fine. She’s all, ‘Do this, and do that, and it’s my way or nothin’.’”
I said, “Esther?”
“I been a pain. I’m sorry.”
Mud’s mouth turned down in the Nicholson frown. “You’re . . .” She looked at me. Sat in her chair. Brought her cup to her mouth and sipped her coffee. Set it down. “Well, that ain’t fair. I hardly got to fuss at all.” I wanted to laugh, but she went on. “Okay. The mamas would say you done gave me an apology. For what? And what you gonna do about it?”
I hid a smile. The church was awful about most things in life, particularly where women were concerned, but one thing they were good at teaching was problem resolution. Mud seemed to have been a stellar pupil.
“I been trying to impose order all around me,” Esther said. “According to Nell, it’s ’acause I got no control over my own life or future or marriage. Or I had no control. That’s for the apology.” She took a careful breath and wrapped her arms around her baby belly. “We’uns got potential plans for my future and a solution to our fighting. So as long as I’m