“Good. She’s really scared of him, Deborah. That’s
why she’s retained me to speak for her when his case
comes up. I just hope Judge Parker will put the fear of
the law in him.”
Our talk moved on to other subjects till the baby
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MARGARET MARON
started fussing. “Lunch sometime this week?” Portland
asked before hanging up.
I agreed and put the finishing dab of polish on my
toenails. It was a fiery red with just a hint of orange.
Later that evening, I wiggled my bare toes at Dwight.
“It’s called
think?”
He patted the couch beside him. “Come over here
and let me show you.”
Cool!
36
C H A P T E R
5
% “What’s wrong with garden peas?” my brother
Haywood asked belligerently as he reached for an-
other of my chocolate chip cookies next day. “Everybody
I know likes ’em, they don’t have no pests and they’re
easy to grow.”
“Which is why they wholesale for less than a dollar
a pound in season,” Zach said patiently. “And picking
them is labor intensive. After we pay for help, what sort
of return would we get on our investment?”
“Messicans work cheap,” Haywood said, “and they
can pick a hell of a lot of peas in a hour.”
His wife Isabel rolled her eyes at the use of profanity
on a Sunday, but it was Daddy who frowned and mur-
mured, “Watch your mouth, boy.” Not because it was
Sunday but because there were “ladies” present and the
older he gets, the more he holds with old-fashioned be-
liefs about the delicacy of our ladylike ears. (For Daddy,
all respectable women, whatever our race or color, are
37
MARGARET MARON
ladies. The only time he huffs and mutters “You women!”
is when we try his patience to total exasperation.)
Seth and Minnie had called this meeting for those
of us who still live out here on the farm. Even though
Dwight and I are not directly involved with crops,
