“Realizing the futility of arguing with a man willing to cut even shorter his short life expectancy, Ella had gone inside and straight to her room, trusting that Mr. Rainwater would remember to latch the door when he came in. At breakfast the following morning, they exchanged polite nods but didn’t speak. At midmorning, he came out into the backyard, where she was hanging towels on the clothesline. Solly was sitting in the dirt, drumming a wooden spoon against the bottom of an upturned metal... bucket. Margaret was in the shed feeding wet clothes into the wringer. As Mr. Rainwater approached, he touched the brim of his hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Barron.” “Good morning.” “We didn’t finish our conversation last night.” “I can’t tell you how to live your life.” She pushed a clothespin over the corner of a towel, securing it to the line, then turned to him, raising her hand to shade her eyes against the sun.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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