One Blood

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

 

Monday

Baton Rouge, LA

 

Coral watched her father carving in the woodshed adjacent to their home. He was making the pony he promised for her fifth birthday.

“The wood tells a story,” he said. Shavings fell to the floor by his work boots. “I walk through the woods out back. I see a tree stump. Tree stump starts talking. Says…I’m no tree stump. I’m a footstool. I’m a jewelry box. I’m a birdhouse. But I ain’t no tree stump.”

He looked down at Coral. He wanted to know if she understood.

She nodded, even though she couldn’t figure out how a tree stump could talk without a mouth.

“So I listen to Mr. Tree Stump. I let’m tell me his story. While I’m carvin’, I’m listenin’. And the story comes down like all them shavings you got there. Can you hear’m talking?” He held the clump of wood that had grown horse legs out to Coral.

She pretended to listen.

“What’s he sayin’, Curly?”

She shrugged.

“Well, one day when you’re older I’ll teach you the secret. My pop—your Granpop—taught me when I was just a bit older than you. He taught me how to be still and silent and how to listen…oh so carefully. Would you like me to teach you?”

Coral imagined all the ponies, frogs, butterflies, ladybugs, and unicorns awaiting her in the woods behind their house. “More than anything,” she replied.

“Would you like to try now?” he offered.

Coral was frightened. He held the knife out to her, hilt first, but she shook her head no. He pulled the knife back out of sight.

“Maybe when you’re older,” he said, shrugging. “Lemme show you how. Gimme that piece of wood over in the corner, Curly.”

She got up and lugged a sizeable piece of firewood over to her father’s workbench.

He secured it in his hands and started carving. Carving so fast his hands became a blur. Smoke rose from the desk. Her father’s face took on a dark shade of concentration.

Coral backed away, afraid.

“He’s talkin’ to me, Curly. Talkin’ fast. Can’t hardly keep up. It’s that tree, Curly. Melinda Weeps. It’s the doorway. Oh God. So much death.” He was sweating and crying as he carved.