By Olive Ann Burns
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Additional resources for Cold Sassy Tree
Aunt Loma's face suddenly went redder than ever. Clearly she'd had a new thought. "Sister, with Love bein' Pa's milliner, and them seein' each other down at the store every day, people are go'n say—" "Will, I thought I told you to go get the eggs," Mama interrupted with a mad sound in her voice. "Now go on, right now. " I minded her. But she needn't think I didn't know what Aunt Loma was driving at. Well, there couldn't have been any carrying-on down at the store or we'd have heard about it long time ago.
There was a silence, except for Aunt Loma pounding her right fist into her left hand, bam, bam, bam, glaring at me as she did it. Finally she said my daddy might could talk Grandpa out of it. Mama didn't think so. "Hoyt don't even dare ast Pa to raise his pay. " She was being sarcastic. I'd heard her say that Grandpa thought Uncle Camp was still in knee britches. Aunt Loma didn't answer. She knew—they both knew—that nobody could stand up to their daddy. Then Loma shook both fists in the direction of the store.
I had never in my life seen a grown man cry that way. Preachers and sinners cried at revivals, and old Chickenfoot Creesie, a colored man, would cry when he came to our back door begging vittles for his children on a cold winter day. But not silent like this. Grandpa would of hated being seen.