At least, she thought, her brother had not turned to drink.
But there was a different problem. From what he'd said about this homestead, even a sober man didn't have much to work with, no trees to speak of, bad soil. Maybe they could keep a few chickens if there weren't wildcats and foxes to snatch them away. If it came to that, she was a good shot, though if there was shooting to be done, a gun was required. Addie pictured this flat dry land with a few chickens, realizing there was one thing she couldn't imagine. What kind of place he'd put up. Was it any better, or at least bigger, than the hovel they were staying in right then? Room enough for two people to sleep in beds at least? The way Tommy spoke, maybe that didn't matter. She'd be alone most of the time. Maybe it was the life her mother had chosen thrown in Addie's lap without asking. She felt for her drawstring purse in the small sack lying by her side. It was thin as a gutted trout, but inside was enough money to get back to Kentucky. It was also enough to stay for a while.
Excerpted from Take Me Home by Doris Haddock. Copyright © 2010 by Doris Haddock. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blood at the Root
"A gripping, timely, and important examination of American racism."
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