Where the Crawdads Sing

AlsobyDeliaOwens
WITHMARKOWENS

SecretsoftheSavanna
TheEyeoftheElephant
CryoftheKalahari



G.P.PUTNAM’SSONS
PublishersSince1838
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
375HudsonStreet
NewYork,NewYork10014
Copyright©2018byDeliaOwens
Penguinsupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.
Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,or
distributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguintocontinuetopublish
booksforeveryreader.
Excerptsfrom“TheCorrespondenceSchoolInstructorSaysGoodbyetoHisPoetryStudents”fromThreeBooksbyGalwayKinnell.
Copyright©1993byGalwayKinnell.ReprintedbypermissionofHoughtonMifflinHarcourtPublishingCompany.Allrights
reserved.
“Evening”fromAbovetheRiver:TheCompletePoems©1990byAnneWright.PublishedbyWesleyanUniversityPress.Usedby
permission.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Owens,Delia,author.
Title:Wherethecrawdadssing/DeliaOwens.
Description:NewYork:G.P.Putnam’sSons,2018.
Identifiers:LCCN2018010775|ISBN9780735219090(hardback)|ISBN9780735219113(epub)
Subjects:|BISAC:FICTION/Literary.|FICTION/ComingofAge.|FICTION/ContemporaryWomen.

Classification:LCCPS3615.W447W482018|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableat />p.cm.
MapandillustrationsbyMeighanCavanaugh
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareused
fictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businesses,companies,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
Version_1


ToAmanda,Margaret,andBarbara

Here’sto’dya
IfIneversee’dya
Ineverknowedya.
Isee’dya
Iknowedya
Ilovedya,
Forever.


Contents

AlsobyDeliaOwens
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Map
PART1|TheMarsh
Prologue
1.Ma
2.Jodie

3.Chase
4.School
5.Investigation
6.ABoatandaBoy
7.TheFishingSeason
8.NegativeData
9.Jumpin’
10.JustGrassintheWind
11.CrokerSacksFull
12.PenniesandGrits
13.Feathers
14.RedFibers
15.TheGame
16.Reading
17.CrossingtheThreshold
18.WhiteCanoe


19.SomethingGoingOn
20.July4
21.Coop
PART2|TheSwamp
22.SameTide
23.TheShell
24.TheFireTower
25.AVisitfromPattiLove
26.TheBoatAshore
27.OutHogMountainRoad
28.TheShrimper
29.Seaweed

30.TheRips
31.ABook
32.Alibi
33.TheScar
34.SearchtheShack
35.TheCompass
36.ToTrapaFox
37.GraySharks
38.SundayJustice
39.ChasebyChance
40.CypressCove
41.ASmallHerd
42.ACell
43.AMicroscope
44.CellMate
45.RedCap
46.KingoftheWorld
47.TheExpert
48.ATrip
49.Disguises


50.TheJournal
51.WaningMoon
52.ThreeMountainsMotel
53.MissingLink
54.ViceVersa
55.GrassFlowers
56.TheNightHeron
57.TheFirefly

Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor



PA R T 1

TheMarsh


Prologue
1969

M

arshisnotswamp.Marshisaspaceoflight,wheregrassgrowsinwater,
andwaterflowsintothesky.Slow-movingcreekswander,carryingtheorb
ofthesunwiththemtothesea,andlong-leggedbirdsliftwithunexpectedgrace
—asthoughnotbuilttofly—againsttheroarofathousandsnowgeese.
Thenwithinthemarsh,hereandthere,trueswampcrawlsintolow-lying
bogs,hiddeninclammyforests.Swampwaterisstillanddark,havingswallowed
thelightinitsmuddythroat.Evennightcrawlersarediurnalinthislair.There
aresounds,ofcourse,butcomparedtothemarsh,theswampisquietbecause
decompositioniscellularwork.Lifedecaysandreeksandreturnstotherotted
duff;apoignantwallowofdeathbegettinglife.
OnthemorningofOctober30,1969,thebodyofChaseAndrewslayinthe
swamp,whichwouldhaveabsorbeditsilently,routinely.Hidingitforgood.A
swampknowsallaboutdeath,anddoesn’tnecessarilydefineitastragedy,
certainlynotasin.Butthismorningtwoboysfromthevillagerodetheirbikes
outtotheoldfiretowerand,fromthethirdswitchback,spottedhisdenimjacket.

1.

Ma
1952

T

hemorningburnedsoAugust-hot,themarsh’smoistbreathhungtheoaks
andpineswithfog.Thepalmettopatchesstoodunusuallyquietexceptfor
thelow,slowflapoftheheron’swingsliftingfromthelagoon.Andthen,Kya,
onlysixatthetime,heardthescreendoorslap.Standingonthestool,she
stoppedscrubbinggritsfromthepotandlowereditintothebasinofworn-out
suds.Nosoundsnowbutherownbreathing.Whohadlefttheshack?NotMa.
Sheneverletthedoorslam.
ButwhenKyarantotheporch,shesawhermotherinalongbrownskirt,
kickpleatsnippingatherankles,asshewalkeddownthesandylaneinhigh
heels.Thestubby-nosedshoeswerefakealligatorskin.Heronlygoing-outpair.
KyawantedtoholleroutbutknewnottorousePa,soopenedthedoorandstood
onthebrick-’n’-boardsteps.FromthereshesawthebluetraincaseMacarried.
Usually,withtheconfidenceofapup,Kyaknewhermotherwouldreturnwith
meatwrappedingreasybrownpaperorwithachicken,headdanglingdown.
Butsheneverworethegatorheels,nevertookacase.
Maalwayslookedbackwherethefootlanemettheroad,onearmheldhigh,
whitepalmwaving,assheturnedontothetrack,whichwovethroughbog
forests,cattaillagoons,andmaybe—ifthetideobliged—eventuallyintotown.
Buttodayshewalkedon,unsteadyintheruts.Hertallfigureemergednowand
thenthroughtheholesoftheforestuntilonlyswatchesofwhitescarfflashed
betweentheleaves.Kyasprintedtothespotsheknewwouldbaretheroad;

surelyMawouldwavefromthere,butshearrivedonlyintimetoglimpsethe
bluecase—thecolorsowrongforthewoods—asitdisappeared.Aheaviness,
thickasblack-cottonmud,pushedherchestasshereturnedtothestepstowait.


Kyawastheyoungestoffive,theothersmucholder,thoughlatershecouldn’t
recalltheirages.TheylivedwithMaandPa,squeezedtogetherlikepenned
rabbits,intherough-cutshack,itsscreenedporchstaringbig-eyedfromunder
theoaks.
Jodie,thebrotherclosesttoKya,butstillsevenyearsolder,steppedfromthe
houseandstoodbehindher.Hehadhersamedarkeyesandblackhair;had
taughtherbirdsongs,starnames,howtosteertheboatthroughsawgrass.
“Ma’llbeback,”hesaid.
“Idunno.She’swearin’hergatorshoes.”
“Amadon’tleaveherkids.Itain’tin’em.”
“Youtoldmethatfoxleftherbabies.”
“Yeah,butthatvixengot’erlegalltoreup.She’d’vestarvedtodeathifshe’d
triedtofeedherself’n’herkits.Shewasbetterofftoleave’em,healherselfup,
thenwhelpmorewhenshecouldraise’emgood.Maain’tstarvin’,she’llbe
back.”Jodiewasn’tnearlyassureashesounded,butsaiditforKya.
Herthroattight,shewhispered,“ButMa’scarryin’thatbluecaselikeshe’s
goin’somewheresbig.”
•••
THESHACKSATBACKfromthepalmettos,whichsprawledacrosssandflatstoa
necklaceofgreenlagoonsand,inthedistance,allthemarshbeyond.Milesof
blade-grasssotoughitgrewinsaltwater,interruptedonlybytreessobentthey
woretheshapeofthewind.Oakforestsbunchedaroundtheothersidesofthe
shackandshelteredtheclosestlagoon,itssurfacesorichinlifeitchurned.Salt
airandgull-songdriftedthroughthetreesfromthesea.
Claimingterritoryhadn’tchangedmuchsincethe1500s.Thescatteredmarsh

holdingsweren’tlegallydescribed,juststakedoutnatural—acreekboundary
here,adeadoakthere—byrenegades.Amandoesn’tsetupapalmettolean-toin
abogunlesshe’sontherunfromsomebodyorattheendofhisownroad.
Themarshwasguardedbyatornshoreline,labeledbyearlyexplorersasthe
“GraveyardoftheAtlantic”becauseriptides,furiouswinds,andshallowshoals
wreckedshipslikepaperhatsalongwhatwouldbecometheNorthCarolina
coast.Oneseaman’sjournalread,“rang’dalongtheShoar...butcoulddiscern
noEntrance...AviolentStormovertookus...wewereforcedtogetoffto
Sea,tosecureOurselvesandShip,andweredrivenbytheRapidityofastrong
Current...


“TheLand...beingmarshyandSwamps,wereturn’dtowardsourShip...
DiscouragementofallsuchasshouldhereaftercomeintothosePartstosettle.”
Thoselookingforseriouslandmovedon,andthisinfamousmarshbecamea
net,scoopingupamishmashofmutinoussailors,castaways,debtors,and
fugitivesdodgingwars,taxes,orlawsthattheydidn’ttaketo.Theonesmalaria
didn’tkillortheswampdidn’tswallowbredintoawoodsmentribeofseveral
racesandmultiplecultures,eachofwhomcouldfellasmallforestwithahatchet
andpackabuckformiles.Likeriverrats,eachhadhisownterritory,yethadto
fitintothefringeorsimplydisappearsomedayintheswamp.Twohundred
yearslater,theywerejoinedbyrunawayslaves,whoescapedintothemarshand
werecalledmaroons,andfreedslaves,pennilessandbeleaguered,whodispersed
intothewater-landbecauseofscantoptions.
Maybeitwasmeancountry,butnotaninchwaslean.Layersoflife—
squigglysandcrabs,mud-waddlingcrayfish,waterfowl,fish,shrimp,oysters,
fatteddeer,andplumpgeese—werepiledonthelandorinthewater.Amanwho
didn’tmindscrabblingforsupperwouldneverstarve.
Itwasnow1952,sosomeoftheclaimshadbeenheldbyastringof
disconnected,unrecordedpersonsforfourcenturies.MostbeforetheCivilWar.

Otherssquattedonthelandmorerecently,especiallyaftertheWorldWars,when
mencamebackbrokeandbroke-up.Themarshdidnotconfinethembutdefined
themand,likeanysacredground,kepttheirsecretsdeep.Noonecaredthatthey
heldthelandbecausenobodyelsewantedit.Afterall,itwaswastelandbog.
Justliketheirwhiskey,themarshdwellersbootleggedtheirownlaws—not
likethoseburnedontostonetabletsorinscribedondocuments,butdeeperones,
stampedintheirgenes.Ancientandnatural,likethosehatchedfromhawksand
doves.Whencornered,desperate,orisolated,manrevertstothoseinstinctsthat
aimstraightatsurvival.Quickandjust.Theywillalwaysbethetrumpcards
becausetheyarepassedonmorefrequentlyfromonegenerationtothenextthan
thegentlergenes.Itisnotamorality,butsimplemath.Amongthemselves,
dovesfightasoftenashawks.
•••
MADIDN’TCOMEBACKthatday.Noonespokeofit.LeastofallPa.Stinkingof
fishanddrumlikker,heclankedpotlids.“Whar’ssupper?”
Eyesdowncast,thebrothersandsistersshrugged.Padog-cussed,thenlimpsteppedout,backintothewoods.Therehadbeenfightsbefore;Mahadevenleft


atimeortwo,butshealwayscameback,scoopingupwhoeverwouldbe
cuddled.
Thetwooldersisterscookedasupperofredbeansandcornbread,butnoone
sattoeatatthetable,astheywouldhavewithMa.Eachdippedbeansfromthe
pot,floppedcornbreadontop,andwanderedofftoeatontheirfloormattresses
orthefadedsofa.
Kyacouldn’teat.Shesatontheporchsteps,lookingdownthelane.Tallfor
herage,boneskinny,shehaddeep-tannedskinandstraighthair,blackandthick
ascrowwings.
Darknessputastoptoherlookout.Croakingfrogswoulddrownthesounds
offootsteps;evenso,shelayonherporchbed,listening.Justthatmorningshe’d
awakenedtofatbackcracklingintheironskilletandwhiffsofbiscuitsbrowning

inthewoodoven.Pullingupherbiboveralls,she’drushedintothekitchento
puttheplatesandforksout.Picktheweevilsfromthegrits.Mostdawns,smiling
wide,Mahuggedher—“Goodmorning,myspecialgirl”—andthetwoofthem
movedaboutthechores,dancelike.SometimesMasangfolksongsorquoted
nurseryrhymes:“Thislittlepiggywenttomarket.”Orshe’dswingKyaintoa
jitterbug,theirfeetbangingtheplywoodflooruntilthemusicofthebatteryoperatedradiodied,soundingasifitweresingingtoitselfatthebottomofa
barrel.OthermorningsMaspokeaboutadultthingsKyadidn’tunderstand,but
shefiguredMa’swordsneededsomewheretogo,sosheabsorbedthemthrough
herskin,asshepokedmorewoodinthecookstove.Noddinglikesheknew.
Then,thehustleofgettingeverybodyupandfed.Panotthere.Hehadtwo
settings:silenceandshouting.Soitwasjustfinewhenhesleptthrough,ordidn’t
comehomeatall.
Butthismorning,Mahadbeenquiet;hersmilelost,hereyesred.She’dtieda
whitescarfpiratestyle,lowacrossherforehead,butthepurpleandyellowedges
ofabruisespilledout.Rightafterbreakfast,evenbeforethedisheswerewashed,
Mahadputafewpersonalsinthetraincaseandwalkeddowntheroad.
•••
THENEXTMORNING,Kyatookupherpostagainonthesteps,herdarkeyes
boringdownthelanelikeatunnelwaitingforatrain.Themarshbeyondwas
veiledinfogsolowitscushybottomsatrightonthemud.Barefoot,Kya
drummedhertoes,twirledgrassstemsatdoodlebugs,butasix-year-oldcan’tsit
longandsoonshemoseyedontothetidalflats,suckingsoundspullingather


toes.Squattingattheedgeoftheclearwater,shewatchedminnowsdartbetween
sunspotsandshadows.
Jodieholleredtoherfromthepalmettos.Shestared;maybehewascoming
withnews.Butashewovethroughthespikyfronds,sheknewbythewayhe
moved,casual,thatMawasn’thome.
“Yawantaplayexplorers?”heasked.

“Yasaidya’retoooldtoplay’splorers.”
“Nah,Ijustsaidthat.Nevertooold.Raceya!”
Theytoreacrosstheflats,thenthroughthewoodstowardthebeach.She
squealedasheovertookherandlaugheduntiltheyreachedthelargeoakthat
juttedenormousarmsoverthesand.Jodieandtheirolderbrother,Murph,had
hammeredafewboardsacrossthebranchesasalookouttowerandtreefort.
Now,muchofitwasfallingin,danglingfromrustynails.
Usuallyifshewasallowedtocrewatallitwasasslavegirl,bringingher
brotherswarmbiscuitsswipedfromMa’span.
ButtodayJodiesaid,“Youcanbecaptain.”
Kyaraisedherrightarminacharge.“RunofftheSpaniards!”Theybrokeoff
stick-swordsandcrashedthroughbrambles,shoutingandstabbingattheenemy.
Then—make-believecomingandgoingeasily—shewalkedtoamossylog
andsat.Silently,hejoinedher.Hewantedtosaysomethingtogethermindoff
Ma,butnowordscame,sotheywatchedtheswimmingshadowsofwater
striders.
Kyareturnedtotheporchstepslaterandwaitedforalongtime,but,asshe
lookedtotheendofthelane,shenevercried.Herfacewasstill,herlipsasimple
thinlineundersearchingeyes.ButMadidn’tcomebackthatdayeither.


2.

Jodie
1952

A

fterMaleft,overthenextfewweeks,Kya’soldestbrotherandtwosisters
driftedawaytoo,asifbyexample.TheyhadenduredPa’sred-facedrages,

whichstartedasshouts,thenescalatedintofist-slugs,orbackhandedpunches,
untilonebyone,theydisappeared.Theywerenearlygrownanyway.Andlater,
justassheforgottheirages,shecouldn’tremembertheirrealnames,onlythat
theywerecalledMissy,Murph,andMandy.Onherporchmattress,Kyafounda
smallpileofsocksleftbyhersisters.
OnthemorningwhenJodiewastheonlysiblingleft,Kyaawakenedtothe
clatter-clankandhotgreaseofbreakfast.Shedashedintothekitchen,thinking
Mawashomefryingcornfrittersorhoecakes.ButitwasJodie,standingatthe
woodstove,stirringgrits.Shesmiledtohidetheletdown,andhepattedthetop
ofherhead,gentlyshushinghertobequiet:iftheydidn’twakePa,theycould
eatalone.Jodiedidn’tknowhowtomakebiscuits,andtherewasn’tanybacon,
sohecookedgritsandscrambledeggsinlard,andtheysatdowntogether,
silentlyexchangingglancesandsmiles.
Theywashedtheirdishesfast,thenranoutthedoortowardthemarsh,hein
thelead.ButjustthenPashoutedandhobbledtowardthem.Impossiblylean,his
frameseemedtoflopaboutfrompoorgravity.Hismolarsyellowasanolddog’s
teeth.
KyalookedupatJodie.“Wecanrun.Hideinthemossyplace.”
“It’sokay.It’llbeokay,”hesaid.
•••


LATER,NEARSUNSET,JodiefoundKyaonthebeachstaringatthesea.Ashe
steppedupbesideher,shedidn’tlookathimbutkepthereyesontheroiling
waves.Still,sheknewbythewayhespokethatPahadsluggedhisface.
“Ihaftago,Kya.Can’tliveherenolonger.”
Shealmostturnedtohim,butdidn’t.Wantedtobeghimnottoleaveher
alonewithPa,butthewordsjammedup.
“Whenyou’reoldenoughyou’llunderstand,”hesaid.Kyawantedtoholler
outthatshemaybeyoung,butshewasn’tstupid.SheknewPawasthereason

theyallleft;whatshewonderedwaswhynoonetookherwiththem.She’d
thoughtofleavingtoo,buthadnowheretogoandnobusmoney.
“Kya,yabecareful,hear.Ifanybodycomes,don’tgointhehouse.Theycan
getyathere.Rundeepinthemarsh,hideinthebushes.Alwayscoveryo’tracks;
Ilearnedyahow.AndyacanhidefromPa,too.”Whenshestilldidn’tspeak,he
saidgood-byeandstrodeacrossthebeachtothewoods.Justbeforehestepped
intothetrees,shefinallyturnedandwatchedhimwalkaway.
“Thislittlepiggystayedhome,”shesaidtothewaves.
Breakingherfreeze,sherantotheshack.Shoutedhisnamedownthehall,
butJodie’sthingswerealreadygone,hisfloorbedstrippedbare.
Shesankontohismattress,watchingthelastofthatdayslidedownthewall.
Lightlingeredafterthesun,asitdoes,someofitpoolingintheroom,sothatfor
abriefmomentthelumpybedsandpilesofoldclothestookonmoreshapeand
colorthanthetreesoutside.
Agnawinghunger—suchamundanething—surprisedher.Shewalkedtothe
kitchenandstoodatthedoor.Allherlifetheroomhadbeenwarmedfrom
bakingbread,boilingbutterbeans,orbubblingfishstew.Now,itwasstale,
quiet,anddark.“Who’sgonnacook?”sheaskedoutloud.Couldhaveasked,
Who’sgonnadance?
Shelitacandleandpokedathotashesinthewoodstove,addedkindling.
Pumpedthebellowstillaflamecaught,thenmorewood.TheFrigidaireserved
asacupboardbecausenoelectricitycameneartheshack.Tokeepthemoldat
bay,thedoorwasproppedopenwiththeflyswatter.Still,greenish-blackveinsof
mildewgrewineverycrevice.
Gettingoutleftovers,shesaid,“I’lltumpthegritsinlard,warm’emup,”
whichshedidandatefromthepot,lookingthroughthewindowforPa.Buthe
didn’tcome.
Whenlightfromthequartermoonfinallytouchedtheshack,shecrawledinto
herporchbed—alumpymattressonthefloorwithrealsheetscoveredinlittle

bluerosesthatMahadgotatayardsale—aloneatnightforthefirsttimeinher
life.
Atfirst,everyfewminutes,shesatupandpeeredthroughthescreen.
Listeningforfootstepsinthewoods.Sheknewtheshapesofallthetrees;still
someseemedtodarthereandthere,movingwiththemoon.Forawhileshewas
sostiffshecouldn’tswallow,butoncue,thefamiliarsongsoftreefrogsand
katydidsfilledthenight.Morecomfortingthanthreeblindmicewithacarving
knife.Thedarknessheldanodorofsweetness,theearthybreathoffrogsand
salamanderswho’dmadeitthroughonemorestinky-hotday.Themarsh
snuggledincloserwithalowfog,andsheslept.
•••
FORTHREEDAYSPadidn’tcomeandKyaboiledturnipgreensfromMa’sgarden
forbreakfast,lunch,anddinner.She’dwalkedouttothechickencoopforeggs
butfounditbare.Notachickenoregganywhere.
“Chickenshits!You’rejustabunchofchickenshits!”She’dbeenmeaningto
tendthemsinceMaleftbuthadn’tdonemuchofanything.Nowthey’descaped
asamotleyflock,cluckingfarinthetreesbeyond.She’dhavetoscattergrits,
seeifshecouldkeepthemclose.
Ontheeveningofthefourthday,Pashowedupwithabottleandsprawled
acrosshisbed.
Walkingintothekitchenthenextmorning,hehollered,“Whar’sev’bodygot
to?”
“Idon’tknow,”shesaid,notlookingathim.
“Yadon’tknowmuchasacur-dawg.Uselessastitsonaboarhog.”
Kyaslippedquietlyouttheporchdoor,butwalkingalongthebeachsearching
formussels,shesmelledsmokeandlookeduptoseeaplumerisingfromthe
directionoftheshack.Runningasfastasshecould,shebrokethroughthetrees
andsawabonfireblazingintheyard.PawasthrowingMa’spaintings,dresses,
andbooksontotheflames.

“No!”Kyascreamed.Hedidn’tlookather,butthrewtheoldbattery-operated
radiointothefire.Herfaceandarmsburnedasshereachedtowardthepaintings,
buttheheatpushedherback.
SherushedtotheshacktoblockPa’sreturnformore,lockingeyeswithhim.
ParaisedhisbackhandtowardKya,butshestoodherground.Suddenly,he
turnedandlimp-steppedtowardhisboat.


Kyasankontothebrick’n’boards,watchingMa’swatercolorsofthemarsh
smolderintoash.Shesatuntilthesunset,untilallthebuttonsglowedasembers
andthememoriesofdancingthejitterbugwithMameltedintotheflames.
Overthenextfewdays,Kyalearnedfromthemistakesoftheothers,and
perhapsmorefromtheminnows,howtolivewithhim.Justkeepoutoftheway,
don’tlethimseeyou,dartfromsunspotstoshadows.Upandoutofthehouse
beforeherose,shelivedinthewoodsandwater,thenpaddedintothehouseto
sleepinherbedontheporchasclosetothemarshasshecouldget.
•••
PAHADFOUGHTGERMANYintheSecondWorldWar,wherehisleftfemurcaught
shrapnelandshattered,theirlastsourceofpride.Hisweeklydisabilitychecks,
theironlysourceofincome.AweekafterJodieleft,theFrigidairestoodempty
andhardlyanyturnipsremained.WhenKyawalkedintothekitchenthat
Mondaymorning,Papointedtoacrumpleddollarandloosecoinsonthekitchen
table.
“Thishere’llgetyafoodfertheweek.Tharain’tnosuchthangashandouts,”
hesaid.“Ever’thangcostsump’m,andferthemoneyyagottakeepthehouseup,
stovewoodc’lected,andwarshthelaundree.”
ForthefirsttimeeverKyawalkedalonetowardthevillageofBarkleyCove
tobuygroceries—thislittlepiggywenttomarket.Sheploddedthroughdeep
sandorblackmudforfourmilesuntilthebayglistenedahead,thehamletonits
shore.

Evergladessurroundedthetown,mixingtheirsaltyhazewiththatofthe
ocean,whichswelledinhightideontheothersideofMainStreet.Togetherthe
marshandseaseparatedthevillagefromtherestoftheworld,theonly
connectionbeingthesingle-lanehighwaythatlimpedintotownoncracked
cementandpotholes.
Thereweretwostreets:Mainranalongtheoceanfrontwitharowofshops;
thePigglyWigglygroceryatoneend,theWesternAutoattheother,thedinerin
themiddle.MixedintherewereKress’sFiveandDime,aPenney’s(catalog
only),Parker’sBakery,andaBusterBrownShoeShop.NexttothePigglywas
theDog-GoneBeerHall,whichofferedroastedhotdogs,red-hotchili,andfried
shrimpservedinfoldedpaperboats.Noladiesorchildrensteppedinside
becauseitwasn’tconsideredproper,butatake-outwindowhadbeencutoutof


thewallsotheycouldorderhotdogsandNehicolafromthestreet.Coloreds
couldn’tusethedoororthewindow.
Theotherstreet,Broad,ranfromtheoldhighwaystraighttowardtheocean
andintoMain,endingrightthere.SotheonlyintersectionintownwasMain,
Broad,andtheAtlanticOcean.Thestoresandbusinessesweren’tjoinedtogether
asinmosttownsbutwereseparatedbysmall,vacantlotsbrushedwithseaoats
andpalmettos,asifovernightthemarshhadinchedin.Formorethantwo
hundredyears,sharpsaltywindshadweatheredthecedar-shingledbuildingsto
thecolorofrust,andthewindowframes,mostpaintedwhiteorblue,hadflaked
andcracked.Mostly,thevillageseemedtiredofarguingwiththeelements,and
simplysagged.
Thetownwharf,drapedinfrayedropesandoldpelicans,juttedintothesmall
bay,whosewater,whencalm,reflectedtheredsandyellowsofshrimpboats.
Dirtroads,linedwithsmallcedarhouses,woundthroughthetrees,around
lagoons,andalongtheoceanoneitherendoftheshops.BarkleyCovewasquite
literallyabackwatertown,bitsscatteredhereandthereamongtheestuariesand

reedslikeanegret’snestflungbythewind.
Barefootanddressedintoo-shortbiboveralls,Kyastoodwherethemarsh
trackmettheroad.Bitingherlip,wantingtorunhome.Shecouldn’treckon
whatshe’dsaytopeople;howshe’dfigurethegrocerymoney.Buthungerwasa
pushingthing,soshesteppedontoMainandwalked,headdown,towardthe
PigglyWigglyonacrumblingsidewalkthatappearednowandthenbetween
grassclumps.AssheapproachedtheFiveandDime,sheheardacommotion
behindherandjumpedtothesidejustasthreeboys,afewyearsolderthanshe,
spedbyonbikes.Theleadboylookedbackather,laughingatthenearmiss,and
thenalmostcollidedwithawomansteppingfromthestore.
“CHASEANDREWS,yougetbackhere!Allthreeofyouboys.”They
pedaledafewmoreyards,thenthoughtbetterofitandreturnedtothewoman,
MissPansyPrice,salesladyinfabricandnotions.Herfamilyhadonceowned
thelargestfarmontheoutskirtsofthemarshand,althoughtheywereforcedto
selloutlongago,shecontinuedherroleasgenteellandowner.Whichwasn’t
easylivinginatinyapartmentabovethediner.MissPansyusuallyworehats
shapedlikesilkturbans,andthismorningherheadwearwaspink,settingoffred
lipstickandsplotchesofrouge.
Shescoldedtheboys.“I’veamindtotelly’all’smamasaboutthis.Orbetter,
yo’papas.Ridin’fastlikethatonthesidewalk,nearlyrunnin’meover.Whatya
gottosayforyo’self,Chase?”


Hehadthesleekestbike—redseatandchromehandlebars,raisedup.“We’re
sorry,MissPansy,wedidn’tseeya’causethatgirloveryondergotintheway.”
Chase,tannedwithdarkhair,pointedatKya,whohadsteppedbackandstood
halfinsideamyrtleshrub.
“Nevermindher.Youcain’tgoblamin’yo’sinsonsomebodyelse,noteven
swamptrash.Now,youboysgottadoagooddeed,makeupferthis.Theregoes
MissArialwithhergroceries,gohelpcarry’emtohertruck.Andputyo’

shirttailsin.”
“Yes,ma’am,”theboyssaidastheybikedtowardMissArial,whohadtaught
themallsecondgrade.
Kyaknewthattheparentsofthedark-hairedboyownedtheWesternAuto
store,whichwaswhyherodethesnazziestbike.She’dseenhimunloadingbig
cardboardboxesofmerchandisefromthetruck,packingitin,butshehadnever
spokenawordtohimortheothers.
Shewaitedafewminutes,then,headlowagain,walkedtowardthegrocery.
InsidethePigglyWiggly,Kyastudiedtheselectionofgritsandchoseaonepoundbagofcoarsegroundyellowbecausearedtaghungfromthetop—a
specialoftheweek.LikeMataughther.Shefrettedintheaisleuntilnoother
customersstoodattheregister,thenwalkedupandfacedthecheckoutlady,Mrs.
Singletary,whoasked,“Where’syamamaat?”Mrs.Singletary’shairwascut
short,curledtight,andcoloredpurpleasanirisinsunlight.
“Doin’chores,ma’am.”
“Well,yagotmoneyforthegrits,ordon’tya?”
“Yes’m.”Notknowinghowtocounttheexactamount,shelaiddownthe
wholedollar.
Mrs.Singletarywonderedifthechildknewthedifferenceinthecoins,soas
sheplacedthechangeintoKya’sopenpalmshecountedslowly,“Twenty-five,
fifty,sixty,seventy,eighty,eighty-fiveandthreepennies.’Causethegritscost
twelvecents.”
Kyafeltsicktoherstomach.Wasshesupposedtocountsomethingback?She
staredtothepuzzleofcoinsinherpalm.
Mrs.Singletaryseemedtosoften.“Okay,then.Gitonwithya.”
Kyadashedfromthestoreandwalkedasfastasshecouldtowardthemarsh
track.Plentyoftimes,Mahadtoldher,“Neverrunintownorpeople’llthink
youstolesomething.”ButassoonasKyareachedthesandytrack,sherana
goodhalfmile.Thenspeed-walkedtherest.

Backhome,thinkingsheknewhowtofixgrits,shethrewthemintoboiling
waterlikeMahaddone,buttheylumpedupalltogetherinonebigballthat
burnedonthebottomandstayedrawinthemiddle.Sorubberyshecouldonly
eatafewbites,soshesearchedthegardenagainandfoundafewmoreturnip
greensbetweenthegoldenrod.Thenboiledthemupandatethemall,slurping
downthepotlikker.
Inafewdaysshegotthehangoffixinggrits,althoughnomatterhowhard
shestirred,theylumpedupsome.Thenextweeksheboughtbackbones—
markedwitharedtag—andboiledthemwithgritsandcollardgreensinamush
thattastedfine.
KyahaddonethelaundryplentywithMa,soknewhowtoscrubclotheson
therubboardundertheyardspigotwithbarsoflyesoap.Pa’soverallswereso
heavywetshecouldn’twringthemoutwithhertinyhands,andcouldn’treach
thelinetohangthem,sodrapedthemsoppingoverthepalmettofrondsatthe
edgeofthewoods.
SheandPadidthistwo-step,livingapartinthesameshack,sometimesnot
seeingeachotherfordays.Almostneverspeaking.Shetidiedupafterherself
andafterhim,likeaseriouslittlewoman.Shewasn’tnearenoughofacookto
fixmealsforhim—heusuallywasn’tthereanyway—butshemadehisbed,
pickedup,sweptup,andwashedthedishesmostofthetime.Notbecauseshe’d
beentold,butbecauseitwastheonlywaytokeeptheshackdecentforMa’s
return.
•••
MAHADALWAYSSAIDtheautumnmoonshowedupforKya’sbirthday.Soeven
thoughshecouldn’trememberthedateofherbirth,oneeveningwhenthemoon
roseswollenandgoldenfromthelagoon,Kyasaidtoherself,“IreckonI’m
seven.”Panevermentionedit;certainlytherewasnocake.Hedidn’tsay
anythingabouthergoingtoschooleither,andshe,notknowingmuchaboutit,
wastooafraidtobringitup.
SurelyMawouldcomebackforherbirthday,sothemorningaftertheharvest

moonsheputonthecalicodressandstareddownthelane.KyawilledMatobe
walkingtowardtheshack,stillinheralligatorshoesandlongskirt.Whennoone
came,shegotthepotofgritsandwalkedthroughthewoodstotheseashore.
Handstohermouth,sheheldherheadbackandcalled,“Kee-ow,kee-ow,kee-


ow.”Specksofsilverappearedintheskyfromupanddownthebeach,from
overthesurf.
“Heretheycome.Ican’tcountashighasthatmanygullsare,”shesaid.
Cryingandscreeching,thebirdsswirledanddived,hoverednearherface,
andlandedasshetossedgritstothem.Finally,theyquietedandstoodabout
preening,andshesatonthesand,herlegsfoldedtotheside.Onelargegull
settledontothesandnearKya.
“It’smybirthday,”shetoldthebird.


3.

Chase
1969

T

herottedlegsoftheoldabandonedfiretowerstraddledthebog,which
createditsowntendrilsofmist.Exceptforcawingcrows,thehushedforest
seemedtoholdanexpectantmoodasthetwoboys,BenjiMasonandSteve
Long,bothten,bothblond,startedupthedampstaircaseonthemorningof
October30,1969.
“Fallain’ts’posedtobethishot,”StevecalledbacktoBenji.
“Yeah,andeverythangquiet’ceptthecrows.”

Glancingdownbetweenthesteps,Stevesaid,“Whoa.What’sthat?”
“Where?”
“See,there.Blueclothes,likesomebody’slyin’inthemud.”
Benjicalledout,“Hey,you!Whatchadoin’?”
“Iseeaface,butitain’tmovin’.”
Armspumping,theyranbacktothegroundandpushedtheirwaytotheother
sideofthetower’sbase,greenishmudclingingtotheirboots.Therelayaman,
flatonhisback,hisleftlegturnedgrotesquelyforwardfromtheknee.Hiseyes
andmouthwideopen.
“JesusChrist!”Benjisaid.
“MyGod,it’sChaseAndrews.”
“Webettergitthesheriff.”
“Butweain’ts’posedtobeouthere.”
“Thatdon’tmatternow.Andthemcrows’llbesnooping’roundanytime
now.”
Theyswungtheirheadstowardthecawing,asStevesaid,“Maybeoneofus
oughtastay,keepthembirdsoffhim.”