A Place Called Wiregrass by Michael Morris

By Michael Morris

Erma Lee is at the run . . . operating from an abusive husband . . . operating from a mom who does not care -- by no means cared. operating from a soul-numbing manufacturing unit task that has held her down her complete lifestyles ... Erma Lee and her granddaughter, Cher, flee to town of Wiregrass, Alabama, to flee the earlier and begin over -- or so Erma Lee thinks. Erma Lee kinds an not going friendship with pass over Claudia, an aged socialite who's hiding a number of information about her personal prior. existence in Wiregrass is diverse for Erma Lee and Cher, for the following they locate mercy and promise -- till, that's, the day Cher's convict father arrives on the town, forcing all 3 girls to come back to phrases with buried secrets and techniques.

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Sample text

And no matter what Miss Trellis claims about Miss Claudia sewing at some store, this woman had it good now. I had the scars from the wilderness and the blisters from the desert, and I survived it by myself. I was the only one I could count on. By the beginning of April, Bozo’s calls dwindled down to one or two a week, most often after he’d tied one on. I could predict them. He’d call at twelve-thirty or one in the morning and either cry like a baby, begging forgiveness, or rant and rave so loud I would hold the phone ten inches from my ear and could still make out the cuss words.

Two months later I stood at the courthouse and promised to honor and obey him. “I still remember the day I made up my mind to marry Luther. It was a hot morning. July, I believe. I was getting everything ready to open the shop, when the Old Man caught me by myself and pushed me to a corner where some nets were stacked. ‘I put a lot of money into you, girlie, and it’s time to pay up,’ he said. The bacon my mama had made him was still fresh on his breath. When I heard his zipper go down, my vocal cords dried up.

From down the line of third-graders ready to graze, I spotted Patricia with her arms draped over the shoulders of two little boys. She would be interviewed too. She’d wax her face up but good and act all sad over the horrible misfortune. I just hoped the killing wouldn’t happen right in front of Miss Claudia’s house. After all, Bozo did have her phone number. “Mama said y’all had the best time Sunday,” Patricia drawled with one hand on a lunch tray and the other straightening the shirt collar attached to a little black boy.

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