The Green Lace Corset, стр. 48
A blood-orange sunrise filled the sky. No way would she be able to do it.
Tiny frogs climbed over Sally Sue’s boots. She jumped back, stared at them, and listened to their message again.
Do it! Do it! Do it!
She ran back to the cabin as Cliff came out of the barn. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“I went to the pond to see the frogs. There must be a million of them.”
“Mmm. Makes for good eatin’. I’ll go get us some for breakfast. Wanna help?”
Even though they’d been living out here together all this time, she still couldn’t tell when he was teasing. “No, thanks.”
By the time he returned from his collecting, she’d gotten dressed and was feeding Socks. Cliff put a pailful of frogs on the sideboard. They slithered up and over each other, trying to crawl out. Cliff was just trying to scare her, but she showed him. She picked one up and petted its bumpy back, slimy as a wet cucumber.
Do it! Do it! Do it! the frog croaked.
Sally Sue glanced at Cliff, fearful he’d heard the frog’s message too, but he just had that silly grin on his face that he sometimes got and placed a china plate atop the bucket.
“Wait for them to suffocate, then cook ’em up good and greasy.” He licked his lips and went out to do his chores.
She picked up the plate and peeked in again at the hopping little monsters.
Do it! Do it! they teased.
“Oh, be quiet!” Sally Sue hollered at the frogs. Then she clasped her hand over her mouth and put the plate back on the pail.
Cliff came running in. “You okay?”
She looked up innocently. “What?”
“I thought I heard you call.”
“Not me.”
“Okay, darlin’. Let me know if you need anything.” He left her alone again.
Cliff did show his sweet side sometimes, but at any moment he could snap, and there was no telling what he would do then.
Do it! Do it!
Maybe she should. She wished she had some of that potion she’d seen on the tinker man’s wagon. Some berries could heal, and others could kill. Some of the killing kind would probably be growing on the hill nearby come spring, and by summer they’d ripen. She could test a tiny bite of each until she discovered which one was potent. No, that wouldn’t work—she might taste one that could kill a person with one lick.
The frogs had grown silent. She pulled off the plate and peeked inside. One frog squirmed slowly, but the rest seemed dead.
Out front in the larder, she got the butter and scooped some into the iron skillet on the stove. While collecting flour and cornstarch, she spotted the bottle of white powder Cliff used to kill mice.
She checked to make sure he wasn’t coming, reached for the bottle, shook her head, changed her mind. It probably wouldn’t work on a big man anyway.
As the butter melted in the skillet, she stirred in flour and cornstarch and held the spoon aloft.
Do it! Do it! her mind sang. She’d need to be careful. Quickly, she grabbed the powder and laced a trace amount into the batter. If she wasn’t careful, Cliff might taste the bitterness and grow suspicious. What if he didn’t die and realized what she’d done? Would it be better to stir in more, in hopes he’d die right away? She sprinkled additional powder into the mixture.
Her squeamish stomach roiled as she picked up a dead frog with her fingers, rolled it in the batter, tossed it into another skillet, and fried the corpse to a crispy texture. Cliff might die right there at the kitchen table, keel over onto the new wooden floor planks, or stumble out to upchuck and fall down dead on the dusty ground. Would he call her to help him?
But soon she’d be free, and with this break in the weather, she could take off right away. No way did she have the strength to dig a hole, move him, and give him a good Christian burial.
Would she go to hell? Thou shalt not kill. Was breaking that commandment ever justified? After all, he was wanted dead or alive. Either way, she’d never try to collect the reward; they might suspect she’d killed him.
Cliff poked his head in the door. “What’s taking you so darn long? I’m a hungry man, woman.”
“I had to wait until they conked out.” She smiled at him innocently. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Smells good.” The blue of his eyes brightened to match the color of the day’s sky.
Would he really harm her? She finished cooking, opened the door to call him in, and watched his strong and graceful body as he twirled a lasso in graceful circles around his feet, then over his head, singing at the top of his lungs, “Oh, my daaarlin’ Clementine.”
No, she couldn’t justify killing him. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t even kill a mouse. She sighed, tossed the entire concoction into an empty jar, and began the process over again, this time without the powder.
That night, in the twilight, frogs sang her a lullaby to sleep. She hoped she’d made the right decision, and might as well give in and accept the fact that she’d be here for a very long time.
33
Early the next morning, mist seeped over the ranch, thick as an eider quilt. Socks curled up in Sally Sue’s lap while she tried to write a poem. Cliff had been begging to hear one, and she needed to at least pretend she wrote. She picked up the pen, dipped it in ink, and carefully used her best cursive:
Snowed In
The ranch house sits in the valley
filled with blue-and-white dishes,
wooden antiques, and crackling fire.
Isn’t a poem supposed to rhyme?
Someone rapped on the cabin door. She jumped up. Maybe it was Sheriff