Hummingbird Lane by Brown, Carolyn (good books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

Emma slipped the necklace over her head. The soft leather with small feathers attached felt like silk, or even freedom, against her bare skin. The flat rock with a picture of a rose painted on it hung down between her breasts. She felt like she had just been given the Hope diamond.

“I love it,” Emma whispered.

“I’m making matching earrings, but they aren’t finished yet. Every real hippie needs dangling earrings,” Filly told her.

“I’ll wear both them and this necklace with pride.” Emma smiled.

“Good,” Filly said. “Now, let’s finish up these eggs so Arty can hide them. What’s your favorite memory of Easter, Em? Hunting eggs? Getting a new dress?”

“My folks are CEO Christians. That means Christmas and Easter only.” Emma toyed with the necklace. “Mother picked out an outfit for me to wear to church on those occasions, and I never did like it, so getting a new dress wasn’t a good memory.”

“Why didn’t you like it?” Filly asked.

“They were always so stiff and fit so tight, and the shoes hurt my feet,” Emma answered. “I would rather have had something like I’m wearing now. New shoes nearly always made blisters on my heels, and I couldn’t wait to get home and take them off. The only time I ever hunted eggs was when Sophie’s mama let us decorate them with crayons and watercolors and then hid them for us. That would have to be my favorite memory.”

Arty chuckled. “I love that about being a CEO. That’s what most folks probably are. I grew up in a big family. Twelve kids in all, and I was the baby of the whole bunch. They’re all gone now, but on Easter, my mama would boil dozens of eggs, and we’d color them. Daddy would hide them for us out in the pasture. But my favorite memory is the last year she was alive, when she let me help her make the family dinner. We had ham and baked beans, and she even showed me how to make her hot rolls. How about you two?” He nodded toward Josh and Sophie.

“Mine’s the same as Em’s.” Sophie smiled.

“Easter was just another day before I moved here,” Josh answered. “I do remember the year before he died, Grandpa and I went fishing. I always liked spending time with him, whether it was a holiday or not.”

“We had broom-jumping weddings on Easter when I was a little girl,” Filly said.

“I thought that had to do with the Black community,” Emma said.

“It did and it does, but there’s a dispute about just where it did originate. My folks liked to think it started in Romania at some point in my ancestors’ ethnic community. The Romani didn’t feel like the government should have any part or place in their marriages. They had rules, too. The feet of both parties had to be in the air, and later if the Romani elders condoned it, they could annul a marriage by jumping backward over the broom. In the carnie life, even though some of the folks weren’t Rom, and even if some of them went to the courthouse and had the whole marriage license thing, we still had the ceremony to celebrate their union,” Filly explained.

“Are you—” Sophie started to ask.

Filly butted in before she could finish. “My grandparents on my father’s side were Romani. They came to America and started a carnival and hired some of their friends and relatives to help run it. My mother was not Rom. Even though she embraced their culture, my grandmother never really liked her very much. By blood, I’m half Romani. By heart, I’m all hippie.”

“Did you ever jump the broom?” Emma asked.

Filly shook her head. “Never was good at getting both feet off the ground.”

“Did it always involve a real broom?” Sophie asked.

“Sure.” Filly nodded. “Each couple brought their own broom, and after the ceremony, it was given to them as a wedding gift. No preacher or justice of the peace asked them to promise to love, honor, and obey until death parted them—the couple just said their own vows to each other. Then the groom took the bride by the hand and, together, they jumped over the broom that was all decorated up pretty with bows and ribbon. The jump signified that they’d left their old single life behind. The joined hands said they were committed to be a couple. And the other side of the broom was their bright future.”

“I like that,” Emma said. “Makes more sense than a huge wedding.”

The word wedding sparked a vision of the huge portrait hanging over the mantel in her folks’ house. To her, the big smiles on their faces were all farce. She’d never seen them hug each other or even give a peck on the cheek. They shared a house, not a relationship, and if that’s what a wedding meant, then Emma wanted nothing to do with it.

Chapter Eight

Excitement filled the whole little trailer park that evening as Sophie, Filly, Emma, and Josh all waited at the table for Arty to hide the eggs. Finally, after half an hour, Sophie heard the familiar sound of the bell.

“What’s that?” Emma asked.

“That’s our call to line up,” Sophie explained. “Arty has hidden the eggs, and it’s almost time for us to find them.”

Filly passed out the four baskets she had decorated. “We’d better go get ready so Arty can fire his gun.”

“A real gun?” Emma asked.

Sophie nodded. “A little .22 pistol he uses to shoot snakes, but he’ll be firing blanks this evening.”

“This really is a production.” Emma took her pretty yellow basket and followed the other three to the back side of the trailers.

Sophie looped her arm in Emma’s. “Yes, it is, and I’m glad you are here with me so we can do this together again.”

Arty waited on Sophie’s back porch, gun in hand and Coco in his lap. A piece of gold Christmas tree tinsel