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ᥒ Free Download ᖽ Where the Crawdads Sing ᦏ By Delia Owens ᧄ

ᥒ Free Download ᖽ Where the Crawdads Sing  ᦏ By Delia Owens ᧄ ᥒ Free Download ᖽ Where the Crawdads Sing ᦏ By Delia Owens ᧄ 1.Ma1952The morning burned so August hot, the marsh s moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog The palmetto patches stood unusually quiet except for the low, slow flap of the heron s wings lifting from the lagoon And then, Kya, only six at the time, heard the screen door slap Standing on the stool, she stopped scrubbing grits from the pot and lowered it into the basin of worn out suds No sounds now but her own breathing Who had left the shack Not Ma She never let the door slam.But when Kya ran to the porch, she saw her mother in a long brown skirt, kick pleats nipping at her ankles, as she walked down the sandy lane in high heels The stubby nosed shoes were fake alligator skin Her only going out pair Kya wanted to holler out but knew not to rouse Pa, so opened the door and stood on the brick n board steps From there she saw the blue train case Ma carried Usually, with the confidence of a pup, Kya knew her mother would return with meat wrapped in greasy brown paper or with a chicken, head dangling down But she never wore the gator heels, never took a case.Ma always looked back where the foot lane met the road, one arm held high, white palm waving, as she turned onto the track, which wove through bog forests, cattail lagoons, and maybe if the tide obliged eventually into town But today she walked on, unsteady in the ruts Her tall figure emerged now and then through the holes of the forest until only swatches of white scarf flashed between the leaves Kya sprinted to the spot she knew would bare the road surely Ma would wave from there, but she arrived only in time to glimpse the blue case the color so wrong for the woods as it disappeared A heaviness, thick as black cotton mud, pushed her chest as she returned to the steps to wait.Kya was the youngest of five, the others much older, though later she couldn t recall their ages They lived with Ma and Pa, squeezed together like penned rabbits, in the rough cut shack, its screened porch staring big eyed from under the oaks.Jodie, the brother closest to Kya, but still seven years older, stepped from the house and stood behind her He had her same dark eyes and black hair had taught her birdsongs, star names, how to steer the boat through saw grass.Ma ll be back, he said.I dunno She s wearin her gator shoes.A ma don t leave her kids It ain t in em.You told me that fox left her babies.Yeah, but that vixen got er leg all tore up She d ve starved to death if she d tried to feed herself n her kits She was better off to leave em, heal herself up, then whelp when she could raise em good Ma ain t starvin , she ll be back Jodie wasn t nearly as sure as he sounded, but said it for Kya.Her throat tight, she whispered, But Ma s carryin that blue case like she s goin somewheres big.The shack sat back from the palmettos, which sprawled across sand flats to a necklace of green lagoons and, in the distance, all the marsh beyond Miles of blade grass so tough it grew in salt water, interrupted only by trees so bent they wore the shape of the wind Oak forests bunched around the other sides of the shack and sheltered the closest lagoon, its surface so rich in life it churned Salt air and gull song drifted through the trees from the sea.Claiming territory hadn t changed much since the 1500s The scattered marsh holdings weren t legally described, just staked out natural a creek boundary here, a dead oak there by renegades A man doesn t set up a palmetto lean to in a bog unless he s on the run from somebody or at the end of his own road.The marsh was guarded by a torn shoreline, labeled by early explorers as the Graveyard of the Atlantic because riptides, furious winds, and shallow shoals wrecked ships like paper hats along what would become the North Carolina coast One seaman s journal read, rang d along the Shoar but could discern no Entrance A violent Storm overtook us we were forced to get off to Sea, to secure Ourselves and Ship, and were driven by the Rapidity of a strong Current .The Land being marshy and Swamps, we return d towards our Ship Discouragement of all such as should hereafter come into those Parts to settle.Those looking for serious land moved on, and this infamous marsh became a net, scooping up a mishmash of mutinous sailors, castaways, debtors, and fugitives dodging wars, taxes, or laws that they didn t take to The ones malaria didn t kill or the swamp didn t swallow bred into a woodsmen tribe of several races and multiple cultures, each of whom could fell a small forest with a hatchet and pack a buck for miles Like river rats, each had his own territory, yet had to fit into the fringe or simply disappear some day in the swamp Two hundred years later, they were joined by runaway slaves, who escaped into the marsh and were called maroons, and freed slaves, penniless and beleaguered, who dispersed into the water land because of scant options.Maybe it was mean country, but not an inch was lean Layers of life squiggly sand crabs, mud waddling crayfish, waterfowl, fish, shrimp, oysters, fatted deer, and plump geese were piled on the land or in the water A man who didn t mind scrabbling for supper would never starve.It was now 1952, so some of the claims had been held by a string of disconnected, unrecorded persons for four centuries Most before the Civil War Others squatted on the land recently, especially after the World Wars, when men came back broke and broke up The marsh did not confine them but defined them and, like any sacred ground, kept their secrets deep No one cared that they held the land because nobody else wanted it After all, it was wasteland bog.Just like their whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves When cornered, desperate, or isolated, man reverts to those instincts that aim straight at survival Quick and just They will always be the trump cards because they are passed on frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes It is not a morality, but simple math Among themselves, doves fight as often as hawks.Ma didnt come back that day No one spoke of it Least of all Pa Stinking of fish and drum likker, he clanked pot lids Whars supper Eyes downcast, the brothers and sisters shrugged Pa dog cussed, then limp stepped out, back into the woods There had been fights before Ma had even left a time or two, but she always came back, scooping up whoever would be cuddled.The two older sisters cooked a supper of red beans and cornbread, but no one sat to eat at the table, as they would have with Ma Each dipped beans from the pot, flopped cornbread on top, and wandered off to eat on their floor mattresses or the faded sofa.Kya couldn t eat She sat on the porch steps, looking down the lane Tall for her age, bone skinny, she had deep tanned skin and straight hair, black and thick as crow wings.Darkness put a stop to her lookout Croaking frogs would drown the sounds of footsteps even so, she lay on her porch bed, listening Just that morning she d awakened to fatback crackling in the iron skillet and whiffs of biscuits browning in the wood oven Pulling up her bib overalls, she d rushed into the kitchen to put the plates and forks out Pick the weevils from the grits Most dawns, smiling wide, Ma hugged her Good morning, my special girl and the two of them moved about the chores, dancelike Sometimes Ma sang folk songs or quoted nursery rhymes This little piggy went to market Or she d swing Kya into a jitterbug, their feet banging the plywood floor until the music of the battery operated radio died, sounding as if it were singing to itself at the bottom of a barrel Other mornings Ma spoke about adult things Kya didn t understand, but she figured Ma s words needed somewhere to go, so she absorbed them through her skin, as she poked wood in the cookstove Nodding like she knew.Then, the hustle of getting everybody up and fed Pa not there He had two settings silence and shouting So it was just fine when he slept through, or didn t come home at all.But this morning, Ma had been quiet her smile lost, her eyes red She d tied a white scarf pirate style, low across her forehead, but the purple and yellow edges of a bruise spilled out Right after breakfast, even before the dishes were washed, Ma had put a few personals in the train case and walked down the road.The next morning,Kya took up her post again on the steps, her dark eyes boring down the lane like a tunnel waiting for a train The marsh beyond was veiled in fog so low its cushy bottom sat right on the mud Barefoot, Kya drummed her toes, twirled grass stems at doodlebugs, but a six year old cant sit long and soon she moseyed onto the tidal flats, sucking sounds pulling at her toes Squatting at the edge of the clear water, she watched minnows dart between sunspots and shadows.Jodie hollered to her from the palmettos She stared maybe he was coming with news But as he wove through the spiky fronds, she knew by the way he moved, casual, that Ma wasn t home.Ya wanta play explorers he asked.Ya said ya re too old to play splorers.Nah, I just said that Never too old Race ya They tore across the flats, then through the woods toward the beach She squealed as he overtook her and laughed until they reached the large oak that jutted enormous arms over the sand Jodie and their older brother, Murph, had hammered a few boards across the branches as a lookout tower and tree fort Now, much of it was falling in, dangling from rusty nails.Usually if she was allowed to crew at all it was as slave girl, bringing her brothers warm biscuits swiped from Ma s pan.But today Jodie said, You can be captain.Kya raised her right arm in a charge Run off the Spaniards They broke off stick swords and crashed through brambles, shouting and stabbing at the enemy.Then make believe coming and going easily she walked to a mossy log and sat Silently, he joined her He wanted to say something to get her mind off Ma, but no words came, so they watched the swimming shadows of water striders.Kya returned to the porch steps later and waited for a long time, but, as she looked to the end of the lane, she never cried Her face was still, her lips a simple thin line under searching eyes But Ma didn t come back that day either.2.Jodie1952After Ma left, over the next few weeks, Kya s oldest brother and two sisters drifted away too, as if by example They had endured Pa s red faced rages, which started as shouts, then escalated into fist slugs, or backhanded punches, until one by one, they disappeared They were nearly grown anyway And later, just as she forgot their ages, she couldn t remember their real names, only that they were called Missy, Murph, and Mandy On her porch mattress, Kya found a small pile of socks left by her sisters.On the morning when Jodie was the only sibling left, Kya awakened to the clatter clank and hot grease of breakfast She dashed into the kitchen, thinking Ma was home frying corn fritters or hoecakes But it was Jodie, standing at the woodstove, stirring grits She smiled to hide the letdown, and he patted the top of her head, gently shushing her to be quiet if they didn t wake Pa, they could eat alone Jodie didn t know how to make biscuits, and there wasn t any bacon, so he cooked grits and scrambled eggs in lard, and they sat down together, silently exchanging glances and smiles.They washed their dishes fast, then ran out the door toward the marsh, he in the lead But just then Pa shouted and hobbled toward them Impossibly lean, his frame seemed to flop about from poor gravity His molars yellow as an old dog s teeth.Kya looked up at Jodie We can run Hide in the mossy place.It s okay It ll be okay, he said.Later, near sunset, Jodie found Kya on the beach staring at the sea As he stepped up beside her, she didnt look at him but kept her eyes on the roiling waves Still, she knew by the way he spoke that Pa had slugged his face.I hafta go, Kya Can t live here no longer.She almost turned to him, but didn t Wanted to beg him not to leave her alone with Pa, but the words jammed up.When you re old enough you ll understand, he said Kya wanted to holler out that she may be young, but she wasn t stupid She knew Pa was the reason they all left what she wondered was why no one took her with them She d thought of leaving too, but had nowhere to go and no bus money.Kya, ya be careful, hear If anybody comes, don t go in the house They can get ya there Run deep in the marsh, hide in the bushes Always cover yo tracks I learned ya how And ya can hide from Pa, too When she still didn t speak, he said good bye and strode across the beach to the woods Just before he stepped into the trees, she finally turned and watched him walk away.This little piggy stayed home, she said to the waves.Breaking her freeze, she ran to the shack Shouted his name down the hall, but Jodie s things were already gone, his floor bed stripped bare.She sank onto his mattress, watching the last of that day slide down the wall Light lingered after the sun, as it does, some of it pooling in the room, so that for a brief moment the lumpy beds and piles of old clothes took on shape and color than the trees outside.A gnawing hunger such a mundane thing surprised her She walked to the kitchen and stood at the door All her life the room had been warmed from baking bread, boiling butter beans, or bubbling fish stew Now, it was stale, quiet, and dark Who s gonna cook she asked out loud Could have asked, Who s gonna dancePraise for Where the Crawdads SingA painfully beautiful first novel that is at once a murder mystery, a coming of age narrative and a celebration of nature.Owens here surveys the desolate marshlands of the North Carolina coast through the eyes of an abandoned child And in her isolation that child makes us open our own eyes to the secret wondersand dangersof her private world The New York Times Book ReviewThis lush mystery is perfect for fans of Barbara Kingsolver BustleA lush debut novel, Owens delivers her mystery wrapped in gorgeous, lyrical prose Its clear shes from this placethe land of the southern coasts, but also the emotional terrainyou can feel it in the pages A magnificent achievement, ambitious, credible and very timely.Alexandra Fuller, New York Times bestselling author of Dont Lets Go to the Dogs TonightReminiscent ofBarbara Kingsolver, this Southern set period novel unfurls a whodunit against a typical coming of age tale, when a mysterious Marsh Girl becomes the primary suspect of a grisly crime Entertainment WeeklyDelia Owens gorgeous novel is both a coming of age tale and an engrossing whodunit Real SimpleEvocativeKya makes for an unforgettable heroine Publishers WeeklySlow down and let this lush nature focused story unspool.A mystery will pull you along, but stay awhile in the descriptions of shifting tides, shell collections, and the mottled light of coastal Carolina Garden GunA nature infused romance with a killer twist Refinery29LyricalIts appeal ris es from Kyas deep connection to the place where makes her home, and to all of its creatures BooklistWith prose luminous as a low country moon, Owens weaves a compelling tale of a forgotten girl in the unforgiving coastal marshes of North Carolina It is a murder mystery love story courtroom drama that readers will love, but the novel delves so much deeper into the bone and sinew of our very nature, asking often unanswerable questions, old and intractable as the marsh itself A stunning debut Christopher Scotton, author of The Secret Wisdom of the Earth Where The Crawdads Singcarries the rhythm of an old time ballad It is clear Owens knows this land intimately, from the black mud sucking at footsteps to the taste of saltwater and the cry of seagulls David Joy, author of TheLine That Held Us Where the Crawdads Sing

 

    • Where the Crawdads Sing
    • 4.5
    • 827
    • Format Kindle
    • 384 pages
    • Delia Owens
    • Anglais
    • 09 March 2017

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