In Straight Paths

In Straight Paths

Georgia Davenport McCain

Published by Ron McCain at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Ron McCain

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friend. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by this author. Thanks you for your support.

Cover Art: Janice Simmons

Originally printed by Old Paths Tract Society, Inc., Shoals, Indiana, 47581

Dedication

Lovingly dedicated to the latest addition

to our family,

A grandson, Brian Richard Wilson.

Also, I would like to dedicate this little

book to all the precious young people every

where who are faithfully serving God, "in the

midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among

whom ye shine as lights in the world."

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

About the Author

Books By Georgia McCain

Letters from Georgia McCain Books

CHAPTER ONE

Con-nie-ee! Connie Eileen Slocum, you come back here this minute, Mrs. Slocum called at the top of her voice. But Connie was oblivious to her mother's shrill command. Far across the meadow with kitchen broom floating over her shoulder like a banner, Connie raced on in wild pursuit of her twin brother.

Humph! A lot of good that did me, Mrs. Slocum muttered to herself, the scowl on her face deepening. She pushed back a strand of short, curly brown hair that the wind kept whipping across her face, then tucked her shirtwaist into her trim fitting slacks and, hands on hips, resigned herself to wait out the chase.

Thus far, Donnie had kept a few tantalizing strides ahead of his sister weaving in and out of bushes, darting behind trees, and jumping the drainage ditch. But finally, urged on by her fury, Connie closed the gap between them and gave him the full benefit of the broom across his back.

Those two are going to be the death of me before I'm forty, Mrs. Slocum sighed. She turned slowly back to the house, opened the screen door and entered the kitchen. One glance at the mess there served to renew her determination to teach Connie a lesson. She tiptoed across the wet, soapy linoleum; past the dirty dishes in the brimming sink; and perched herself on the kitchen stool to await Connie's return.

Her eyes roved about the room, taking in the details of the decor while she made mental notes of work yet to be done. She had always especially liked the large framed picture of a bountiful harvest of fruit and vegetables that hung directly over the little formica-top eating table. Noticing that the picture was slightly askew, she automatically started up to straighten it, but one step on the wet floor was sufficient reminder. Oh well, she thought, the glass needs a good cleaning with windex, anyway. I'll do both later. The usually gleaming white woodwork needed a touch-up here and there, too, she noticed. Donnie kept it soiled with shoe marks and fingerprints, exiting hastily many times a day, either from Connie's wrath or from his mom's switch.

Glancing toward the ceiling, Mrs. Slocum noticed a thin spider web. Well! However? she exclaimed aloud. It must have been spun since last week's cleaning. Connie could have vouched for that. There was no way that her mother could have possibly overlooked something as conspicuous as a spider's web, with the thorough inspection she always gave the twins' completed work. Those inspections touched a sore spot with both of them. It was well and good that she demand cleanliness, they thought, but she just carried the whole thing too far. Such scrutiny seemed ridiculous to them.

When you get a home of your own, you'll be glad you were taught to keep a good house, Mrs. Slocum often reminded Connie. But a home of her own seemed so far out in the future that it irritated Connie sorely to hear her mom use that argument.

Mrs. Slocum pulled her busy thoughts back to the present and as her eyes scanned the curtains, she saw that they were beginning to look droopy. A washing and some good thick starch would perk them up again, she concluded. But, oh, how Connie would hate that! She would argue that they looked simply wonderful to her. It takes so much time to take them down, get them washed, starched, dried, sprinkled down, ironed, and hung back on the windows again, Connie would moan. Mrs. Slocum smiled; she could almost hear her. It had happened so many times before. But Connie's protests were futile; her mother always won out in the end, and the curtains were laundered at least four times a year.

Suddenly Mrs. Slocum's thoughts were interrupted by the quiet opening of the screen door. Connie came sneaking in. With one look at her mother's set face, she silently waded across the kitchen floor to the sink and plunged in an arm to let out the excess water and get on with her work, hoping to avoid the customary scolding and switching.

Mrs. Slocum tried to force herself to be calm. She reached for her pack of cigarettes, took her time lighting up, then spoke. Connie Eileen, how many times have I told you not to leave the sink when the water is running? Look what a mess you've made--water and suds all over the kitchen floor!

But Mom, Donnie's the cause of it, Connie exploded furiously. I was minding my own business, running the water to wash dishes, and he sneaked up behind me and nearly yanked my hair out by the roots. If I had taken time to turn off the spigot, I'd have never caught him.

For pity's sake! When are you kids going to grow up? Who would ever believe that fifteen-year-olds could still be acting like babies? Now, Connie, before you wash these dishes, go get the mop and mop bucket and clean up this mess.

Me? There was defiance in her tone. Why do I have to clean it up? Donnie's the cause of it. Why don't you make him clean it up?

Donnie didn't leave the water running after being reminded time and time again about it. Now do as I say, Connie.

Oh Mom, why did I have to be born a twin? Especially with one like my bratty brother? She was in tears now.

Now Connie, Donnie isn't always bad. Remember when you broke your arm, how he did your work, even the dish washing? He carried your school books for you and was kind and considerate in every way. And besides, Connie, if you hadn't been a twin, you wouldn't have had any brothers or sisters. How would you like growing up like that? Donnie's better than no one, isn't he?

Connie gave her mother a half smile in spite of her tears, I guess you're right, Mom, but I detest his teasing me all the time. I guess it's just the boy in him, but I do wish he would be sweet to me sometimes.

Who do you wish would be sweet to you? The screen door had slammed shut and there stood Donnie wearing that mischievous grin that Connie detested. Do you wish Barney would be sweet to you? Or was it Jeffrey? Or--

Connie lunged at him with her fist, but her feet flew out from under her in the slippery suds and she fell sprawling to the floor.

In a moment, Donnie was standing over her, clapping hands and howling with laughter.

Connie sat up very cautiously with her hand on the back of her head, pretending to be in awful pain. Then in a split second, she grabbed Donnie's right ankle with both hands and, giving it a violent jerk, sent him tumbling down beside her. Before he could get his bearings, she was astride him, beating him with her fists.

Take this and this and this, she punctuated each blow. But the next blow was felt across her wet back. How their mother could always seem to pull a switch out of thin air, the twins never knew, but, oh, how it did smart when it would strike their sensitive flesh.

As the sting of the switch momentarily stunned Connie, Donnie saw his opportunity to free himself. He turned on his side, dumping Connie to the floor, and started crawling on all fours to the back door. With each foot he gained, he felt the switch cut across his back. Upon reaching the door, he jumped to his feet to make his getaway, but there his mother stood blocking his escape.

Get the mop bucket, Donnie Eugene, she always added their middle names when she was provoked-- and mop every drop of water off this floor.

Yes Mom. Donnie knew from his mother's tone of voice that there was no use protesting.

With triumphant smirk, Connie rolled up the wet legs of her jeans to her knees and turned back to her dish washing. Watching Donnie out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reluctantly start pushing the mop across the floor from one end of the kitchen to the other.

Donnie Eugene, you know that's no way to mop a floor, Mrs. Slocum scolded. Wring that mop out and take a little space at a time and mop that dry, then move over a bit and mop another section dry until you have gone over the whole floor.

In the midst of Mrs. Slocum's strident voiced instructions, a knock was heard at the front door. Throwing the mop down, Donnie started to answer.

Donnie Eugene, you just keep right on mopping. I'll get the door.

Mrs. Slocum quickly snuffed out her cigarette in the ash tray, brushed her hair back off her forehead, and went to the door, tucking in her blouse as she went. Behind her, the twins took advantage of the opportunity to get even with each other by making ridiculous faces and hurling whispered insults.

Why, hello, Ralph. Come on in. The twins are in the kitchen doing a couple of little chores. Go right on in and join them. Did she raise her voice on purpose so they could detect the satisfaction in it that was so very noticeable? the twins wondered. Connie felt good on the inside because Ralph was going to catch Donnie doing female work. She knew Donnie was cringing at the thought. Looking around she saw Ralph standing in the door, a wide expressive grin on his face.

Looks like your mom has really got you both busy today, was his noncommittal remark.

Connie turned quickly back to the dish washing for fear of bursting into laughter. That should teach her big-bully brother a lesson, she thought with vengeance. Surely, he would think a long time before he teased her again. She could sense his hurt pride when he spoke.

It's all Connie's fault. She let the sink run over and Mom's making me mop it up. But I'll be through here in a few minutes, Ralph, then we'll go play a little game of ball.

Connie's first reaction was to defend herself and expose Donnie's ugly behavior. But on second thought, she decided to let it go. No use starting another argument. Donnie was receiving his just punishment even if he was putting all the blame on her.

Connie, you look like a wet mop, yourself, Ralph teased. What happened?

I slipped and fell in the suds, she answered, her voice under perfect control.

A few minutes passed in silence. Connie saw Donnie wringing out the mop for the last time. His task was completed and she was glad. Now he would get out of her sight for a while, she hoped. But just as she turned her attention back to a sticky pan, she felt the lash of the wet mop against her bare legs. Whirling around in fury, she saw Donnie turn on his heels and head for the back door. She started to give chase, but remembering her earlier fall on the wet floor, she picked up the bucket of dirty water instead and gave a mighty heave in his direction. The back door slammed and Donnie was safe. Ralph followed, bending double with laughter.

Without turning her head, Connie rolled her eyes toward the door that led into the living room. Just as she had expected, there stood her mother, hands on hips and an exasperated look on her face.

Now what happened? The irritation in her mother's voice came through loud and clear.

Donnie slapped me on the bare legs with that old wet, nasty mop.

Did that justify you, Connie Eileen, in losing that awful temper of yours? And what did you do, throw that bucket of mop water at him?

At Connie's not-so-meek nod, Mrs. Slocum reiterated, And does that justify your behavior, Connie?

I felt it did, Mom.

Well, I feel it didn't. So just as soon as you get through with the dishes, you can get some clean water in that bucket and mop this kitchen floor all over again.

But Mom, it was Donnie's fault. Why do I always have to be punished for my bratty brother's tricks?

Now Connie, I don't want any argument from you. Do as I say or else.

Are you going to let Donnie off just like that?

Oh, Connie, let's just let him go for now. This thing could go on forever. I just hope he and Ralph will get lost for the afternoon. I've stood about all I can stand from you two for one day. She put her hand to her forehead. Oh-h-h, She moaned, I have a splitting headache. Why in the world was I left with the responsibility of rearing you two without the help of a father? If only your dad had been a man instead of the cheat he was, and would have done me right. God only knows the misery and heartache I've been through.

Connie started drying dishes feverishly. She hoped her mother wouldn't get started on that subject again. She already knew all she wanted to know about it. How her dad had left her mom when she and Donnie were eighteen months old because he couldn't stand all the fuss over those two crying kids. Supposedly, he couldn't sleep at night because when one wasn't crying, the other was. That had been his excuse for leaving them, but it all came out later that his little red-haired secretary was the real reason for his leaving his family. He married her a week after the divorce became final. But the red-head got her just dues when he left her later for another. At least that was the way Mrs. Slocum felt about it. What goes over the devil's back always comes under his belly, she often quoted. Connie didn't know exactly what that meant, but she was sure it had something to do with her dad's little red-haired secretary getting what was coming to her for taking their dad away from them. But at least Mr. Slocum always provided well for them. Connie couldn't help but wonder if he didn't have some good in him if he would do that all these years. But her mother only said, "That's nothing to him. He makes enough money to support a dozen families. I'll dare-say he never misses what he sends us every month.

But even though Mr. Slocum was faithful with the support check, he seldom made any effort to see his children. Connie was getting old enough to realize that her mother's attitude toward him probably had a lot to do with that. Mrs. Slocum always managed to get the idea across in some way that her husband wasn't welcome even for a short visit. A few times, he had taken the twins to visit at his place, but that never worked out well either. His present wife seemed to resent their coming, so their visits with their dad had been few and far between.

CHAPTER TWO

Saturdays were always busy days at the Slocum's. Connie was expected to help her mother give the house a thorough cleaning whether it needed it or not. And Mrs. Slocum could always find more to do than anyone could imagine. Being an immaculate housekeeper, she expected Connie to learn to be the same.

But Mom, there's not a speck of dust on this furniture, Connie would try to convince her..

Now Connie, there's dust in the air all the time, and it has to settle somewhere. It won't hurt to run the dust cloth over things, just in case.

There was no use arguing about housecleaning chores, Connie knew from experience. I might as well roll up my sleeves and get at it, she would say to herself, knowing that her mother would never let her off until she had completed all the jobs assigned to her.

Donnie's chores included raking the yard, mowing the lawn, cleaning the garage, washing the car, and doing the necessary repair work around the house. One of the most frequent repair jobs happened to