The Springsweet by Saundra Mitchell Read Free Book Online Page A

and put it in a shelf dug out of the wall.
    Prickles crawled my skin, and I realized that this little house had its advantages. It was cooler than the open fields, for certain. Once I could breathe deep, I smelled the freshness of it, the rich, welcoming cool of a root cellar, only above ground.
    Pulling my petticoats and dress back on, I searched my own body with my hands. I felt rather like jelly poured out of its glass. I held my shape but wobbled all the same.
    "Let me try again," I told Birdie when I stepped outside once more.
    It was strange—I felt the sun more directly through my gown, and the wind more directly as well. The yoke, though heavy yet, settled more comfortably on my shoulders, now that it wasn't compressing me into my stays.
    "Lou can show you the well," Birdie said, hanging the pails on the yoke again. "Just fill them halfway at first, until you get used to it. Do your best to get that basin filled; I need to work on some lace for Caroline in town."
    "Yes, ma'am," I said, then squared myself to do as she asked. I had taken only a few steps into the prairie when I heard her call after me. Turning toward her, I managed to stay on my feet—quite an accomplishment in itself. "Yes?"
    Birdie put her hands on her hips and told me with a scrap of sympathy in her voice, "You'll get used to it."
    And I doubted not at all when I replied, "I'm sure I will."
    ***
    Standing over the little stove, Birdie swirled her wooden spoon in a bubbling pot. Her glances in my direction became rare as I proved I was perfectly capable of holding Louella in my lap and showing her how to stitch on her little piece of muslin.
    "Do you want to see my favorite?" I asked.
    Glad to be done, Louella became an anchor in my lap and laid her head against my shoulder. I turned the fabric around, trying to smooth a spot. The scrap had seen far better days, though. Once, it was cream colored; now it was dark as a shadow on its edges, and varying shades of gray throughout.
    "All right, duck," I said. Finding my fingers, I started a border on the scrap. A little, ornate chain appeared with my careful sewing. "This is a chained featherstitch. Do you see how it loops and joins up?"
    Louella nodded, and Birdie looked back at me. "Don't do anything you can't pick out. Thread's dear." Then, as she turned back to her pot, I heard her mutter, "But then, what isn't?"
    Quiet, I told Louella, "I have a world of experience picking stitches back out. But let's put some in. Look, I'm going to make a pretty pattern with it."
    Stuffing a finger in her mouth, Louella swayed, watching my stitches bloom on her cloth. Her lashes kept falling, and I thought very much that she might sleep right there on my lap.
    It was sweet for me, how warm and real she was in the curve of my arms. How useful I felt, though I was hardly teaching her anything at this point. Her hair smelled of sunshine and prairie grass, burned clean by the land.
    Tempered by her calm, I found myself drifting pleasantly too. My fingers danced, and the needle slipped between them like a silver fish leaping over waves. The muslin shimmered, the same way the prairie did when the wind rushed across it.
    On the horizon of the edge, past the stitched field of grain I made, it seemed very dark. Without thinking, I murmured to Birdie as I turned the scrap again. "Will the chickens go in their coop if it storms?"
    "If such a thing ever happened, they would," she replied.
    "It rained on me yesterday, and I think it's going to again."
    "From your lips to God's ears. We didn't get a drop, and we could use it," Birdie said. "I'll be lucky if my corn row is ankle high by July."
    I hummed softly, my embroidered field growing. It flourished with each sway, and each fluttering sigh from the baby in my arms. Rubbing my face against Louella's silky cheek, I repeated, "I do think it will."
    A crack of thunder agreed.
    Though the thick sod walls insulated us from the sound, it startled Louella from her near-nap. She slid