The Twelfth Child by Bette Lee Crosby Read Free Book Online Page B

dream of places beyond the high ridge, float off and become a suffragette, or a piano teacher, maybe even an actress on the stage. For a long while she watched as the snow deepened on the ground and draped a white blanket across the bare limbs of the chestnut trees but when William stomped in cold and hungry and told her to get her skinny ass out of bed, she did. She pulled on a pair of woolen stockings and covered her dress with the apron her mother had last worn; then she tromped into the kitchen and set about the task of warming foods that had been brought by the neighbors.
    There was something about the wearing of Livonia’s apron that helped Abigail to remember the way her mother had moved about the kitchen. It came to her where Livonia kept the iron skillet that was used to fry the meat, she remembered to wrap the biscuits in a cloth towel before placing them inside the warmer, and when dinner was finished she heated water to wash the dishes. A neighbor peering through the windowpane could have believed it was Livonia moving about the kitchen, except for the stone set of Abigail’s eyes.
    As the days drifted into February, Abigail developed the ability to be elsewhere as she worked. She would appear to be peeling potatoes or plucking frozen laundry from the clothesline, but inside her head she was riding horses and attending parties. She pictured a horse that was all her own, a black stallion with white markings, a horse named Thunder, so mighty that people took a deep breath and gasped as she climbed astride his back. She dreamed of taking the train to far away places such as Lynchburg and Alexandria and saw herself wearing a yellow hat with partridge feathers as she marched into President Wilson’s office along with the other suffragette ladies. Yet, try as she might, Abigail couldn’t imagine the fair-haired girl breaking free of the snow globe.
     
    I n early March, Abigail Anne returned to school, despite William’s objections. He’d been of the opinion that seventh grade was plenty of schooling for girls, but when Miss Troy came to call with Preacher Broody, he pretty much backed off of that stance. He might not have been intimidated by Miss Troy, even though she was said to be the prettiest teacher in BlackburnCounty, but he was a God-fearing Methodist and wasn’t about to go against anything Preacher Broody said. Abigail hid in the pantry and listened to every word that was spoken.
    It started off with William being right sociable, like this was just a friendly-come-to-call-visit. Then when Miss Troy said it was past time that both children returned to school, he got real huffy. “Who’s to say, when my girl goes to school?” he snapped.
    “Every child deserves an education.” Judith Troy answered; her voice as calm and collected as someone commenting on the favorable weather.
    Preacher Broody didn’t say much but even Abigail Anne, peering through a crack in the pantry door, could see how he kept his eyes fixed on Miss Judith’s pretty face.
    “She already knows how to read and write,” William said, his voice bristling with rancor. “And, with Livonia gone, she’s got more chores to do.”
    “She’s just a child !”
    “She’s going on fourteen. I was only eleven when I started working the farm.”
    “But, the world is changing,” Miss Troy argued, “Now-a-days children need to know more than just reading and writing.”
    “Not for living on a farm, they don’t!”
    “Abigail Anne might not want to be a farmer!” At this point, Judith Troy’s voice got sharper and she poked that little nose of hers out in a way that made Abigail Anne worry her papa would reach over and smack it good.
    “She won’t be a farmer, but she’ll sure as hell marry up with one! You gonna educate her about caring for a family in that school of yours?”
     “I’ll teach both of the children the ways of the world so that they can choose what they want to be. The time is coming when men will travel to