Sarah, Plain and Tall Complete Collection by Patricia MacLachlan

Author:Patricia MacLachlan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

8

There was school, day after day after day. I rode Bess the two miles there and back. I carried my notebook with me in my pack, writing in it at recess and lunch, sometimes writing in it when I was supposed to be doing other work. There were twelve of us in our one-room schoolhouse, ages six to fifteen. We all helped each other. Sometimes the older ones helped the younger ones. I taught Lily how to read. But sometimes the younger ones helped the older ones. Joseph was good at addition and long division. He was only nine, but he was the best at figures.

I depended on Cassie for news at home during the day.

“What happened today?” I whispered.

“Nothing. It’s too quiet here, Caleb. Only Min plays with me. Stay home from school. Please.”

“I can’t do that, Cassie.”

“Papa doesn’t play games with me. He works in the barn all the time.”

“What about Grandfather?”

“Grandfather takes walks. Sometimes he talks to Sarah. He stays in his room.”

“What does he do there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he reads,” said Cassie.

“I don’t think so, Cassie,” I said.

It was hard to escape Cassie. She wanted to play. She wanted me to read books to her. She wanted to skate in the slough with me when the snow had been cleared. But every evening I went up to Grandfather’s room and shut the door. The next two weeks, in secret, we read nearly all of Anna’s journals, so Grandfather knew about our lives without him. Grandfather learned quickly, as if he had been ready for this.

“‘Dear Mr. Jacob Witting,’” read Grandfather haltingly, slowly. “‘I am Sarah Wheaton from Maine . . .’”

He looked at me.

“That was her first letter to Jacob?” he asked.

I nodded.

“The answer to Papa’s advertisement for a wife and mother,” I said. “And then she wrote to us. See, there.”

I pointed, and Grandfather began to read.

“‘My favorite colors are the colors of the sea, blue and gray and green, depending on the weather.’”

Grandfather sat back.

“She came a long way.”

“We were excited,” I said. “Sarah wrote that she was coming. And then she added something for Anna and me that made us even more excited.”

“What?” asked Grandfather. “What did she write?”

I turned the pages of the journal.

“There,” I said. I couldn’t help smiling.

“‘Tell them I sing,’” read Grandfather.

He couldn’t help smiling either.

“We were afraid she wouldn’t stay,” I said. “She loved Maine.”

Grandfather nodded. He closed the book that Anna had written so long ago. I could tell our lesson was over for today. Grandfather walked to the window and looked out over the farm.

“You always love what you know first,” he said. “Always,” he repeated softly.

On Saturday there were clouds in the sky. The air felt damp and raw. I knew it would storm again.

It was stormy in the house, too. Papa came in for meals, but spent most of his time working: fixing fences, shoveling out stalls and putting down new hay, making sure the barn was strong enough for winter winds. Grandfather took long walks and once helped Sarah cook a stew.

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