Unbroken by Jessie Haas

Author:Jessie Haas
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497662612
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

thirteen

Before Mr Mitchell went to his office, he took us out to the pasture. Tulip crunched oats, and Mr. Mitchell drove the Ford in circles around him. Tulip tossed his head, looking annoyed.

“You’ll have to train your colt this way,” Luke said, turning to me with wide, serious eyes. “Bring him down here, and Papa will help.”

But how would I get him down, I wondered, when I couldn’t lead him past a scratching hen? It was going to take so much work. I felt a stir of impatience to get home and get started.

We reached West Barrett just as the mill stopped for lunch. I saw Luke’s mother struggle not to look at our house. Tears glittered on her lower lids.

Althea popped out the door as soon as we stopped. “Harriet!” She squeezed my hands gently, with a quick look at my fingers. It took me a moment to remember how I’d stabbed them on the screen.

The kettle whistled on the stove, and the green teapot stood ready on the table. Althea poured boiling water over the tea leaves. Then she said, “Ladies, I need to show Harriet something. Will you excuse us a moment?” She led me upstairs and opened the door of her spare bedroom.

Althea’s spare room had been very spare: one old bedstead, one thin rug, one washstand. Now the bed was crowded with books, rolls of fabric, framed prints. Here were the pitcher we put wildflowers in and, next to that, our rotary eggbeater.

“Two o’clock every single morning,” Althea said, “I sit straight up and think, ‘But we never took that! She’ll need such and so.’ And along toward daybreak I walk up and get it. I told Andy Vesper, we didn’t have time to think before, any of us, but I just couldn’t square it with my conscience if I didn’t rescue the things Harriet ought to have.”

I touched the pitcher. Just a few weeks ago Mother had filled it with lilacs. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“I thought it’d be just you and Andy,” Althea said, “and more room in the buggy. But you take what you want right now, and the rest’ll be here.”

I looked at her, dried up like a raisin in her patched old dress. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know the words. I felt … proud of her, but a girl can’t say she’s proud of an old woman. I reached for her hand again and felt her hard old fingers squeeze mine.

After tea I made my choices. Luke came up with me, looking sober. She would be thinking of the brick house on Main Street, with its rugs and ferns, its furniture and knickknacks. A house seemed permanent, but here was our house turned into a forlorn pile of objects. That could happen to anyone.

I took my rug, my quilt, a small pile of books, and the flower pitcher. Later we passed a rosebush blooming beside the road. I filled the pitcher with white roses, nourishing them with lemonade from our jug.

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