Meg Follows a Dream by Norma Jean Lutz

Author:Norma Jean Lutz [LUTZ, NORMA JEAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-62836-227-5
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2004-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

The Exhibition

Meg opened her eyes to see two sets of frightened eyes looking back at her. Blinking a couple times, she realized she was on the floor of the hallway. Together, Fred and Julia must have dragged her inside. Her cloak was spread out beneath her. A cool cloth was on the side of her head. Julia was holding it there. Pain began to register. Sharp pain shot through Meg’s temple.

“Margaret,” Julia said in a quavery voice. “I thought you were dead!”

“Aw, I told you she wasn’t dead, silly.” Fred’s blustery front covered the fear in his voice. “Just like all women, she faints to save herself. If you can’t get what you want, just faint. Poof!” He snapped his fingers. “Takes care of everything. All except for the knock on the noggin.”

Meg assumed she must have hit her head on the porch post as she fell. She reached up to touch the side of her head, and her fingers felt something warm. She was bleeding.

“It’s all right,” Julia told her. “We got the bleeding stopped. I’ll help you finish the rug. Are you gonna tell Mama and Papa?”

“What’s she gonna tell?” Fred demanded. “We were just having a little fun. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

Meg struggled to prop herself up on one elbow. She had to get up. She couldn’t be lying on the floor when Mama and Papa returned. Sitting up, she saw the drops of blood on the floor, as well as stains on her cloak.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” she told them.

Julia jumped up. “I’ll get the scrub brush and some water.”

“Clean it up yourself,” Fred fairly spouted. “I didn’t make the mess.” And off he went.

After they’d gotten up the blood from the floor and rinsed it out of the cloak, Julia suggested they take their supper into the front room and finish the rug as they ate. And that’s where they were when Mama and Papa arrived home well after eight that evening.

Oma had fallen and her ankle was broken, but it was much better. The swelling was down, Mama told them as she removed her sleet-speckled cloak. Then she looked at Meg. “Margaret Buehler. Your head, it is wounded.”

“I was shutting up the henhouse,” Meg said. “I guess it was slicker than I thought. I took a tumble.”

Not often did Meg have Mama’s sympathy, but now Mama moved to inspect the wound closer. “Come, my little fawn. Salve and a bandage will make it better.” Mama put her arm about Meg’s shoulder, patting her in comfort.

Meg felt wretched that she’d not told the whole truth. That plus the fact that her head was still hurting. Mama’s arm about her was such a comfort that she couldn’t stop the tears that began to flow.

“Does it hurt?” Mama asked gently.

“A little.” Meg hated crying in front of the entire family. Why couldn’t she be strong? “The rug is finished,” she said through her tears.

“Three willing workers make the task easier. I’m proud of you all.

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