The Stout-Hearted Seven by Neta Lohnes Frazier

Author:Neta Lohnes Frazier
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Young Voyageur
Published: 2016-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Tshimakain Mission, Washington

“Look, she smiled,” Catherine said.

Mrs. Whitman lifted the tiny body to a clean towel laid on her lap. She let Catherine hold her again while she herself went to the bedroom to bring out some of Alice’s baby things, carefully laid away five years ago when the little girl died. Clean and dressed in soft clothing, the baby looked more human.

“How old is she?” asked Mrs. Whitman.

Catherine brought Mama’s Bible to show the page where names and ages were written. Rosanna’s entry was dated May 31, 1844.

“Five months old. No bigger than most babies at three weeks. It is a miracle she is alive.”

She brought a little more warm milk in a cup, dipped in one finger, and let a few drops fall into the tiny mouth. The baby sucked the finger as if she never would let go.

“Catherine, keep watch of the time. In an hour, if she keeps this down, give her a few more drops. Can you do that so I can take care of other things?”

“Oh, yes,” Catherine replied.

Mrs. Whitman laid the baby in the cradle, and soon she was asleep. Catherine sat beside her with her knitting, joy surging up inside her. Now she could really do something for her baby sister.

The new teacher, Mr. Hinman, was given the extra bedroom next to the kitchen and joined the family for meals. He was a short, chunky man with long dark hair and light, colorless eyes. Catherine felt afraid of him before he had spoken a word, but Mrs. Whitman seemed charmed with him. She kept him next to her at the table and included him in her prayers. Before this, Catherine had looked forward to school; now she dreaded it.

She began to feel terribly alone as well. Frank and John were gone all day, helping the doctor, and her sisters seemed happy playing with the three half-Indian youngsters out in the yard. She could not run and play because of her lame leg, so she was left to watch the baby. She loved Rosanna, she kept telling herself, but outside was beautiful, warm Indian summer weather, though it was November. Catherine had always loved the fall, and she longed to be romping with Elizabeth instead of sitting here giving the baby a few drops of milk every hour. She became so miserable that she cried if anyone looked at her.

“What’s the matter with you, Katie?” John asked. “We’re all together.”

“I know, but everything is so awful without Mama and Papa.”

It was Mrs. Whitman who helped her the most. “I have bad times, too, Catherine. Sometimes I go off by myself and cry.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. You see, I have always had a quick temper, and sometimes it gets away from me. I say things I am sorry for later. That is when I feel so bad I cry.”

Looking up at the calm, smiling, face, Catherine could hardly believe that sometimes it was bathed in tears like her own.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this.

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