Read Online Kathy Little Bird by Nancy Freedman, Benedict Freedman - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy Freedman, Benedict Freedman
Tags: Historical
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cheese, put the vegetables on the stove, rinsed the lettuce and tore it into a salad. I recommenced the singing, only now it was in my head.
The next day it seemed to me time was out of kilter, slow and draggy, then unexpectedly speeding up. It was that way with everything. I’d been singing Jack Sullivan in my head, when abruptly it changed to a song of freedom. I kept humming it, picturing myself on the road. Was that Abram by my side? The song said yes, but red curly hair and green eyes kept intruding. I decided Jack Sullivan
was
good-looking, and that I had exaggerated the sharpness of his features.
I’d been wise not to let Jack come to the house. Jellet left for the pub, but Morrie was sure to tell tales, and then, as Mum used to say, “the fat’s in the fire.”
I waited until the boys were outside shooting baskets before changing into my best dress. It was a warm evening, but I prudently put my coat on over it. Before leaving the house I scrutinized my face in the bathoom mirror. If I’d been designing it I would have done it differently. The nose could be straighter, the lower lip not so full and pouty, the hair would look better with a wave. And the dark eyes, just like Mum’s, were disturbingly at odds with the rest of my face.
Oh well. I slipped a small hand mirror into my pocket and took out the lipstick hidden behind an empty aspirin bottle and never used. I’d have to apply it well out of sight of my brothers. I ran down the porch steps and called to them that I was going for a walk. They paid no attention. But they would have if they’d seen me in my best dress.
Safely around the bend by the mailbox, I got out the mirror and lipstick, and followed the curve of my mouth. The mirror was too small for an overall effect, but judged piecemeal it looked fine. I took off my coat and laid it over the rural mailbox for picking up on my way back.
I HAD never stolen out to meet a boy in my life. I didn’t count Abram; there was nothing illicit about meeting Abram, nothing exciting. It was generally during the day, dusting off our plans for breaking free. But now I was meeting a stranger. And my heart skipped a few beats.
I knew perfectly well that I was not behaving as Mum would have wanted. This was definitely not what a proper, well-brought-up young lady would do. Jellet kept me in a straitjacket, and I was busting out. After all, Mum, by my count, had been married three times: a Mohawk with the crazy name of Crazy Dancer, my father von Kerll, and Jellet.
She’d married Jellet on account of me. And if she were here, she’d know I had to go my own way, be my own person.
Jack Sullivan, who are you? Will you be important in my life? At the moment I couldn’t recall exactly what he lookedlike, except for the hair. I liked red hair, and it would be nice to have someone in my life who didn’t wear overalls.
When I reached the drugstore, Jack Sullivan was waiting for me at the same table. He got up when he saw me, just as in the movies.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m glad to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”
I sat down and looked over the menu, although I had made up my mind to order a chocolate malt.
Jack Sullivan told me I was looking very pretty. Again, just like the movies.
“You know,” he added, “you brought me luck. I sold two of my ponies this afternoon.”
“You did?”
“Yep, I bought me a car and exchanged the wagon for a horse trailer.”
“You work fast, don’t you?”
“It was you. You brought me luck.”
“Do you really think that?”
“I do. We Irish believe in luck, especially good luck. One horse I might have expected to sell, but two of them—that’s luck, pure and simple.”
When we finished our malts he took me out front and there was the car, a maroon Ford. I walked around it, with him pointing out its best features. “I checked the motor, it runs quiet. And the
The next day it seemed to me time was out of kilter, slow and draggy, then unexpectedly speeding up. It was that way with everything. I’d been singing Jack Sullivan in my head, when abruptly it changed to a song of freedom. I kept humming it, picturing myself on the road. Was that Abram by my side? The song said yes, but red curly hair and green eyes kept intruding. I decided Jack Sullivan
was
good-looking, and that I had exaggerated the sharpness of his features.
I’d been wise not to let Jack come to the house. Jellet left for the pub, but Morrie was sure to tell tales, and then, as Mum used to say, “the fat’s in the fire.”
I waited until the boys were outside shooting baskets before changing into my best dress. It was a warm evening, but I prudently put my coat on over it. Before leaving the house I scrutinized my face in the bathoom mirror. If I’d been designing it I would have done it differently. The nose could be straighter, the lower lip not so full and pouty, the hair would look better with a wave. And the dark eyes, just like Mum’s, were disturbingly at odds with the rest of my face.
Oh well. I slipped a small hand mirror into my pocket and took out the lipstick hidden behind an empty aspirin bottle and never used. I’d have to apply it well out of sight of my brothers. I ran down the porch steps and called to them that I was going for a walk. They paid no attention. But they would have if they’d seen me in my best dress.
Safely around the bend by the mailbox, I got out the mirror and lipstick, and followed the curve of my mouth. The mirror was too small for an overall effect, but judged piecemeal it looked fine. I took off my coat and laid it over the rural mailbox for picking up on my way back.
I HAD never stolen out to meet a boy in my life. I didn’t count Abram; there was nothing illicit about meeting Abram, nothing exciting. It was generally during the day, dusting off our plans for breaking free. But now I was meeting a stranger. And my heart skipped a few beats.
I knew perfectly well that I was not behaving as Mum would have wanted. This was definitely not what a proper, well-brought-up young lady would do. Jellet kept me in a straitjacket, and I was busting out. After all, Mum, by my count, had been married three times: a Mohawk with the crazy name of Crazy Dancer, my father von Kerll, and Jellet.
She’d married Jellet on account of me. And if she were here, she’d know I had to go my own way, be my own person.
Jack Sullivan, who are you? Will you be important in my life? At the moment I couldn’t recall exactly what he lookedlike, except for the hair. I liked red hair, and it would be nice to have someone in my life who didn’t wear overalls.
When I reached the drugstore, Jack Sullivan was waiting for me at the same table. He got up when he saw me, just as in the movies.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m glad to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”
I sat down and looked over the menu, although I had made up my mind to order a chocolate malt.
Jack Sullivan told me I was looking very pretty. Again, just like the movies.
“You know,” he added, “you brought me luck. I sold two of my ponies this afternoon.”
“You did?”
“Yep, I bought me a car and exchanged the wagon for a horse trailer.”
“You work fast, don’t you?”
“It was you. You brought me luck.”
“Do you really think that?”
“I do. We Irish believe in luck, especially good luck. One horse I might have expected to sell, but two of them—that’s luck, pure and simple.”
When we finished our malts he took me out front and there was the car, a maroon Ford. I walked around it, with him pointing out its best features. “I checked the motor, it runs quiet. And the
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