Read Online Miss Spitfire by Sarah Miller - Free Book Online Page B

between her knuckles.
    I stare at the hand-shaped hole in my plate, and the anger dances along my spine. Do they really believe I’ll swallow this, too?
What do you expect?
Beefy howls in my head.
Broiled chicken and lobster, I suppose, and cream cheese from the dairy of heaven!
    But this isn’t Tewksbury. I’m an employee here, not a beggar, nor any other class of degenerate. Graspingmy fork with a trembling hand, I cut away every trace of the eggs Helen touched, and shove the desecrated pile to the edge of my plate.
    Before she rounds the table again, I set my arms alongside my plate like a schoolgirl blocking a nosy desk mate. When Helen feels my arms in her way, her eyebrows scrunch together. She tries to reach beside me, over me, under me. I block her each time. Perturbed, she scoots past, heading for her mother’s unguarded dish. I look about. Only Simpson has noticed my defense. He watches me with a glint in his eye, as if he senses excitement to come.
    Once round the table Helen goes, gathering more greasy crumbs. My concentration on her distorts the Kellers’ oblivious conversation into goose chatter. The closer she steps, the more violent her movements become. Something’s agitated her. Only Simpson and I know what it is.
    As she approaches, I feel I’m being stalked. The family may act as if Helen is a beloved pet fit for spoiling and indulgence, but I see through them. She’s no better than a wolf, feeding on their fear.
    But I’ve survived too much to be afraid of anything a six-year-old might do to me.
    I catch her hand in midair and place it on the table. She moves to my other side and reaches again. I put her hand on her own plate. She rushes at me, trying to bowl me out of my chair, but I brace myself and meet her charge. Again I grab her hands and slap themdown onto her plate. She grunts and whirls on me, both hands upraised.
    Mrs. Keller rises and starts for Helen. Her face wears that soft, shameful look, and I know she’ll do nothing but take Helen aside and ply her with cake if I give her the chance.
    â€œNo!” I cry over Helen’s grunts. Across the table, Miss Eveline gasps at my impudence. A low whistle sounds. I look up and see James, eyebrows raised, and something like a smile on his face. Narrowing my eyes, I sneer back at him, flashing the gap in my jaw. Dodging her fists, I grab Helen by the arms and grapple with her.
    â€œMiss Sullivan,” the captain’s voice warns as Helen begins to howl. “I don’t care what you do in Boston, this is not how we treat children in this house.”
    Beefy’s final shout in my brain echoes Captain Keller’s sentiment:
One more word and I’ll throw you out!
    â€œWhen this beast starts acting like a child, I’ll be happy to change my ways,” I retort, defying both of them. Simpson hoots with laughter, clapping a hand over his mouth. Captain Keller fixes him with a freezing look. “Let her walk all over you if you like, but I’ll have no more of this,” I shout over Helen’s caterwauling.
    â€œI shall not permit anyone to raise a hand to my daughter, Miss Sullivan,” the captain declares.
    â€œIndeed! You’d sooner see your family and your guests cower like beaten dogs before her.”
    â€œShe’s only six, Miss Annie,” Mrs. Keller implores, “surely you don’t expect—”
    â€œAre you going to tell me you expect her to up and turn civilized at twelve? Eighteen? Twenty?” I look wildly from one end of the table to the other. Neither of them answers. “If you don’t stop her now, it’s a prizefighter you’ll be hiring to cope with her later.”
    Making use of my distraction, Helen flings herself to the floor, flailing her arms and legs like an upturned beetle. Captain Keller stares at her for a long moment before his chin quivers and he strides out of the room.
    Mrs. Keller stands poised between her