Read Online Strawberry Moon by Becky Citra - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Becky Citra
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years old, and Papa always said he couldnât imagine how he could get along without me. But he hadnât said that to Grandmother. He hadnât said anything.
I lay stiffly on my side of the bed, filled with misery. I didnât care what Papa said. I would never go back to England with Grandmother. Never!
2
The light outside the window was pale gray. It was too early to milk Nettie. I curled up in a ball to go back to sleep. Then I remembered that I was in Papaâs big bed with Grandmother.
I rolled over and stared at her. Her hair was hidden under an enormous lace nightcap. Her mouth was open, and she was snoring.
I slid out of bed, dressed quickly and eased the bedroom door shut behind me.Red embers glowed in our huge stone fire-place. There was no sound from the loft.
I pulled my shawl over my shoulders and went outside. The barn looked like a gray smudge in the dim light. Our three big geese, who nested in the bushes beside the vegetable garden, were pale white ghosts. I whistled for Star, but he was probably still asleep in his straw bed in the barn.
I was glad I was the first one up. I walked down to the lake and sat on a stump. Bullfrogs were singing in the reeds at the edge of the water. Papa always said they sounded like they were saying Get out! Get out! Get out! Thatâs what I wanted to say to Grandmother. Get out! Go back to England!
I tried to picture Grandmotherâs house in England. I remembered dark shadowy hallways and clocks that boomed the hour. I must tell Papa that I refuse to go with Grandmother, I thought. I shivered. He would be angry that I had listened at the door.
I walked back toward the cabin. I was thinking so hard about Grandmother Inearly didnât see the fox. I stopped walking and held my breath.
The fox stood frozen in the long grass beside the garden. Its bushy tail drooped between its legs. A small breeze off the lake ruffled its thick fur, deep orange on its back and creamy white on its belly and chin. Goose bumps prickled the back of my neck. In my whole life, I had never been that close to a fox. And I had never seen anything so beautiful.
The foxâs long ears swiveled. Its nose quivered faintly. In a horrified instant, I knew what it was going to do.
The fox leaped in a smooth silent arc. It landed on the back of a goose, hunched in sleep at the edge of a bush. There was a terrified squawk, a frantic flapping of wings and then silence. White feathers floated in the air like snowflakes.
The fox turned and ran. The white goose hung limply in its mouth. It turned at the edge of the garden and looked back. For a second, its calm golden eyes stared right at me. A tingle ran up my spine. Then thefox disappeared into the shadows along the creek.
I stood frozen, shocked by what had happened.
Someone called my name. Papa strode across the field. So I wasnât the first up, after all!
âHello, early bird,â he said as he came closer.
He saw the white feathers scattered on the ground. His smile faded. He picked up a feather and stared into the forest.
âIt was a fox!â I said.
The other two geese scuttled into the open, honking anxiously. Papa sighed. âWhat a shame Star didnât scare it away. It took our best goose!â
âThe fox was beautiful,â I whispered. Then I bit my lip. What would Papa say if he knew I had stood there and watched it kill our goose?
âThis time of year thereâs a good chance it has babies,â said Papa. âThatâs all we need, a family of foxes. Itâll be after the chickens next.â
Again, Papa stared into the forest, as if hoping he would see the fox. âIâll take Max out later and hunt for the den.â
I had a pretty good idea where the den might be. I had watched the fox run behind the garden and up the creek bed. But for some reason I didnât tell Papa.
Nettie mooed mournfully from her shed.
âYou have a cow to milk,â said Papa.
I lay stiffly on my side of the bed, filled with misery. I didnât care what Papa said. I would never go back to England with Grandmother. Never!
2
The light outside the window was pale gray. It was too early to milk Nettie. I curled up in a ball to go back to sleep. Then I remembered that I was in Papaâs big bed with Grandmother.
I rolled over and stared at her. Her hair was hidden under an enormous lace nightcap. Her mouth was open, and she was snoring.
I slid out of bed, dressed quickly and eased the bedroom door shut behind me.Red embers glowed in our huge stone fire-place. There was no sound from the loft.
I pulled my shawl over my shoulders and went outside. The barn looked like a gray smudge in the dim light. Our three big geese, who nested in the bushes beside the vegetable garden, were pale white ghosts. I whistled for Star, but he was probably still asleep in his straw bed in the barn.
I was glad I was the first one up. I walked down to the lake and sat on a stump. Bullfrogs were singing in the reeds at the edge of the water. Papa always said they sounded like they were saying Get out! Get out! Get out! Thatâs what I wanted to say to Grandmother. Get out! Go back to England!
I tried to picture Grandmotherâs house in England. I remembered dark shadowy hallways and clocks that boomed the hour. I must tell Papa that I refuse to go with Grandmother, I thought. I shivered. He would be angry that I had listened at the door.
I walked back toward the cabin. I was thinking so hard about Grandmother Inearly didnât see the fox. I stopped walking and held my breath.
The fox stood frozen in the long grass beside the garden. Its bushy tail drooped between its legs. A small breeze off the lake ruffled its thick fur, deep orange on its back and creamy white on its belly and chin. Goose bumps prickled the back of my neck. In my whole life, I had never been that close to a fox. And I had never seen anything so beautiful.
The foxâs long ears swiveled. Its nose quivered faintly. In a horrified instant, I knew what it was going to do.
The fox leaped in a smooth silent arc. It landed on the back of a goose, hunched in sleep at the edge of a bush. There was a terrified squawk, a frantic flapping of wings and then silence. White feathers floated in the air like snowflakes.
The fox turned and ran. The white goose hung limply in its mouth. It turned at the edge of the garden and looked back. For a second, its calm golden eyes stared right at me. A tingle ran up my spine. Then thefox disappeared into the shadows along the creek.
I stood frozen, shocked by what had happened.
Someone called my name. Papa strode across the field. So I wasnât the first up, after all!
âHello, early bird,â he said as he came closer.
He saw the white feathers scattered on the ground. His smile faded. He picked up a feather and stared into the forest.
âIt was a fox!â I said.
The other two geese scuttled into the open, honking anxiously. Papa sighed. âWhat a shame Star didnât scare it away. It took our best goose!â
âThe fox was beautiful,â I whispered. Then I bit my lip. What would Papa say if he knew I had stood there and watched it kill our goose?
âThis time of year thereâs a good chance it has babies,â said Papa. âThatâs all we need, a family of foxes. Itâll be after the chickens next.â
Again, Papa stared into the forest, as if hoping he would see the fox. âIâll take Max out later and hunt for the den.â
I had a pretty good idea where the den might be. I had watched the fox run behind the garden and up the creek bed. But for some reason I didnât tell Papa.
Nettie mooed mournfully from her shed.
âYou have a cow to milk,â said Papa.
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