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Authors: Kathleen Grissom
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impatient.
“That Sally just a spoiled lil number,” Fanny told us, but she wasn’t very convincing, because we knew how much she cared for the golden-haired child.
To our amazement, one warm spring morning, Fanny appeared at the kitchen door with Sally in hand. “Miss Martha say it all right we go see the baby chicks,” she said.
Belle and Mama exchanged a look.
“Where Masta Marshall?” Mama asked.
“He’s studying,” the little girl said.
“What he studyin’, Miss Sally?” Mama asked.
“Books,” she said. “He has a tutor, Mr. Waters, but Marshall and me don’t like him.” She looked up at Fanny. “Do you like Mr. Waters, Fanny?”
Fanny looked at Mama, startled.
“Why don’t we go see those baby chicks?” Mama Mae said quickly.
In her excitement, the little girl spurted ahead. Her white bonnet, so large only a few blond curls peeked out the back, flapped into her face, and she raised her chubby arms to hold it back when she ran. As she did so, white petticoats peeked out from under her pink dress while the gold buckles on her pink shoes sparkled as though ignited by the sun.
We soon caught up to her, and when we reached the chicken coop, Fanny took the little girl to a patch of grass and carefully sat her down. Then Fanny went into the pen and risked a peck from a mother hen as she snatched a chick away. Sally waited patiently until Fanny came to place the yellow bird in her outstretched hands.
“Don’t hold it too tight,” Fanny warned, “you kill it easy that way.”
The little girl seemed to stop breathing. “Oh, it’s so soft, Fanny,” she whispered.
“That ’cause it a baby,” Fanny explained to her charge.
“Just like me,” Sally said. “Mama said I’m still her baby. Even when the new baby comes, she said, I’ll still be her baby.”
“Is your mama goin’ to have a new baby?” Beattie asked.
“Yes”—the little girl nodded—“a real one. And I can hold it, Mama said. You can, too, Fanny,” she offered generously.
We stayed awhile longer, but Mama stood by and watched uneasily until Fanny safely escorted Sally back to the big house.
“I’ll come back,” the child called over her shoulder to those of us who waved from the kitchen yard.
S HE WAS TRUE TO HER word. From that day on, weather permitting, Fanny brought her new charge down to us. The swing was Miss Sally’s favorite joy, and we all took turns sending her into the air. Marshall was not around often. The few times we saw him were when his small sister could persuade him to push her on the swing. The little girl worshipped him, and it was clear that he was devoted to her as well.
During that spring and summer, we all fell in love with Miss Sally. She was a generous and fun-loving child, innocent of all pretense. She insisted on bringing along her dolls and china dishes from the big house and always delighted in sharing them. Only Belle kept her distance from the child.
“Don’t you like me?” Sally asked her one day.
Belle looked down at her, and Sally met her gaze with wide questioning eyes. I thought for a minute that Belle would cry. Then she said, “Why, sure, I like you, Miss Sally.”
“Oh, good,” said the little girl, “’cause sometimes you don’t look like you do.”
“That must be times when I have a headache,” Belle said.
“Do you get headaches, too?” Sally asked. “My mama getsheadaches all the time. They’re very painful. When I grow up, I hope I never get headaches.”
“I sure you won’t,” Belle said. Then she offered the little girl a small bunch of raisins. Belle watched Sally go to each of us with an open hand, sharing generously, and I saw then that Belle had been won over as well.
I T WAS NOT OFTEN THAT summer that the twins and I had leisure time, but there was such a day on a late-August afternoon. Shaded in the woods, the three of us lay on a bed of pine needles, discussing the exciting news that both Dory and Miss Martha were going to have
“That Sally just a spoiled lil number,” Fanny told us, but she wasn’t very convincing, because we knew how much she cared for the golden-haired child.
To our amazement, one warm spring morning, Fanny appeared at the kitchen door with Sally in hand. “Miss Martha say it all right we go see the baby chicks,” she said.
Belle and Mama exchanged a look.
“Where Masta Marshall?” Mama asked.
“He’s studying,” the little girl said.
“What he studyin’, Miss Sally?” Mama asked.
“Books,” she said. “He has a tutor, Mr. Waters, but Marshall and me don’t like him.” She looked up at Fanny. “Do you like Mr. Waters, Fanny?”
Fanny looked at Mama, startled.
“Why don’t we go see those baby chicks?” Mama Mae said quickly.
In her excitement, the little girl spurted ahead. Her white bonnet, so large only a few blond curls peeked out the back, flapped into her face, and she raised her chubby arms to hold it back when she ran. As she did so, white petticoats peeked out from under her pink dress while the gold buckles on her pink shoes sparkled as though ignited by the sun.
We soon caught up to her, and when we reached the chicken coop, Fanny took the little girl to a patch of grass and carefully sat her down. Then Fanny went into the pen and risked a peck from a mother hen as she snatched a chick away. Sally waited patiently until Fanny came to place the yellow bird in her outstretched hands.
“Don’t hold it too tight,” Fanny warned, “you kill it easy that way.”
The little girl seemed to stop breathing. “Oh, it’s so soft, Fanny,” she whispered.
“That ’cause it a baby,” Fanny explained to her charge.
“Just like me,” Sally said. “Mama said I’m still her baby. Even when the new baby comes, she said, I’ll still be her baby.”
“Is your mama goin’ to have a new baby?” Beattie asked.
“Yes”—the little girl nodded—“a real one. And I can hold it, Mama said. You can, too, Fanny,” she offered generously.
We stayed awhile longer, but Mama stood by and watched uneasily until Fanny safely escorted Sally back to the big house.
“I’ll come back,” the child called over her shoulder to those of us who waved from the kitchen yard.
S HE WAS TRUE TO HER word. From that day on, weather permitting, Fanny brought her new charge down to us. The swing was Miss Sally’s favorite joy, and we all took turns sending her into the air. Marshall was not around often. The few times we saw him were when his small sister could persuade him to push her on the swing. The little girl worshipped him, and it was clear that he was devoted to her as well.
During that spring and summer, we all fell in love with Miss Sally. She was a generous and fun-loving child, innocent of all pretense. She insisted on bringing along her dolls and china dishes from the big house and always delighted in sharing them. Only Belle kept her distance from the child.
“Don’t you like me?” Sally asked her one day.
Belle looked down at her, and Sally met her gaze with wide questioning eyes. I thought for a minute that Belle would cry. Then she said, “Why, sure, I like you, Miss Sally.”
“Oh, good,” said the little girl, “’cause sometimes you don’t look like you do.”
“That must be times when I have a headache,” Belle said.
“Do you get headaches, too?” Sally asked. “My mama getsheadaches all the time. They’re very painful. When I grow up, I hope I never get headaches.”
“I sure you won’t,” Belle said. Then she offered the little girl a small bunch of raisins. Belle watched Sally go to each of us with an open hand, sharing generously, and I saw then that Belle had been won over as well.
I T WAS NOT OFTEN THAT summer that the twins and I had leisure time, but there was such a day on a late-August afternoon. Shaded in the woods, the three of us lay on a bed of pine needles, discussing the exciting news that both Dory and Miss Martha were going to have
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