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Up at dawn every morning, I continued the daily struggle to do all the things that Sarah had once done. Not until this stepmother was gone did I realize how much I'd been spared, even when she was her laziest. Tom tried, really tried to help, but I kept insisting that he continue with his schooling, though Fanny was only too happy to stay home.
Trouble was, Fanny stayed home not to help out with the work but to steal out and meet with the kind of boys who'd never go anywhere in this world but to jail, or to early graves--the ones who incessantly played hooky, were already hooked on booze, pool, gambling and girls.
"Don't need no education," Fanny flared scornfully, "already got enough!" A zillion times she said that as she admired herself in that silver mirror that had been my mother's; unfortunately, Fanny had immediately seized it from my hand when foolishly I took it out of its hiding place, and she tried to claim it for her own. It was tarnished, and she didn't recognize it as valuable. Rather than battle her for it then and there, and allow biscuits to burn in the oven, I decided that later on, while she slept, I'd reclaim my mirror and hide it in a better place. At least she hadn't found the suitcase with the doll yet.
"Worst thin is, t'school's warmer than here. Heaven, why ya have t'have so much pride? Ya done stuck some of it on me, so onliest time I kin yell out t'truth is when yer near t'say it's a lie, or I'd go yellin out t'everybody we're hongry! Cold! Miserable an dyin!"
Fanny cried real tears. "There's gonna come a day when I'm neva gonna be hongry or cold agin . . ya wait an see!" she sobbed brokenly. "Hate this place! All t'thins I have t'do t'keep from cryin all t'time. Hate cryin! Hate not havin what city girls do! . . . Heaven, let go yer pride so I kin let go of mine."
I hadn't known she had any until this startling minute. "It's all right, Fanny," I said softly; "go on and cry. I figure a good cry sets you free to have pride . . . and that will help us to be better people, stronger people. Granny always said that."
The moon was riding high before Tom came home from school, the fierce wind blowing him in the door and slamming it behind him before he threw two squirrels on the table, tiny gray ones he quickly skinned while I hid Our Jane's eyes and Keith stared wide-eyed and teary to see his "friends" stripped of their pretty fur. Soon I had the meat boiling to make a stew, adding the last of our carrots and potatoes. Keith crouched in a corner and said he wasn't hungry.
"You have to eat," Tom said softly, going to pick him up and carry him to the table. He plopped Keith down beside Our Jane on her cushion. "If you don't eat, then Our Jane won't eat, and she's already weak and too thin . . . so eat, Keith, show Our Jane you like Heavenly's stew."
Day after day passed and Logan didn't come again, nor did Tom see him in the school hallways. Tom wasn't as old as Logan, so they weren't in the same classes.
Ten days after Logan's visit Tom told me, "Logan's gone away with his parents somewhere." He had made a real effort to find out what had happened to Logan Stonewall. "His pa's got another pharmacist working in his store until they come home. Maybe somebody in the family died."
I hoped not, yet I sighed in relief. My worst fear was that Logan would move away, forget about me, and even if he didn't, he'd stay so angry he'd never look my way again. Better to believe Logan was off on a vacation, or even attending a funeral or visiting a sick grandmother, than disappearing because he didn't like me anymore. Soon he'd be coming home again. Someday better than now he'd show up, we'd meet, I'd say I was sorry, he'd smile, say he understood, and everything would be fine between us.
There was mending and sewing to do. Once Sarah had picked up fabric at sales, ugly, cheap stuff that nobody else wanted; by ripping apart old dresses and using them for patterns she'd fashioned wearable clothes, even if they weren't fitted properly and looked hideous. I didn't know how to make dresses for Our Jane or Fanny, much less for myself. Tom's shirts grew ragged, and there was no money to buy him new ones. I sewed on patches; sewed up rips with clumsy large stitches that soon pulled out. I pulled together split seams, tried to weave threads so they filled tiny holes. I took apart old dresses I'd outgrown and tried to put together a new dress for Our Jane, who could be made very happy by something new and pretty. It was freezing cold in the cabin, and as much as I hated to, I went to the magical suitcase, hunted through all the beautiful summer clothes, and pulled out a soft pink pullover sweater. It had three-quarter sleeves, and still was much too big for Ou
r Jane to wear as a dress. But the moment she spied it, she wanted that sweater in the worst way. "Now, hold on until I make it fit."
And make it fit I did, by running thin elastic through the neckline to draw up the shoulders. Now Our Jane had a full-length pretty, warm pink sweaterdress.
"Where'd ya get that kind of fabric?" asked Fanny, coming in from the woods, immediately suspicious when she saw Our Jane skipping happily about in the cabin, showing off her new dress. "I neva saw that pink thin before . . . where'd ya get it, huh?"
"I found it blowing wild on the wind," answered Tom, who had a terrific imagination for embroidering his own hunting tales. "There I was, lying flat on my belly, buried deep in t'snow, waitin fer a wild turkey t'poke up his head so we'd have a tasty Christmas meal. Had my beady dead eye on t'bush it was hidin behind, my rifle cocked an aimed, my eye slotted an sure, an here comes this pink thing flyin through t'air. Almost shot it dead, I did, but it landed on a bush, an durn if it weren't a sweater-dress with Our Jane's name on the tag."
"Yer lyin," proclaimed Fanny. "Biggest, stupidest lie ya eva told--an ya done tole a million."
"Ya otta know, havin told yer own ten zillion." "Grandpa, Tom's callin me a liar! Make him stop!" "Stop, Tom," Grandpa said dully. "Ya shouldn't
tease yer sista Fanny."
That's the way it went, Fanny and Tom fighting, Keith and Our Jane staying quiet, Grandpa whittling and staying off his feet which he constantly said were sore from corns, bunions, and other scaly things that I thought soap and water would cure. Grandpa didn't favor soap and water too much; even on Saturday night we had to force him to take a bath. Grandpa tried hard not to do anything but whittle.
Fanny used any excuse to keep from doing her share of the work even if she didn't go to school, so eventually I just gave up on Fanny and decided if being ignorant was her goal and her style, she was already college degreed. It was Tom who had to finish his education, and to that we were both dedicated.
"All right," he said to me with a touching sad smile, "I'll go on, an really try to learn enough for two, so I can teach you when I'm home. But wouldn't it be better if I could tell Miss Deale, and then she could write assignments for you to complete-- wouldn't it be, Heavenly?"
"If you make sure she doesn't know we are alone up here, suffering, hungry, cold, miserable. We don't want her to know that, do we?"
"Would it be so awful? Maybe she could help . . ." he said tentatively, as if afraid I'd blow.
"Look, Tom, Miss Deale earns what Logan calls a pittance, and she'd spend it all on us, she's so generous. We can't let her do that. Besides, didn't she give all of us a lecture one day in class, saying poverty and hardships made for strong backbones and hearty characters? Boy, are we going to end up with iron spines and sturdy, unbreakable characters!"
He stared at me with great admiration. "Boy, you sure got character right now, and an iron spine as well! If you had any more, we really might starve to death."
Each and every day Tom trudged off to school, his homework completed to perfection. Nothing stopped him, not the cold drenching rains, the sleet, the wind, or the cold. Like the mail, he went, regardless. He walked to and fro, never having the appropriate clothing to wear. He needed a new winter jacket to keep him warm; no money for that. He needed new shoes and high boots to keep his feet dry, for the shoes Pa had brought didn't fit anybody. Sometimes, to escape the dreary sameness of the cabin, Fanny trailed behind Tom, sitting in class and learning nothing, but it did give her time to flirt with the boys. Keith went to school when Our Jane was so sick she didn't scream to see him go.
We still took baths on Saturday nights, with the tin tub pulled close to the fire. Our hot water, drawn from the well, heated on the stove so we could also wash our hair. We were getting ready for the only fun event we had left to enjoy: going to church.
Every Sunday morning when the weather was halfway decent, at dawn we set out, wearing our pitiful best.
Tom carried Our Jane half the way. I'd help her walk the rest, or pick her up myself. If she hadn't had visions of ice-cream cones in her head, I don't think she would have gone so willingly. Keith skipped and danced alongside whoever was in control of his most beloved possession, his sister. Fanny always raced on ahead. Way behind, the last of all, trudged Grandpa, slowing us down more than Our Jane did. Grandpa used a walking cane now, and often Tom had to drop back to help Grandpa over some fallen tree or boulder. The last thing we needed was for Grandpa to fall and break a bone.
