Page 60 - Fever 1793

again, and he could barely breathe. I begged him to stay on the porch. He blustered and complained at first, but decided it was high time he cleaned and oiled his old rifle. Maybe he could hunt squirrel when the weather cooled.
The pole beans looked better and the squash leaves spread like wide green hands shortly after I watered them. I had never thought a person could be proud of a squash plant, but I was ready to hug all of mine. I hauled buckets of water to the potato patch, drenching the plants which looked healthiest. When the plot was water-soaked, I gently poked the mud with my fingers until I found six fist-sized potatoes. I danced a few steps as I carried my prizes up onto the back porch where Grandfather sat in the shade.
“Potatoes!” I cried. “Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes!”
“What on earth has gotten into you, girl?” he asked.
I spun around his chair. “This is my potato dance, Grandfather. Look what I found. We’ll have a real
supper tonight. Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as a potato?”
Supper was a royal feast of boiled potatoes seasoned with a scrawny turnip and a few beans. But
there was enough to ease the ache in our stomachs. Grandfather found a small bag of roasted coffee beans the thieves had overlooked, and he cooked a pot for us, army style. Hot mud would have tasted better, but he was so pleased with himself, I forced myself to drink it. Oh, for some sugar and cream!
I was ready to fall asleep before the sun set. I carefully pushed the coals to the back of the fireplace and covered them with ashes. I drew a final bucket of water, washed the dishes, and set them on the table. I never did understand why Mother made me dry the dishes. I left them on the table. They would be dry by morning.
After I dumped the wash water at the base of the cherry tree, I dragged up the stairs, ready to fall into bed. Grandfather had already collapsed on his covers, snoring loud enough to shake the stars from the sky. The noise was unbearable. If I stayed, I’d get no sleep at all. I carried my blankets downstairs to the front room and made a soft pallet on the floor.
“If I leave the shutters open, do you promise you won’t run off in the night?” I asked Silas.
The cat turned in a circle on the blanket and closed his eyes.
“Very well then. The shutters stay open. We’ll both sleep better for it.”
I sat next to Silas. It had been a good day, all things considered. I had managed rather well on my own.
I opened Grandfather’s Bible. This is what it would be like when I had my own shop, or when I traveled abroad. I would always read before sleeping. One day, I’d be so rich I would have a library full of novels to choose from. But I would always end the evening with a Bible passage.
I turned to Psalm 4:8. “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.”
My eyes drooped—enough for one night. I blew out the candle and snuggled on my pillow, asleep before the wick had cooled.