Fire Over Atlanta by Gilbert L. Morris

The tree was tall, however, and the girl disappeared into the upper regions of the branches.
    “Do you see him?”
    “It’s not a him. It’s a her, and she’s got a whole passel of little babies on her back, hangin’ onto her tail.”
    “Well, toss her down. The little ones will make good eatin’ too.”
    “Ain’t gonna do that! Not with a mama.”
    Charlie suddenly reappeared, stepping from branch to branch and easily climbing down.
    When she reached the bottom limb, she said, “Here I come!” Without waiting, she launched herself into the air, and Rosie barely had time to throw his hands up. She struck him in the chest, knocking him backwards, and when he sprawled on the ground, she fell with him.
    “Wuffff!”
Her weight knocked the breath out of him. Looking up, he saw her dark eyes laughing at him, and at the same time he became aware that she was not at all like any of the young men he had gone possum hunting with.
    Suddenly Charlie’s cheeks flamed red. She scrambled up, stammering, “I—I didn’t mean to do that, Rosie! Are you hurt?”
    Slowly he sat up, braced himself, and rose to his feet. He was rather embarrassed about the whole thing himself. “I guess I’ll live through a couple more clean shirts,” he muttered finally. “You sure are a funny girl, Charlie. I never saw another one like you.”
    Charlie looked up at him. “What do you mean? Because I don’t wear dresses?”
    “Well, there’s that—but you don’t
act
like a girl. Most girls I know would never think about going possum hunting, and they wouldn’t do what you just did—knock a fella down by jumping out of a tree at him.”
    He saw hurt come into her eyes.
    “I’m sorry I can’t be more what I ought to be. But I been raised so much like a boy, I guess I just think like one.” Her curls swung in the breeze. “I wish I
was
a boy. They have a lot more fun than girls.”
    “I’m glad you’re not!” Rosie declared. “Plenty of ugly, hairy-legged boys around. What we need is more nice-looking girls like you.”
    She looked up again, as though to see if he was teasing. “I know I’m not pretty like Lori is,” she said, “and I haven’t had much of a chance to learn how to put on pretty clothes. But I bet she can’t plow like I can.”
    “I bet she can’t either.” Rosie grinned. Then he looked at the sky. “It’s gettin’ dark. We better get back. Not ladylike for a girl to stay out after dark with a soldier.” He added, “You know how soldiers are. Always romancing girls.”
    Charlie was walking along with her long, free strides. She gave the lanky soldier a questioning glance. “Do you romance girls, Rosie?”
    “Well, not as much as Drake. Fellas as homely as I am is not likely to be hangin’ around girls much.”
    “Did you ever have a sweetheart?”
    “I thought I had one once, but a better-lookin’ fella came along and took her away from me.”
    Charlie thought about this. “I bet the one she got wasn’t as nice as you.”
    The two walked through a stand of pines where the needles had fallen for years unharvested and untouched so that their steps made no sound at all.
    As they continued, Rosie was amazed that Charlie seemed able to name every bird, every bush, every plant in the forest. “You sure do know the woods,” he said. “I was raised mostly in a small town. Although my folks farmed for a long time.”
    “Did you like farming?”
    “Sure did. I like it better than anything I’ve done since.”
    “So do I. I like everything about it. I like breaking up the land in the spring and puttin’ the seed in. Then you wait, and pray for rain, and for lots of sun—and then one day little, tiny green tongues start coming up. There’s nothin’ like it, is there, Rosie?”
    Rosie said, “I like it, but not everybody does. Pretty hard to work all year on a crop, and then have the bugs eat it up, or the floods take it, and just lose it all.”
    “That’s just part of it,” Charlie said