The Friendship Doll by Kirby Larson Page B

Mae would enjoy. But maybe they were good enough friends now to tell it straight. “I suppose some
would
like to read about living in fine houses with butlers and rich uncles, but that isn’t my fancy. I long to read about someone like me and my kin.”
    “Well, Miss Willie Mae Marcum, that sounds like a mighty fine idea.” Miz Junkins smiled again. “Maybe
you
will have to write that book someday.”
    “Sarah, do not put any more foolishness in that girl’s head.” Ma bit off another hank of thread. “It’s bad enough she reads them books. Heaven help us if she gets her mind stuck on writing them, too.”
    Willie Mae ducked her head so Ma wouldn’t see her face. Because if she saw it, she might see that it was too late to stop the foolishness. Willie Mae dursn’t let herself think on it, but every story she read made two or three sprout up in her own head. She wrote them down on any spare scrap of paper she could find—the envelopes Theo’s letters came in, labels steamed off the lard pails, even the insides of saltine boxes—and hid them in an empty sugar sack under her mattress.
    Miz Junkins finished her coffee. “I brought you
A Little Princess
today—but next time, I’ll see if I can round up a copy of
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
. That might sit better with you.” She rummaged in her saddlebags. “Oh, and I brought a
Ladies’ Home Journal
for you, Marvel. Not even a year old!” She buckled up her bag. “I best be on my way. Thank you for the coffee and the quilt. I do believe the warmth will stick with me clear till I ride into my own yard.”
    Willie Mae went out on the porch and watched while Miz Junkins buckled the saddlebags back on, untied Maisie’s reins, and pulled herself into the saddle. Since it was bad luck to watch a friend go out of sight, she turned back inside as soon as horse and rider were on their way.
    After supper and chores were finished, Ma allowed Willie Mae to burn the kerosene lamp for ten precious minutes so she could commence reading the book Miz Junkins had brought. Willie Mae offered to read it aloud, but Ma said no thank you. “Seeing as both Marvel and Franklin are asleep,” she added. Willie Mae accepted Ma’s answer but wished she could understand why her mother had such a strong notion against reading and books.
    Willie Mae was disappointed to find that
A Little Princess
—about a girl whose name was Sara Crewe—had a rich and loving father in India who sent her to a boarding school in London with orders to the headmistress to give Sara anything she wanted. It was all Willie Mae could do to keep from grinding her teeth at yet anotherstory about a girl whose life was different as different could be from hers.
    “Time’s up,” Ma called softly. “That a good one?” she asked.
    “It reads right along,” said Willie Mae, avoiding a direct answer. She didn’t want to do or say anything that might make Ma tell Miz Junkins to stop riding down Cut Shin Creek to see them. Because, truth to tell, even a book she didn’t like was better than no book at all.
    When she came two weeks later, Miz Junkins looked about to burst with news. “I couldn’t get a copy of
Tom Sawyer
for you this time,” she said to Willie Mae. “But I believe you will forgive me when you hear what I have to say. First, I need to speak with your ma.”
    The two women spoke in low tones at the far corner of the cabin. Willie Mae could not imagine what they were talking about. Nothing to do but wait. She went over in her mind the report she was going to give Miz Junkins about
A Little Princess
. The book wasn’t half bad, after she got it started. That Sara girl had spunk after all, which got her through some tough spots, especially after her pap died and all the diamond mine money was lost and she had to go to work as the cook’s errand girl. Willie Mae rubbed her bare legs to warm them. Course, things perked up plenty for Sara, what with the Indian Gentleman taking her in at the end