The Longest Road by Jeanne Williams Page B

the treasured books she’d gotten for Christmas and her birthdays: Hawthorne’s A Wonder Book; The Little Lame Prince by Dinah Craik Mulock; Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty , so sad Laurie had only read it once; and Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses , which was a mighty disappointment to Laurie. Why, when she only got a book or two a year and wanted so many, didn’t her parents ask which one she wanted? When it came to poetry, she much preferred Alfred Noyes, Rudyard Kipling, Vachel Lindsay, and some of Longfellow, like “The Skeleton in Armor,” which she’d learned by heart from library books while she was doing the ironing or the dishes. She had enough poems in her head to recite for hours. That was almost as good as having the books. She loved the gallant colonel’s son in “The Ballad of East and West” and thrilled as she declaimed haughtily:
    â€œLightly then answered the Colonel’s son: ‘Do good to bird and beast,
    But count who comes for the broken bones before thou makest a feast.…’”
    And while reciting “The Highwayman,” her heart swelled with pity for the landlord’s red-lipped daughter who “watched for her love in the moonlight and died in the darkness there,” and for the bold outlaw.
    The last of the books, which she placed standing up in the box so she could get to them without messing up her clothes, was Helen’s Babies . Mr. John Habberton had written it in 1876 and the title went on and on: Some Account of Their Ways, Innocent, Crafty, Angelic, Impish, Witching and Repulsive. Also a Partial Record of Their Actions During Ten Days of Their Existence, by Their Latest Victim . The bachelor uncle’s verdict on his small nephews—“Born to be hung, both of them!”—always sent Buddy into laughing fits. Maybe Belle and the other children would enjoy it.
    Touching the beloved books, all of them written in by Mama, even the little Faultless Starch booklets, made Laurie feel a little better. Rosalie was nice and would certainly be glad of her help. There wasn’t any question of being more than able to earn her and Buddy’s keep. They wouldn’t be taking charity. So far, Grandpa hadn’t said a word to either of them. That suited Laurie fine.
    At least it seemed likely that Rosalie wouldn’t make her wear long stockings and suspenders, especially since she’d gotten rid of her old ones. The clean dress was wrinkled. Laurie shook it out as best she could and placed it on top of the muslin underskirts, bloomers, and nightgowns Mama had sewn for her, two of each besides the underwear she had on.
    That was all, except for her comb and toothbrush.… No, there was still the best thing of all except for Mama’s lavaliere and the books! Morrigan’s harmonica. She tucked it into a nightgown, just in case one of her “cousins” snooped.
    Buddy had more keepsakes than she did: a rattlesnake’s whispery transparent shed skin, the coyote’s skull and coarse pelt, a bag of flints and arrowheads picked up around Point of Rocks. There was his trove of Big Little Books and a tobacco pouch of small treasures like his G-Man ring secret decoder and two boxes of .22 shorts. Buddy, so protective of his tiny lair, was going to miss it, but maybe he’d have enough fun with the boys to partly make up for the loss of his private kingdom.
    Laurie didn’t know what to do with the snakeskin but she stacked the thick, chunky little books from bottom to top on one side of the box and then put her brother’s keepsakes on the other, placing on top his socks, underwear, other pair of overalls, and two shirts. She folded the bird quilt neatly and put it at the bottom of the bed. Rosalie had taken charge of their other bedding except for the pillow and sheet Laurie would use that night. Sleeping with Belle wouldn’t be so awful if Laurie could roll up in