“Addie—Addie!”
The voice came at her like a screeching owl. Addie peered into the growing darkness. Cold drizzle hit her face.
Light-footed steps crunched on the gravel path behind her.
“Sarah?” Suddenly, the mystery creature burst through the gloom, golden hair flying.
“Of course, it’s me, silly. And I have something for you, Addie May Reagan—here.” She thrust out an envelope.
“Is it the one I’ve been waiting for?” The words clogged Addie’s throat.
“What else would it be?”
Addie tore open it open and scanned the letter. “I have an interview!”
“Hurray!” Sarah clapped her hands.
“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” Addie re-folded the letter.
“Nobody else knows.”
“You’re wonderful, Sarah Larson.”
“I know. The best postmistress ever, right?”
Addie hugged her friend and slipped the envelope into her pocket.
“I’d better get home. My parents are expecting me.” Sarah waved and ran off.
“Meet me tomorrow and I’ll tell you all the details,” Addie yelled after her. She hurried toward the lighted window ahead, legs churning. She raced toward her family home, holding more than a slim envelope in her pocket. It was a whole new possibility.
But, before she reached home, something caught Addie’s attention—a movement of bushes, a raspy noise. What she saw made her mouth drop open as big as the winter moon rising in the sky.
A small hand pushed open a hole in the thicket of bushes just beyond the family property. Two small almond-shaped eyes appeared.
“Help me.” The voice squeaked. “Could I have water, please?”
“Who are you?” Addie drew nearer. “Come out of the bushes. I’ll get water.”
“No stay. No tell.” A little boy pushed his way through the wild roses and pulled the sticking thorns from his threadbare clothes.
Addie walked toward their back door. One dip of the tin cup tied to the pump and she handed him the cold water he wanted.
“How old are you?”
“Eight.” Skinny arms covered by a homespun shirt reached out to accept the cup.
“Are you hungry? I’ll get some food.” Addie moved toward the door.
“No! No one know me. I run away.” He turned toward the woods again.
“Wait. What’s your name? Where do you live? Come back.” The wind whistling around the eaves made the only reply.
“Who are you talking to out there, Addie?” Mother peeked out the door. “Come in and get out of the damp.”
“Nobody, Mother. Just reciting poetry to myself. And my name’s Adaira.”
“Ridiculous! Dinner’s waiting.”
“I’ll leave some food on the back porch,” Addie said to the rose hedge. “Just come back and talk to me.” She grabbed the handrail and swung into the steaming kitchen, closing out the dismal weather. A swirl of unanswered questions hovered outside like a swarm of mosquitos.
“Wash your hands and sit down this minute, Addie. The biscuits are on the table.” Mother grabbed two greasy hot pads and swung the cast iron pot from stove to table. Addie scrubbed her hands with a splash of hot water and the strong soap Mother made. She rubbed her wet hands on the shared towel. Her chair scraped under the table just as Father’s did the same. Mother frowned. Father said a quick prayer.
“How was your day, Addie, after I left the store?” Father helped himself to the stew, dipping from the top. Addie reached for a biscuit. It was cold.
“Mrs. Sloan came in and I sold her some sugar and molasses. Otherwise, it was quiet. And my name’s Adaira.” Addie spooned a big dollop of jam onto the biscuit and bit into it. A little jam dripped onto the tablecloth. Mother raised an eyebrow. She scooped deeply from the stew pot and plopped a spoonful in Addie’s bowl.
The burned bits from the bottom again. Addie sighed. Mother couldn’t cook.
“Mrs. Sloan can be troublesome,” said Father. “Good stew, Mother.” His spoon circled the bowl one last time. “I believe I’ll have some more.” He put a biscuit in his bowl and ladled stew over it. A baying hound sounded outside, then another. Addie flinched.
“Never mind, Addie,” said Mother. “The guard dogs have been set loose. There must be some intruder in the town.” The howl of several dogs now circled closer. In fact, it came from right outside the windows. Someone rapped on the door.
“I’ll get it, Mother.” Father pushed back from the table and crossed quickly to the door. “What seems to be the trouble, Jones?” He peered into the darkness.
“A runaway, Cameron. At least, we think so.” The dogs’ barking muffled his words. “Seen anything suspicious?”
“Can’t say that I have. Well, good luck. It’s a miserable night to be out.”
“You’re right about that. Well, better get on with it.”
Father shut the door and returned to the table.
“Any dessert, Caroline—a cookie or a piece of pie, maybe? I do love your pie.” He made a goofy grin. Mother’s countenance cracked. A smile curved upward across her face.
“Why, Cameron, you’re such a charmer.” She hurried to the cookie jar and put a handful of cookies on a plate. Just then, a cry pierced the night.
“Caught!” yelled Father, who grabbed two sugar cookies.
Mother sighed, but Addie shuddered.
“I’ll clean up the dishes and tidy the kitchen,” she offered.
Mother nodded, went to pour some hot water from the copper kettle to make tea. “I believe I’ll set a spell in my rocker. Goodness knows I have earned it.” She carried her steaming cup into the main room.
Addie thought about the boy with the almond shaped eyes. The mill hired Chinese people, as well as Indians from across the bay, but she’d never seen a child in town before. Addie put a couple of biscuits smeared red with jam onto a plate, covered it with an old cloth and stepped outside. She plopped the plate on a stump not far from the porch.
Hope this is not late.