As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, I slipped out of the bed that Greta and I shared. I hurried as slipped on my clothes; it was a brisk spring morning, and the early morning air nipped my skin. Quietly I opened the curtain that hung around Greta and my “room”. Our cottage was really only one big room, so we had hung blankets from the ceiling as a way to divide our house into three rooms - Mama’s room, the girls room, and the main room. Jasper slept in the main room, which served as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room. My brother slept by the fire, which lay in the center of the room. He tended it all night, making sure that our house stayed warm enough in the chilly hours of night. As I slipped quietly into the main room, Jasper made a noise and rolled over in his bed. I froze in my tracks. After about a minute, I continued tiptoeing toward the door. I gently lifted my coat off the hook that was near the door, and slipped out into the morning air.
I put my jacket on as I walked to the hen-house. We had five chickens that provided us with about twelve to thirteen eggs a day. Mama was so good at making a lot of food out of only a little. She could use three eggs, a cup of milk, and a handful of flour. It would feed all four of us for a single meal. Thus, any extra eggs we had, we sold. Greta took them in a little basket and went around town selling them for a shilling each. She got half of the money, and the rest went into a little tobacco can on the shelf above our table. It was getting heavier, but we still didn’t open it. We weren't going to open it until we couldn’t stuff another coin through the slit in the lid.
As I entered the hen-house, the chickens came clucking over to me. I scooped a handful of corn out of my bucket and threw it toward each one.
“Here you go Mava. Good morning Hetta! Anna, only half for you. You’re gettin’ to be too fat! Luella, here’s for you darling. Say, where’s Sara?” I counted Mava, Hetta, Anna, and Luella, but my favorite hen, Sara, was missing. (If you’re wondering why they all rhyme with Greta, the answer is because, yes, Greta named them.)
The hen-house was very small, so it only took me a moment to find Sara, tucked away in the far corner. I slipped my hand under her and found six eggs! Good old Sara, extra eggs meant either more food, or more money. Both were just as good. I gave Sara an extra handful of corn and left the cozy hen-house.
When I got back to the house, Jasper and Mother were up. Mother was bustling about, cooking and cleaning. As she worked, she sang. My mother always sang. She had a beautiful voice and made good use of it! No matter what she did, she sang as she did it. When I walked in that morning, she was singing a song that she’d written herself at the age of ten.
May the sun always shine
In this home of mine.
May our faces be glad
Through good and bad.
May we travel on, through this grimy world
And look for all the pearls.
We must find the good,
Though it seems so bad,
For if I could,
I’d make you always glad.....
You could tell it wasn’t a professional’s song; in fact, though it was very mature for a ten year old to have written, it still had its flaws. She kissed me gently on the forehead as I handed her the basket, filled with fourteen eggs in it. She was very shocked to see how many eggs I had gathered.
“My, my! Those chickens seem to be catching onto the fact that the more eggs they lay, the better for us!”
Jasper smiled as he sat by the fire, jabbing and prodding it with a long stick, trying to get the coals hotter. “Did Miss Fancy-Feathers give the most again, Scarlett?”
“Don’t call her that, Jasp. She’s a good chicken.” I took off my coat and put on my apron. Considering for a moment, I said, “Even if she does parade herself around the farmyard.”
“Oh yes, she just great,” Jasper said. “I mean, besides being an arrogant little beast that thinks she’s the prettiest chicken in the world, and hates anything else that thinks it is pretty, she’s great. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I rolled my eyes and slapped him over the back of the head. “No breakfast for snooty boys, young man.”
He just grinned at me and told me that I shouldn’t be talking about boys or young men at my age. The insolence!
My mother laughed from over at the table, and said, “Scarlett dear, I do believe that your brother is bent on teasing you this morning.” Jasper nodded vigorously. “Why don’t you go wake up Greta? She always takes to you better than Jasper or I, especially when she’s crabby.”
I happily obliged. As I slipped softly into our “room”, I began to sing Greta her favorite “morning song”. My sister and I had inherited our mother’s gift of song, and so our house was always filled with music.
Rise to the sun
Coming through the window.
May it be a sign of joy.
For the Lord our God is with us this day.
Greta drearily began to wake up. She sat up in bed and groggily rubbed her eyes, but I pretended not to notice and continued singing.
Oh sing the goodness of the Lord.
Sing praises to the Lord of Hosts.
He gave us this day
To treasure and love,
Let us live this day to the glory of God.
Greta had lost her grumpy look by that time and joined in with me for the last verse. Our voices filled the house, and I heard the bustle in the kitchen stop - Mother and Jasper were listening.
Oh this day is new,
There are yet to be mistakes.
Let us live this day,
As the Lord would have us.
I will love you
and please love me, too.
Oh, I love you
and you love me too.
I turned over to Greta, who was jumping out of bed. “Good morning, dear! Did you sleep well?”
As I hugged her and planted a kiss on her cheek, she said, “Dood mowning, Thcawlett. I did indeed thleep well. You thure did kick me a lot in youw thleep though. I pwobably have ten bruitheth! You ought to be much mowe caweful, Thcawlett.”
She rambled on for a few more minutes as we walked, hand-in-hand, into the kitchen. Jasper came over and swung her up onto his shoulder, saying, “Why hello, Blossom! It sure is a beautiful morning.” He swung her down so the he was holding her in front of him and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and kissed his cheek. Then, squirming out of his strong arms somehow, she ran over to Mother.
“Dood mowning dearetht mothew! I thuwe do love you! May I help you with bweakfatht, pleathe?”
Mother smiled and said, “Sure you can sweetheart. Why don’t you get out three eggs, I’ll get the flour, and we can start baking.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Later that day, after all the chores were done, I went for a walk. The hills surrounding my house were beautiful. The long, lush, green grass swayed in the wind, and all I could see were hills for miles. The bright blue sky was a lovely contrast to the aforesaid green grass.
I was very pleased with my life - my family, home, surrounding countryside, friends - all of it was pleasant. I didn’t even care that we were poor; it simply didn’t matter; however, there was one thing that I did want very badly - a horse.
If a fairy gave me a wish, I thought, as I climbed a steep hill, I would wish that Father hadn’t died and was still with us. But then again, I do want a horse ever so bad. Think of it! A horse! That would be like a dream come true. After all, I do know how to handle one. We used to have Bess before Father died, and he taught me all I need to know about caring for and loving a horse. If only I could rummage up the money for one. I - I could make things and go door to door selling them. But what would I make? Oh! I'd get nice, smooth rocks, and paint them to sell to the town children. They would love a "ladybug" rock for a halfpence. Then I would only need to sell about, umm, I did some math in my head and gloomily thought, Well, on the bright side, if I sold ten rocks a day, I would only need to save every piece of money I earned for three years or so. "Wunerful" as Greta would say.
I looked around me. I was now atop the hill, and could see all around me. The vast sea of rolling hills stretched to the horizon. I was in love. I twirled around on the hill, singing and dancing. As I said before, singing was like a second nature to me. I probably sang as much, if not more, as I talked. That day, I just made something up as I twirled around in the grass, basking in the sunshine.
I could dance on you forever,
Singing in the sun.
Oh rolling hills of my delight
Won’t you stay like this forever.
I could dance on you forever,
Singing in the sun.
Dearest grass, so green
And sky so blue
Indeed do I love you.
My happy singing-dancing spree came to a sudden halt, when Jasper cam running up the hill. He cut my song short with a cry of, “Scarlett! Scarlett!”
I was rather offended (and a little embarrassed); nevertheless, I asked him what on earth could be making him so upset, and why on earth he felt a need to yell so.
He looked at me sharply and said, “Scarlett, Mrs. Judson went over to the Followers’ house, and they were - all dead. Killed, every one of them. What’s more, the Georgians are missing. They have ten children, Scarlett, and all of them, even their mother, is missing! They have been gone for two weeks now without notice. Nobody knows where they are.”
My eyes were as big as oranges. The Followers? Murdered? The Georgians? Missing? How could this be? Both of those families were great friends with my family because their fathers had been part of the rebellion as well, and their fathers had died with mine. We had a connection - a bond. My head raced, and suddenly I had a strange sensation in my stomach - there was something else. I turned to Jasper. He was looking at the ground, fiddling with the dirt with his toe.
I stared hard at him. He looked up at me, and I said, “What else Jasper? What else is there? I can take it. Tell me.”
Jasper was not one to be frightened easily. He was steel - good material for a protector, but not necessarily for a brother, in my mind. He gently grabbed my hand and said, “Scarlett, the Helds are also dead. They were found murdered in their house, like the Followers. I’m sorry.”
My eyes blurred up with tears faster than you could say “jam”. I dropped to the ground and sobbed, gasping for air. Lily Held was my best friend, and she had been since we were three. Her birthday was on the same day as mine. We were the same age. We loved the same things. We hated the same things. Most of all, both of our fathers had died together. Our bond had grown deeper than it ever could have on that day when word came to us that out beloved fathers were gone - forever.
“Oh, Lily!” I sobbed. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Oh, I loved you. Why? You were mine, Lily! Mine. Why? Why? I’m sorry I yelled at you about my carrot when I was five, I’m sorry I pinched you for pulling my hair when we were nine, oh, I’m sorry for everything Lily! I’m sorry. Why? Why? Why?” I calmed down, a little, and allowed Jasper to help me up. Gently he hugged me, and with one final whisper of “Lily”, I let him walk me back home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My mother, though distraught herself, comforted me extraordinarily. “There, there,” she crooned gently. “There, there. Hush my darling, I know, I know.”
I was back home now, and I sat next to my mother on her bed, my head leaning against her shoulder, and her arms wrapped gently about me. Her shoulder was now soaked with my salty tears, but she cared not. Mine was salty from her tears as well. Mrs. Held had been my mother’s good friend.
Both of us suffered great loss that day. My mother and I each lost a dear friend, so we were pitiful for about a week. Jasper and Greta didn’t have any friends among those who had died or been killed, but they suffered because Mother and I suffered. That is the beauty and downfall of family - when one is glad, the rest join in happiness; when one is sad, the rest become gloomy as well. So happened with us, and so will happen with others.
During that week of mourning, I hadn’t given much thought to anything else, as I was too busy thinking of Lily; Jasper did though. One morning, a few weeks later, he approached me. I was sitting on my cot, doing some mending, my legs curled up beneath me.
Jasper drew aside the curtain that served as our wall, and said, “Can I come in Scarlett?”
“Certainly, Jasper,” I replied, without taking my eyes off my work. I hadn’t called him Jasp since the Held’s incident.
He came in and sat down next to me. We sat there, in silence, for three or four minutes. I knew he’d say whatever was on his mind when he wanted to. For now, I was content to wait.
“Scarlett, have you thought about all the families that have gone missing or been killed?”
“I try not to.”
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not trying to rouse up your griefs; I merely wanted to point out something I noticed. Have you realized that the four families that were killed or kidnapped all had one thing in common?”
This caught me off guard. Something all in common? Well, they all came to terrible endings. But that couldn’t be it. Jasper was hinting at something bigger.
“What is it Jasper?”
Jasper took a deep breath. He was bracing himself, and I knew that what was coming couldn’t be good.
“They were all associated with the rebellion.”
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