Anna on the Farm Page 2

  Father pats the top of Anna's head. "Go on," he says.

  Anna looks out the front door. It's dark now. Ail the neighbors have come outside to sit on their steps. Anna can smell Uncle Henry's cigar. She's glad Father smokes a pipe. It smells much nicer.

  Uncle Henry says something and Aunt May laughs softly. Down on North Avenue, a streetcar clangs its bell. Up the street, Mrs. Schumaker sings to her baby. Mrs. Anderson's big collie barks. Aunt May's bulldog Fritzi answers with an even louder bark. Both Mrs. Anderson and Aunt May tell their dogs to be quiet.

  Across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy come outside to sit on their steps. The littlest Murphy cries. Charlie's sisters, Bridget and Molly, play hopscotch in the light from the streetlamp.

  Anna sees Charlie standing in his doorway. He sees her, too. Slowly Anna crosses the street. Slowly, Charlie comes to meet her.

  "Father and I are going to the bakery for ice cream," Anna says. "The honor of your company is requested."

  Charlie laughs at Anna's fancy invitation and she laughs, too. Just like that, they are friends again.

  At the bakery both Charlie and Anna pick chocolate ice cream. If Mother were with them, she'd make Anna choose vanilla. It doesn't stain clothes the way chocolate does.

  "Eat it fast before it melts," Mr. Leidig says.

  Father laughs. "You don't need to warn these two. That ice cream will disappear before you can say Jack Robinson!"

  Anna, Charlie, and Father walk slowly home. It's too hot to hurry, too hot to talk, too hot to be angry.

  THREE

  "Good-bye, Baltimore!"

  THAT NIGHT, ANNA LIES IN BED AND STARES AT THE skylight over her head. She can see a slice of moon and a few stars. Der Mond und die Sterne, Aunt May would say.

  Anna wonders what it will be like to sleep in Aunt Aggie's house, far from home and Mother and Father. Suppose Father is wrong about the bears and the wolves? Suppose a snake slithers through her window and bites her while she's sleeping?

  Maybe Anna shouldn't go away. Maybe she should stay right here in Baltimore and play with Charlie, as she always does. Thinking thoughts like this, Anna finally falls asleep.

  After church the next day, Mother and Father take Anna to Camden Station. While they wait for the train, Anna begins to worry again. How will Father and Mother get along without her? How will she get along without them?

  Just as Anna is about to say she's changed her mind, the station platform begins to shake under her feet. The train is coming. The locomotive huffs and puffs and screeches to a stop, belching clouds of steam. Cinders pepper Anna's pretty white dress. She smells hot grease and coal smoke. She moves closer to Father and puts her fingers in her ears to soften the sound of the whistle.

  Passengers pour out of the cars. Friends and relatives rush to meet them. They hug and kiss and cry out their greetings.

  The people who are leaving Baltimore begin to board the train. Anna hugs Father. She presses her face against his creamy white suit jacket to hide her tears. "Come with me, Father," she begs. "Come with me!"

  Father frees himself gently. "I wish we could, but I have to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning."

  Mother smooths Anna's hair and brushes a speck of dust from her sleeve. "Mind your manners," she says. "And keep your face and hands clean. Remember you're a little lady, not a country bumpkin."

  "Be sure and give Aggie and George our love," Father says. "And remember to look at the moon tonight."

  Anna sniffs back her tears and tries to smile. She's nine years old, much too big to be a crybaby. "I'll look at the moon every single night," she promises.

  Father and Mother kiss Anna. She hugs and kisses them. Mother tries to brush her tears away before Anna sees them. Father hands Anna her straw suitcase. Even though she still isn't sure she wants to go, she lets the conductor take the suitcase and help her up the steps and into the passenger car.

  As the train pulls away, Anna waves at Mother and Father from the window until she can't see them anymore. Then she sits quietly in her seat and watches Baltimore disappear behind her. The houses get farther and farther apart. Yards grow bigger. There are more trees and fields.

  Cinders blow in the open window. Motorcars and horses wait at crossings for the train to thunder past. Anna waves. The drivers smile and wave back.

  Soon the train slows for the first stop at Relay, then Elkridge, then Laurel. The conductor calls out the names of the towns. People get on and off, waving, hugging and kissing, rushing to greet each other on the station platforms.

  The train is in the country now. Anna sees farms and woods, streams and dusty roads, a house here, a barn there, a store or two. A herd of cattle runs away from the train's whistle.

  Just as Anna is beginning to enjoy the ride, the train stops at the Beltsville Station. The conductor helps Anna down the steps and hands her her suitcase. "Have a nice visit, young lady," he says.

  Uncle George strolls toward Anna, tall and lanky in his faded overalls. "My, my," he exclaims. "Look at you, Anna! You've grown a foot since last Christmas. Why, you might catch up with me someday."

  Uncle George is the tallest man Anna knows. Much taller than Aunt Aggie, much taller than Father. As much as Anna loves her uncle, she doesn't want to be as tall as he is.

  "Where is Aunt Aggie?" Anna asks, looking around for her aunt.

  "She's at home, making lemonade for you and me." Uncle George wipes his forehead with a bandana. "Whew, is it this hot in Baltimore?"

  "It's even hotter," Anna says, lifting her arms to the breeze.

  Uncle George tosses Anna's suitcase into the back of the farm wagon. Then he lifts Anna onto the high seat. His little dog, Jacko, wags his tail and licks Anna's hand.

  Climbing up beside her, Uncle George slaps the reins against the horse's back. "Walk on, Alf," he says.

  Alf pulls the wagon slowly over the dirt road, raising a cloud of dust that powders the weeds and wildflowers. Anna hears cicadas buzzing in the fields. A crow watches her from its perch on a fence post. Black-and-white cows gaze at her from a shady spot beside a stream. The air smells of fresh cut grass and honeysuckle. Anna smiles. Even Rehoboth Beach can't be better than this.

  Uncle George's farm is high on a hill. Long before they get there, Anna sees the big white farmhouse, surrounded by Uncle George's fields. Rows of corn wave their silky tassels in the afternoon breeze, bending this way and that like waves in the ocean. The sound reminds Anna of waves, too, a gentle shushing song.

  As soon as Aunt Aggie sees the wagon, she jumps up from her rocking chair on the porch and runs to meet Anna. Aunt Aggie is small and dark haired and thin, like Father and Anna.

  "Anna!" Aunt Aggie cries, giving Anna a hug so hard it takes her breath away. "Don't you look pretty in that dress! Now, you come right inside and freshen up. You must be hot and thirsty and full of cinders."

  While Anna washes her face and hands at the kitchen sink, Aunt Aggie pours her a tall glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. In Anna's opinion, Aunt Aggie makes the best lemonade in the world—not too sweet, not too sour, and the sugar is never gritty.

  Suddenly, a boy a little taller than Anna comes to the back door and peers into the kitchen. "Is that the girl you said was coming?" he asks Aunt Aggie.

  "Yes, Theodore," Aunt Aggie says. "This is my niece, Anna. Come inside and meet her properly."

  Anna stares at Theodore's scowling face. His thick, straight hair is so blond it's white. A towhead, Father would call him. His skin is tan, either from dirt or the sun—Anna isn't sure which. His overalls are faded and his bare feet are muddy. A country bumpkin, Mother would call him.

  "Anna, this is Uncle George's nephew Theodore," Aunt Aggie says. "He's come to stay with us for a while."

  Anna says hello, but her mouth is too stiff with dislike to smile. No one told her she'd have to share her aunt and uncle with a mean boy.

  Theodore doesn't smile, either. It's clear he isn't any happier to see Anna than she is to see him.


  "Father didn't tell me there was a boy living here," Anna says to Aunt Aggie.

  Her aunt claps her hand to her forehead in dismay. "I do believe I forgot to tell Ira," she says. "I meant to, but the subject changed, and I never got around to it."

  Aunt Aggie sighs. "Must mean I'm getting old and losing my memory." She pours a glass of lemonade for Theodore.

  "Anna is my brother's daughter," she tells him. "You two aren't really related, but I hope you'll think of each other as cousins."

  Neither Anna nor Theodore says a word. Anna is glad Theodore isn't her real cousin. She'd hate to be related to a boy as rude and dirty as he is.

  For a long time the only sound is the clink of ice cubes in Anna and Theodore's lemonade. When their glasses are empty, Aunt Aggie sends them outdoors to play.

  The last time Anna visited, Uncle George made a swing for her in the big oak tree by the house. She runs toward it, but Theodore grabs the swing first. "City girl," he says. "Ain't you scared you'll get your pretty dress dirty?"

  Anna sticks out her tongue. Theodore jumps from the swing, snatches Anna's fancy hair ribbon, and runs lickety-split across the yard.

  Anna is furious. Charlie is the only boy who can steal Anna's ribbons and get away with it. She chases Theodore around the barn twice, but she cannot catch him.

  Then Theodore scrambles up into an apple tree. He thinks he's safe, but Anna climbs after him. She doesn't stop, not even when her dress catches on a branch and tears. When she and Theodore can climb no higher, they glare at each other.

  "Give me my bow," Anna says.

  Theodore leans out of the tree and drops the bow. It flutters through the air like a big white butterfly and lands at the end of a branch where Anna cannot reach it.

  "You're nothing but a stupid country bumpkin," Anna tells Theodore.

  "You're nothing but a stuck-up city slicker," says Theodore.

  "I am not!"

  "You are, too!"

  "Am not!"

  "Are!"

  Theodore clenches his fists as if he means to hit Anna. "Why don't you go back to Baltimore, where you belong?"

  Anna makes the worst face she can think of. "Why don't you go back to your mother and father—or did they send you here to get rid of you?"

  Theodore's face turns bright red and he takes a wild

  swing at Anna. She backs away, catching her dress on another branch. Just as Theodore is about to shove Anna out of the tree, Aunt Aggie comes outside with a basket in her hand.

  "Anna and Theodore," she calls, "come down from that tree and shell these peas for supper."

  "Last one to the porch is a stuck-up city slicker!" Theodore yells.

  Before Anna knows what he's up to, Theodore jumps out of the tree and runs across the grass. By the time Anna climbs down, Theodore is sitting on the porch sneering at her.

  "City slicker," he whispers so Aunt Aggie won't hear.

  But Aunt Aggie isn't paying any attention to Theodore. It's Anna she's staring at. "Oh, my word," Aunt Aggie says. "You haven't been here an hour and look at your dress. It's torn and dirty. What will your mother say?"

  Anna swallows hard. Mother will be very cross. She spent hours making Anna's pretty lacy dress, and now it's ruined.

  "And your hair ribbon," Aunt Aggie says. "What happened to it?"

  Anna wants to say Theodore took it and threw it in the tree, but she hates tattletales. She hangs her head and says nothing. She wishes she were back home in Baltimore with all the other city slickers, sitting on the steps and sweating in the hot sun.

  Aunt Aggie puts her hand on Anna's shoulder. "Come inside, Anna," she says softly. "I can wash and mend your dress so it will look as good as new."

  Anna follows Aunt Aggie upstairs to the room where she always sleeps when she visits the farm. The wallpaper is printed with tiny blue flowers. The bed is made of carved oak. There's a matching bureau and washstand. In one corner is a big wardrobe. Aunt Aggie has already hung Anna's dresses there. On the table by the bed is a kerosene lamp with a pink glass shade. From the window, Anna can see Uncle George's rows of corn blowing in the breeze.

  "What's a city slicker?" Anna asks her aunt.

  "A city slicker?" Aunt Aggie laughs. "Why, that's a person from the big city who thinks country people are dumb."

  "Am I a city slicker?" Anna asks.

  "Of course not!" Aunt Aggie takes a long look at Anna. "Did Theodore put that notion in your head?"

  Anna toys with a strand of her hair. "I was just wondering," she says.

  Aunt Aggie turns Anna around so she can unbutton the row of tiny buttons on the back of Anna's dress. "Such beautiful sewing," she says as she slips Anna's dress off. "I hope I can mend it properly."

  Anna reaches for another dress, but Aunt Aggie shakes her head. "I have a better idea," she says. "I'll be back in a moment."

  While she waits for her aunt to return, Anna leans on the window sill and looks out. Uncle George and his dog are coming up the dusty road. From here, he looks like a toy farmer in the garden under a Christmas tree.

  "What do you think of these, Anna?" Aunt Aggie stands in the doorway holding up a pair of overalls, a shirt, and a straw hat. "They're too small for Theodore, but I bet they'd fit you just right!"

  "But those are boys' clothes," Anna says.

  Aunt Aggie shakes her head. "No reason a girl can't wear overalls." She winks at Anna. "Just think, you won't be tearing any more of those lovely dresses."

  Slowly, Anna strips off her slip, fancy shoes, and hot stockings. When she's down to her drawers and camisole, she puts on the shirt, soft from many washings. Then she pulls on the overalls, stepping into each leg carefully. She feels very daring. Rosa and Beatrice would be shocked to see Anna in boys' clothes. Mother would have apoplexy.

  Aunt Aggie shows Anna how to buckle the overall straps and hands her the straw hat.

  "What about my shoes?" Anna asks.

  "Shoes?" Aunt Aggie chuckles. "Pshaw, you don't need shoes in the country, Anna."

  Anna studies her reflection in the wardrobe's mirrored door. Except for her long brown hair, she looks like a country boy. Anna grins at her new self, shoves her hands in her pockets, and follows Aunt Aggie downstairs. Before this week is over, Anna promises herself to show Theodore a thing or two about city slickers.

  FOUR

  The First Night Away

  WHEN THEODORE SEES ANNA WEARING HIS OVERALLS, he drops the peas he's shelling. "Those are mine," he says crossly.

  Anna sits down beside him on the porch and begins to shell peas. Her fingers shake a little. She's half afraid Theodore might want his overalls back. "They're too small for you," Anna says. "So Aunt Aggie gave them to me. She said—"

  "Girls shouldn't wear boys' clothes," Theodore interrupts. "You look dumb and ugly in them."

  Anna stares at Theodore's scowling face. No one has ever called her dumb and ugly before. Not even Rosa. Her cheeks burn with anger and her eyes sting with tears. She's tempted to throw the whole bowl of peas at Theodore, but she knows Aunt Aggie would be cross if she did that.

  Just as Anna opens her mouth to tell Theodore he's pretty dumb and ugly himself, Aunt Aggie looks out the kitchen door. "How are those peas coming?" she calls. "I need to cook them for supper."

  For a while neither Anna nor Theodore says a word. The peas ping into Aunt Aggie's tin bowl. Chickens cluck as they scratch in the dust. Bees buzz in the hollyhocks growing beside the porch. Far away the train whistle blows.

  Though Anna doesn't tell Theodore, she races him to see who can shell the fastest. She's pretty sure her fingers are quicker than his. But, then, maybe Theodore isn't racing.

  After supper, everyone sits on the front porch and watches the sun set. It's lovely to see so much sky, Anna thinks. No tall buildings or chimneys block the view. The evening air is sweet with the smell of honeysuckle growing wild on the fence. A mockingbird sings in the pear tree.

  As the light fades from the sky, Aunt Aggie points at t
he fireflies sparkling in the grass. "They look like tiny fairies carrying lanterns, flying about and searching for something they've lost," she says.

  Anna looks at her aunt. "Do you believe in fairies?"

  Theodore snorts, but Aunt Aggie shrugs. "When I was your age I believed in them."

  "What about now?"

  Uncle George chuckles. "There's no telling what odd notions Aggie has in that little head of hers."

  Aunt Aggie pats Anna's hand. "I haven't seen a fairy yet," she admits, "but I don't totally discount the idea."

  Anna leans back in her big rocking chair and smiles. "Me, neither," she says, prompting another snort from Theodore.

  "Can I have a jar so I can catch me some fireflies?" he asks Aunt Aggie.

  "Only if you promise to let them go before you come inside," Aunt Aggie says. Turning to Anna, she adds, "Would you like to catch fireflies, too?"

  "I reckon she's scared of bugs," Theodore says. "Most girls are."

  Anna remembers fireflies from other visits to the farm. She and Father caught a whole jarful last summer. "Ha," she says, "I bet I can catch more than you."

  "We'll see about that," Theodore says.

  Aunt Aggie goes inside and comes back with two Mason jars. "I punched holes in the lids when Anna was here last summer," she tells Theodore.

  Anna runs across the lawn ahead of Theodore. The grass is already damp with dew. It feels delicious under her bare feet. She pulls up a handful of clover and drops it into her jar so the fireflies will feel at home.

  Anna chases the fireflies and catches them carefully, snaring them in the air. She holds them in her hand for a moment, her fingers closed loosely around them, and enjoys the tickly feel of their feet on her palms. Then she drops them one by one into the jar until it's filled with twinkly fairy lights.

  Nearby, Theodore fills his jar. Holding it up, he calls to Uncle George. "Who's got the most? Me or her?"

  Uncle George squints hard. "They look exactly the same to me," he says.

  Anna smiles. Even though she'd hoped Uncle George would say she'd caught more fireflies than Theodore, she knows Father would have said exactly the same thing.