Fire Over Atlanta by Gilbert L. Morris Page B

brown hair and the clear, large, dark eyes. The overalls she wore were clean, though patched and faded. She noted that the girl had a fine figure, though disguised by her outlandish garb.
    “This is very good, Charlene. Did you make some for yourself?”
    “Oh, no. I usually drink coffee. Of course, lately we’ve been trying to make coffee out of burnt acorns. Don’t care for that too much.”
    “Did you lose all of your possessions in the attack, Charlene?”
    “Oh, no. I brought ’em. They’re in the room down the hall where Miss Lori put me.”
    “Well … didn’t you have any dresses? I notice you keep on wearing the same overalls every day.”
    “Oh, I’ve got a dress, but I don’t care to wear ’em much. Lots easier to get around in overalls than it is in dresses.”
    Until now, Mrs. Holcomb had spoken only briefly with the young woman. “Tell me about yourself, Charlene,” she said, doggedly refusing to use what she considered the ugly name of Charlie. “Tell me about your family. You have brothers and sisters?”
    “Had two sisters, but they moved off. Me and Pa handled the farm, and they did the cookin’ and the housework when they was home. They was real little, you see, Miss Grace, and I was big and strong.” She nodded proudly. “I can plow as good as most men.”
    “I’m sure you can,” she said. “But didn’t you learn how to cook and do housework?”
    “Oh, I can cook a steak, I guess. Never did much of the housework though.”
    Charlie went on describing her life, which sounded appalling to Mrs. Holcomb.
Poor child
, she thought.
She really doesn’t know the first thing about keeping house. How will she ever in this world make a man a good wife?
Aloud she said cautiously, “I think it would be nice if you would dress up for supper tonight. You know … fix your hair and put on the dress …”
    “Oh, I don’t reckon I’ll do that, Miss Grace,” Charlie said carelessly. “Lots of work to do around here. The shells took out some of the fencin’. I been puttin’ it back. And the well curbing got busted too. I got to lay some new curbstones around that if I can get ahold of some cement.”
    “Do you know how to do things like that?”
    “Oh, yes, ma’am, I do. I done that kind of work all my life. There ain’t nothin’ around a place that I can’t do if I set my mind to it.”
    Charlie sat sprawled in her chair in a most unladylike position. She really had none of the feminine graces. For all the striking beauty of her face and attractiveness of her figure, she looked more like a pretty young man than a young woman.
    Finally she got up, took the glass from Mrs. Holcomb, and said, “Reckon I’ll go out and chop some wood. Got to sharpen the ax first, though. It’s plumb dull.”
    After the girl left, Mrs Holcomb said aloud, “How in the world will she ever survive?” Shaking her head, she picked up the Bible and began reading. After a time she thought of Charlene again, and she prayed a quick, simple prayer. “Lord, make a woman out of that girl. She doesn’t even know that she’s a woman, and she’s headed for some hard times if she doesn’t learn.”
    Drake arrived in front of the Holcomb cottage just as the sun was beginning to set. He had come at Lori’s invitation, and he wore his good uniform. Knocking, he hoped fervently that he would have Lori to himself tonight. When the door opened, however, it was not Lori but Charlie Satterfield who stood there.
    “Why, howdy, Drake!” she said and stuck out her hand out like a man. “Come on in the house.”
    Rather taken off guard, Drake found his hand grasped firmly. Charlie’s handshake, he discovered, was not like a young lady’s but was strong and firm. His hand was pumped up and down, and then he was propelled into the house by a quick jerk.
    “Uh … thank you, Charlie,” he mumbled. He noted that she was still wearing overalls. She wore a man’s white shirt, and the brown hair framing her face was very