clear—much nicer than the rainwater off the roof we always used.
“That's a lot of sweet potatoes,” I said when I came back in.
“Mamma wants four pies to bring to church tomorrow,” she said, and started in on that pile with a peeler and a butcher knife like she was racing to some kind of sweet potato pie finish line.
I sat and watched the knife flash in her hand. Later, I wished I'd told her to slow down. It flashed and thwacked the cutting board, and flashed again until suddenly Fannie cried out and there was blood all over the board. She shook her cut hand and whimpered.
“Hold still,” I told her. I stuck the dishrag into the pot of cold water, then grasped her hand with it and held it above her head. I squeezed the veins in her wrist with one hand and pressed the cold rag against the cut with the other. “This will stop the bleeding,” I said. “You'll be fine.”
There were beads of perspiration across her nose and cheeks, and she looked dizzy.
“Are you going to faint?” I asked. “Fainting usually makes the bleeding stop sooner, but I'd rather you didn't.”
She scowled at me. “No, I am
not
going to faint.”
“Well, if you feel like you're going to, just lower your head—”
“I told you I am not going to faint!” she snapped. She did look better now that she'd started arguing with me. “And I want to know how it is you know so much about fainting and cuts and the like.” She stared me down the way Mamma used to when she was fixing to get the truth out of me.
“I … uh … I just know, I guess,” I stammered.
If I hadn't been holding her hand up in the air, Fannie would have crossed her arms right then. As it was, she looked me up and down and said, “Miss Ella did not teach us that in school, and nobody is born knowing how to doctor, and you'd better give me a better answer than ‘I just know.’ ”
I sighed. I could see that Fannie was at least as good as Mamma had been at getting to the truth. “You promise you won't tell anyone?” I pleaded.
Fannie nodded solemnly and made a cross over her heart with her free hand.
I lowered her hand and peeked at the cut. It wasn't that deep, and the bleeding had mostly stopped. I dipped a clean corner of the dishrag into the cold water again. “Here, hold this tight for a while longer,” I said.
She looked at her cut, made a scrunched-up face, and quickly covered it with the rag.
I cleared my throat and leaned toward her. “I borrowed twobooks on doctoring from the station library,” I said, my voice low. “I've been studying them.”
Fannie's eyes sparkled. “So
that's
how you knew!” she exclaimed. Then she sucked in her breath, as if she'd just that moment understood the part about “borrowing.” “I bet you're whispering because the surfmen don't know that you took the books, right?”
I felt my face flush. “It was sort of an accident—and then once I had them, I didn't want to give them back before I read them.”
This time Fannie did cross her arms over her chest. “Nathan Williams, I don't know whether to be proud of you or ashamed of you.”
“Me neither,” I admitted. “But I'm almost done with my studying. Soon I'll put them back where I found them, and no one will know, I promise.”
She smiled. “And if you hadn't studied, I might still be bleeding all over those sweet potatoes! I promise I won't tell.”
I bandaged Fannie's hand with a clean rag from her mamma's rag basket and helped her clean up the blood. Then Fannie supervised while I peeled and chopped sweet potatoes
slowly
.
If only I'd been able to keep my promise to Fannie the way she kept her promise to me.
SEVEN
February started out warmer than January had been. But on February 5, Mr. Moore from the weather station in Washington, D.C., telegraphed to Mr. Etheridge that we were about to be hit by a storm. Daddy and Grandpa and I moored our skiff on four long mooring poles, brought food and water inside the cabin, and waited.
The
“That's a lot of sweet potatoes,” I said when I came back in.
“Mamma wants four pies to bring to church tomorrow,” she said, and started in on that pile with a peeler and a butcher knife like she was racing to some kind of sweet potato pie finish line.
I sat and watched the knife flash in her hand. Later, I wished I'd told her to slow down. It flashed and thwacked the cutting board, and flashed again until suddenly Fannie cried out and there was blood all over the board. She shook her cut hand and whimpered.
“Hold still,” I told her. I stuck the dishrag into the pot of cold water, then grasped her hand with it and held it above her head. I squeezed the veins in her wrist with one hand and pressed the cold rag against the cut with the other. “This will stop the bleeding,” I said. “You'll be fine.”
There were beads of perspiration across her nose and cheeks, and she looked dizzy.
“Are you going to faint?” I asked. “Fainting usually makes the bleeding stop sooner, but I'd rather you didn't.”
She scowled at me. “No, I am
not
going to faint.”
“Well, if you feel like you're going to, just lower your head—”
“I told you I am not going to faint!” she snapped. She did look better now that she'd started arguing with me. “And I want to know how it is you know so much about fainting and cuts and the like.” She stared me down the way Mamma used to when she was fixing to get the truth out of me.
“I … uh … I just know, I guess,” I stammered.
If I hadn't been holding her hand up in the air, Fannie would have crossed her arms right then. As it was, she looked me up and down and said, “Miss Ella did not teach us that in school, and nobody is born knowing how to doctor, and you'd better give me a better answer than ‘I just know.’ ”
I sighed. I could see that Fannie was at least as good as Mamma had been at getting to the truth. “You promise you won't tell anyone?” I pleaded.
Fannie nodded solemnly and made a cross over her heart with her free hand.
I lowered her hand and peeked at the cut. It wasn't that deep, and the bleeding had mostly stopped. I dipped a clean corner of the dishrag into the cold water again. “Here, hold this tight for a while longer,” I said.
She looked at her cut, made a scrunched-up face, and quickly covered it with the rag.
I cleared my throat and leaned toward her. “I borrowed twobooks on doctoring from the station library,” I said, my voice low. “I've been studying them.”
Fannie's eyes sparkled. “So
that's
how you knew!” she exclaimed. Then she sucked in her breath, as if she'd just that moment understood the part about “borrowing.” “I bet you're whispering because the surfmen don't know that you took the books, right?”
I felt my face flush. “It was sort of an accident—and then once I had them, I didn't want to give them back before I read them.”
This time Fannie did cross her arms over her chest. “Nathan Williams, I don't know whether to be proud of you or ashamed of you.”
“Me neither,” I admitted. “But I'm almost done with my studying. Soon I'll put them back where I found them, and no one will know, I promise.”
She smiled. “And if you hadn't studied, I might still be bleeding all over those sweet potatoes! I promise I won't tell.”
I bandaged Fannie's hand with a clean rag from her mamma's rag basket and helped her clean up the blood. Then Fannie supervised while I peeled and chopped sweet potatoes
slowly
.
If only I'd been able to keep my promise to Fannie the way she kept her promise to me.
SEVEN
February started out warmer than January had been. But on February 5, Mr. Moore from the weather station in Washington, D.C., telegraphed to Mr. Etheridge that we were about to be hit by a storm. Daddy and Grandpa and I moored our skiff on four long mooring poles, brought food and water inside the cabin, and waited.
The
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