the truth and give them the burden of worrying about her when there was nothing they could do to comfort her.
And so, much later, when she discovered her tears had fallen upon the ink and left two blue puddles, she resolutely dried her eyes and started the letter again.
3
B Y TRADITION, THE school year officially began on the first Monday of September. Linnea had arrived on the Friday preceding it. Saturday hadn’t quite dawned, when some faraway sound awakened her and she groggily checked her surroundings in the muted lavender light of the loft.
For a moment she was disoriented. Overhead were the unfinished beams of a roof. She groaned and rolled over. Oh yes ... her new home in Alamo. She had slept poorly in the strange bed. She was tempted to drop off for a few more precious winks, but just then she heard activity below, and remembered the events of yesterday.
Well, Miss Brandonberg, drag your bones out of here and show ‘em what you’re made of.
The water in the basin was cold, and she wondered if she’d run into Theodore or Kristian if she sneaked down to warm it. Maybe nobody’d lit a fire yet: a glance at the window told her it was very early. She eyed the stovepipe, scurried out of bed, and touched it. Ah, someone had been up a while. She drew on her blue flannel wrapper, buttoned it to the throat, tied it at the waist, and took her speckled washbasin downstairs.
She tried to be very quiet, but the stairs creaked.
Nissa’s head popped around the doorway. Her hair wasalready in its tight little bun, and she wore a starched white ankle-length apron over a no-nonsense dress of faded gray and red flowered muslin.
“You up already?”
“I... I don’t want to keep anybody waiting this time.”
“Breakfast won’t be for a good hour yet. The boys got ten cows to milk.”
“Are they... ” She glanced above Nissa’s head and pressed the basin tighter against her hip. “Outside already?”
“Coast is clear. Come on down.” Nissa dropped her eyes to the bare toes curled over the edge of the step. “Ain’t you got no slippers for them bare feet?”
Linnea straightened her toes and looked down. “I’m afraid not.” She didn’t want to mention that at home she’d only had to slip down the hall to reach the lavatory.
“Well, appears I better get out my knitting needles first chance I get. Come on down ‘fore you fall off your perch. Water’s hot in the reservoir.”
In spite of Nissa’s brusque, autocratic ways, Linnea liked her. The kitchen, with her in it, became inviting. She whirled around in her usual fashion, reminding Linnea of the erratic flight of a goldfinch — darting this way and that with such abrupt turns that it seemed she wasn’t done with one task before heading for the next.
She lifted a lid from the gargantuan cast-iron stove that dominated the room, tossed in a shovelful of coal from a hod sitting alongside, rammed the lid back in place, and spun toward the pantry all in a single motion. Watching her, Linnea almost became dizzy.
In a moment Nissa breezed back, pointing to a water pail sitting on a long table against one wall. “There! Use the dipper! Take what you need! I draw the line when it comes to givin’ the teacher a bath!”
Linnea laughed and thought if she had to put up with some nettlesome tempers around here, Nissa would more than make up for it. Upstairs again, all washed, with the bandage removed from her hand and her hair done in a perfect, flawless coil around the back of her head, Linnea felt optimistic once more.
She owned five outfits: her traveling suit of charcoal-gray wool serge with its shirtwaist of garnet-colored silk, a brown skirt of Manchester cloth bound at the hem with velvet and acontrasting white-yoked shirtwaist, a forest-green skirt of twilled Oxford with three inverted plaits down the back and a Black Watch plaid shirtwaist to match, a navy-blue middy dress with white piping around the collar, and an ordinary gray broadcloth
And so, much later, when she discovered her tears had fallen upon the ink and left two blue puddles, she resolutely dried her eyes and started the letter again.
3
B Y TRADITION, THE school year officially began on the first Monday of September. Linnea had arrived on the Friday preceding it. Saturday hadn’t quite dawned, when some faraway sound awakened her and she groggily checked her surroundings in the muted lavender light of the loft.
For a moment she was disoriented. Overhead were the unfinished beams of a roof. She groaned and rolled over. Oh yes ... her new home in Alamo. She had slept poorly in the strange bed. She was tempted to drop off for a few more precious winks, but just then she heard activity below, and remembered the events of yesterday.
Well, Miss Brandonberg, drag your bones out of here and show ‘em what you’re made of.
The water in the basin was cold, and she wondered if she’d run into Theodore or Kristian if she sneaked down to warm it. Maybe nobody’d lit a fire yet: a glance at the window told her it was very early. She eyed the stovepipe, scurried out of bed, and touched it. Ah, someone had been up a while. She drew on her blue flannel wrapper, buttoned it to the throat, tied it at the waist, and took her speckled washbasin downstairs.
She tried to be very quiet, but the stairs creaked.
Nissa’s head popped around the doorway. Her hair wasalready in its tight little bun, and she wore a starched white ankle-length apron over a no-nonsense dress of faded gray and red flowered muslin.
“You up already?”
“I... I don’t want to keep anybody waiting this time.”
“Breakfast won’t be for a good hour yet. The boys got ten cows to milk.”
“Are they... ” She glanced above Nissa’s head and pressed the basin tighter against her hip. “Outside already?”
“Coast is clear. Come on down.” Nissa dropped her eyes to the bare toes curled over the edge of the step. “Ain’t you got no slippers for them bare feet?”
Linnea straightened her toes and looked down. “I’m afraid not.” She didn’t want to mention that at home she’d only had to slip down the hall to reach the lavatory.
“Well, appears I better get out my knitting needles first chance I get. Come on down ‘fore you fall off your perch. Water’s hot in the reservoir.”
In spite of Nissa’s brusque, autocratic ways, Linnea liked her. The kitchen, with her in it, became inviting. She whirled around in her usual fashion, reminding Linnea of the erratic flight of a goldfinch — darting this way and that with such abrupt turns that it seemed she wasn’t done with one task before heading for the next.
She lifted a lid from the gargantuan cast-iron stove that dominated the room, tossed in a shovelful of coal from a hod sitting alongside, rammed the lid back in place, and spun toward the pantry all in a single motion. Watching her, Linnea almost became dizzy.
In a moment Nissa breezed back, pointing to a water pail sitting on a long table against one wall. “There! Use the dipper! Take what you need! I draw the line when it comes to givin’ the teacher a bath!”
Linnea laughed and thought if she had to put up with some nettlesome tempers around here, Nissa would more than make up for it. Upstairs again, all washed, with the bandage removed from her hand and her hair done in a perfect, flawless coil around the back of her head, Linnea felt optimistic once more.
She owned five outfits: her traveling suit of charcoal-gray wool serge with its shirtwaist of garnet-colored silk, a brown skirt of Manchester cloth bound at the hem with velvet and acontrasting white-yoked shirtwaist, a forest-green skirt of twilled Oxford with three inverted plaits down the back and a Black Watch plaid shirtwaist to match, a navy-blue middy dress with white piping around the collar, and an ordinary gray broadcloth
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