Free Scraps of Paper by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

wait. I want him to take me and Chris away from here, but I know he wont. Dad gets so mean when he drinks too. I said a prayer to GOD to help us. We’re leaving this note for posterity. Christopher’s idea. Like leaving a time capsule. My brother sure is nutty. Maybe when we grow up, he says, well dig them up for laughs. Ha, ha. Were going to the picnic tomorrow and I can’t wait to ride the ferris wheel. Mrs. Vogt gave us money for cotton candy and cherry bombs. I told Chris he’s gonna blow his fingers off, he don’t care, though.
    Abigail tucked the papers back in the jar and almost called Frank. But she’d see him in the morning. It could wait. What she felt like was crying. Those poor kids.
    She spent the next hour searching for more letters in the nooks and crannies beneath the porch but, weary, finally gave it up. Enough is enough for today, she told herself.
    I told Chris he’s gonna blow his fingers off, he don’t care, though.
    Kids never changed, did they? She’d said about the same thing to her younger brother, Jimmy, on a long ago Fourth of July. Jimmy lived in California now with his family and she rarely saw him. How she missed him and her two sisters, Carol and Mary, sometimes. She’d have to call. Find some way for the four of them to get together and catch up on their lives.
    She put off hanging the swing and putting up her birdhouses until the next morning and bringing them out one at a time and unwrapping them was like rediscovering old friends she hadn’t seen for a long time. She remembered where she and Joel had bought or found every one as she hung them along the rim of the porch. There weren’t so many that it looked gaudy. She was appreciating her birdhouses from the swing when she glanced down and saw the white kitten bounding up onto the porch.
    “Oh, no, you again!”
    The kitten leapt into her lap and clawed its way up to cuddle at her neck, purring the whole time. She laughed and hugged it. “I can see you’ve adopted me and I’m not going to be able to get rid of you, am I?”
    She took the cat into the house. “First thing for you if you’re going to stay with me is a bath. You stink and if you’re going to live here, you have to be clean. Only clean kittens allowed in my house.” The cat didn’t protest and seemed to enjoy playing in the water.
    Abigail had to go into town for cat stuff. The tuna had run out. And if the kitten was going to stay, she had to have a litter box and, of course, cat toys. When in town buying cat necessities at the General Store, John Mason inquired on how her artwork was progressing. She told him about her second commission and promised to bring in some pieces to display in his store before Saturday. That seemed to make him happy.
    On her way home, she came up with a name for the kitten. Snowball. Well, so much for getting rid of that cat.

Chapter 6
     
    “I see you collect birdhouses.” Frank was on the porch examining one with a miniature fake-feathered tenant in the opening. “Nice. Wait until you see the craft booths today at the picnic. Some will have really unique birdhouses. Me, I collect ancient weapons and guns.”
    “An ex-cop who collects guns and such. Imagine that?” Abigail closed the door, not bothering to lock it. No need to in Spookie, because according to Frank there wasn’t any crime.
    “Everyone meets at Stella’s for breakfast first. It’s a tradition,” Frank said as they walked to town. It was a perfect summer day, hot with clear skies and enough of a breeze that the heat wouldn’t kill. The sound of fireworks exploded in the skies above them and a pungent smoke scent hung in the air. The celebration had begun early.
    “Can’t buck tradition, can we?” Abigail felt like a young girl again in her pink short-sleeved blouse and her white shorts, her hair tied back with a red, white and blue ribbon; she knew she looked pretty. The physical activity of moving and refurbishing the house had shed her a couple