Free The Springsweet by Saundra Mitchell

but see if you can find a nest."
    This was a better adventure than walking to eternity, and she immediately dashed into the prairie. Which left me alone to suck up my courage to wring the bird's neck without an impressionable witness.
    I was kind and quick as I could be about it, and all I wished for was a good piece of twine to make a brace for carrying it home.
    "Eggs," Louella shouted. "Zora, eggs!"
    Taking my prize along, I followed the sound of her voice and found her crouched over a little nest built in the grass. It held ten fat eggs, each the color of toasted meringue. Quickly, I took in the land around us—there was no hen nearby, though I heard a new conch-wail in the distance.
    "Take four," I told Louella. One for each of us, and one for the pot. That was my thinking on it, and it left six for the bereaved hen I'd likely just widowed. "Gather up your skirt and carry them gently."
    She did as I told her, and it was only halfway back to the soddy that she turned her face up at me. "No wading?"
    "I'm afraid not," I told her. And as the wind rushed through the sunbaked prairie, I had to laugh at myself. It was no desert, this piece of the Territories, but it was no oasis, either.
    I had been a mad, impetuous thing to promise her wading at all. Still, considering our reward for my madness, I was glad to take the blow to my ego.
    A hot dinner tonight! A hot breakfast tomorrow! We were rich!

Seven
     
    The next day, I felt rather less wealthy when I made Louella's hot breakfast and Aunt Birdie still hadn't come home. Her promise to return by supper at the latest had slipped into dusk, then into the night, with no sign of her.
    It was frighteningly easy to lie to the baby, to coax her to sleep. But it was impossible for me to find sleep myself.
    I kept going into the yard, peering into the dark for any sign of my wayward aunt. My head cried with unfortunate possibilities, one worse than the next. Finally, though I knew candles and oil were dear, I lit the tin lantern and left it outside to be a beacon.
    By morning, the oil was gone, and we were still alone. Louella smacked her spoon against her breakfast, not a bite of egg passing her lips. She drew her head back like a turtle, her chin disappearing into her neck, and her eyes nothing but sullen green dots that followed me as I straightened the soddy.
    "You need to eat, duck," I told her, folding up our bedding. I stole peeks at her over the top of the quilt. "It's a long walk to the well."
    She answered with another smack of her spoon.
    I continued, cheerfully. "And we might have another adventure today. You never know. You'll want a full belly for that."
    Eyes darkening, Louella said nothing. But she kicked the legs of the chair, making eggs dance in her plate and filling the soddy with a sharp, steady beat. I kept to my chores, hoping this tempest would pass as quickly as any of her moods.
    When I gave her no response, she kicked harder, making the chair rock. I turned my back to her, surprised by the great well of temper that filled me. Every thump reverberated on my spine. The tap of the tin spoon on her plate dug right into my ear.
    Ignoring her, it seemed, made the tantrum worse. Slowly, I put the bedding away and collected myself. I would be calm in the face of this obstinance. Turning toward her, I pasted on a smile. "Now let's finish-—"
    But I didn't finish.
    She kicked so hard that the plate leapt from her knees. It was impressive that she managed to break Birdie's only china plate on a dirt floor. It was infuriating, too. I would have eaten that breakfast gladly. I might have even picked it off the floor, if it weren't full of shards.
    I flew over to remonstrate, pointing at the mess. "Look what you've done! That plate is ruined!"
    Louella's mercury turned. She looked up at me, stricken, and burst into tears. And though I had only raised my voice to her—in truth, wished very much to shake her, but resisted—she tried to climb into my arms for