Free The Small Fortune of Dorothea Q by Sharon Maas

her.
    ‘Pa will kill you! And you better get out before he comes!’
    ‘But he’s out. I know he is ‘cause I just saw him leave in that old rattletrap of his.’
    He meant the Ford, the green Prefect, Pa’s pride and joy. Dorothea was offended on Pa’s behalf.
    ‘It’s not a rattletrap! It’s almost new and we’ve never had a breakdown, and just because …’
    ‘Just teasin’. But I know he’s out, and your Mum too. Like every Sunday.’
    He was right, of course, and Dorothea was surprised at how much he knew. Every Sunday Pa took the family up the East Bank of Demerara to Goed Fortuin sugar plantation, which Uncle Hendrik owned. There, Pa had managed to build up a community church to serve the converted Christian East Indian plantation workers and poor families from the surrounding villages. Services were held in the late afternoon, but Dorothea had managed to free herself from attending with the excuse of extra schoolwork; eventually, she had been permanently released from these Sunday afternoon trips; she regarded Sunday as her day off.
    Now, Freddy continued. ‘… and I wanted to say sorry, for this morning. And ask how you got so strong, for a girl. ‘Course, if you hadn’t taken me by surprise, it would’ve been different. And anyway I had to let you win, ‘cause you’re a girl, an’ I didn’t want to make a scene, ‘cause it was in church.’
    ‘Ha! Then beat me now! Come on!’ Her eyes bristled with challenge, and she held up her forearm and open palm.
    ‘Well, now, you’re a right one! But sure!’
    He grabbed her hand and pressed against it. Dorothea pressed back, frowning with intensity. For a full two minutes they wrestled thus in silence; hands clutched and bent arms swollen with muscle. Then Freddy laughed and relaxed, and let her swing his arm down into defeat.
    ‘Whew, you’re good, for a girl! ‘Course I had to let you win again, ‘cause me Mum wouldn’t like to hear I was beatin’ up the neighbourhood girls. Wouldn’t be a gallant thing to do, for a Quint. But really, now, how did you get so strong?’
    His eyes seemed to drink her up, brimming with admiration. Dorothea smiled and looked away.
    ‘Tennis!’ she replied. She stooped to pick up the secateurs she’d dropped, but Freddy, seeing her intention, bent down and got there before her. Their heads bumped in mid-air.
    ‘Ouch! Sorry! Are you all right?’ he rubbed his crown and handed her the secateurs.
    She giggled. ‘Yes, fine. You?’
    ‘Oh, sure, I got a head as hard as stone. Just hopin’ I didn’t maim you for life! Now, tell me about that tennis. So you swing a racquet, do you?’
    ‘Every afternoon, after school. I’m in the school team – we beat St Rose’s in the under sixteen doubles last week. It was in the Graphic !’
    It was a good thing that Sports were compulsory at Bishops’; Pa would normally never have allowed her to take it up otherwise. But Dorothea had done well, and he had given his reluctant permission for her to join the team.
    ‘You were in the Graphic ! With a photo?’
    Dorothea nodded.
    ‘Well, now, I missed that. I’ll have to look for it, and I’ll cut out the photo. I don’t usually read the sports pages, but I will now, now I know you’re famous.’
    ‘No, I’m not, it was only a school game, but they’re considering me for the national tennis team and if I get chosen I get to play in the West Indian Tennis Championships next year, and then I’ll be famous.’
    ‘Can I come and watch you training, sometimes?’
    Those were the words that finally woke Dorothea up. She blushed and looked away, peeling her eyes from the gaze that held hers; black eyes deep and still as rainforest pools and warm as the afternoon sunlight now filtering through the mango tree. She’d talked to this boy, this stranger, as if she’d known him all her life, chatted with him right here in the forbidden territory of her own backyard. If Pa saw her, he’d kill them both.
    She dropped her