Free The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom

baby will be here,” Belle reminded Mama.
    “And thank the Lawd the cap’n promise Miss Martha he home before that day,” Mama said.
    By now Fanny had almost exclusive responsibility for Miss Sally. Most afternoons she brought her to the kitchen area, where we three girls entertained her with play. The little girl had fallen in love with Dory’s new baby and was thrilled when she was allowed to hold it. One morning she surprised all of us by appearing in the kitchen yard with Marshall in tow. As she pulled him forward, I saw her bracelet catch the sun. Fanny stood awkwardly behind them.
    Ben, up from the barns, was behind the kitchen house, chopping wood for Belle’s outdoor fire. Beattie and I were again his eager helpers, carrying the wood over for Belle’s use as she stirred and cooked the first apple butter of the season.
    “Can Marshall see the baby?” Sally asked Belle.
    “You go ahead,” Belle directed her. “Dory’s in the kitchen house.”
    Marshall looked embarrassed but showed interest when Dory brought the baby to the door of the kitchen house for him to view. “It’s nice,” he said, sounding genuine.
    “Thank you, Masta Marshall,” Dory answered.
    “Will our baby be like this?” Sally asked Marshall.
    After a silence, Marshall shook his head. “No,” he said.
    “Why not?” asked Sally, surprised.
    “It just won’t,” he mumbled as he turned pink.
    “But I want a baby just like this one.”
    “Well, you can’t have one,” Marshall said, short with her now.
    Sally began to wail. “I want a baby like this one.”
    Belle set aside the stirring paddle and came to hunch down by Sally. “Where’d you get this pretty thing you have on your arm?” she asked in an effort to distract the child. It worked.
    “My daddy gave it to me for Christmas. Look,” Sally said, “it’s a picture of him.” She turned the painted miniature so Belle could have a better look. The charm was edged in gold and tied to her wrist with a pink velvet ribbon.
    “This is so pretty,” Belle said quietly.
    “Come on, Sally, let’s go.” Marshall was impatient, tugging at her arm.
    The little girl remembered the baby and pushed back at her brother. “Belle, can I have a baby like this one?” she said.
    Belle reassured her, “Your mama’s gonna have a pretty baby, nice as this one.”
    “Will she, Belle?” Sally asked.
    Belle nodded. “Yes, she do.”
    “See,” Sally said. “See. Belle said it will be just like this one.”
    Marshall glared at Belle, then walked away. His little sister, alert to her brother’s unhappiness, ran after him. Fanny followed, but Beattie and I stayed back at the woodpile with Ben, watching them go up toward the big house. Sally reached the oak tree and scrambled onto her swing. “Marshall! Push me,” she called, kicking out her feet. Marshall ignored her and continued on toward the house.
    Fanny went to her, but the child insisted that she wanted her brother. “Marshall! Come! Push me on the swing,” she called to him.
    He disregarded her appeals. Then the little girl caught sightof the tutor, standing at the back door of the big house, and she changed tactic.
    “Mr. Waters, Mr. Waters,” she called, “tell Marshall to push me on the swing.”
    Marshall stopped and looked up. He saw the tutor taking steps and quickly turned back toward Sally. When he reached the swing, Marshall grabbed hold of the seat and pushed fiercely, almost unseating the child.
    “Marshall,” the little girl called, “not so hard.”
    He pushed her again, harder still. Frightened, Sally kicked at him and called for him to stop, but he shoved again, as if fueled by his sister’s cry. When Sally let out a shrill scream, Belle came running up the hill. Ben came, too, sprinting behind her. Belle called out for Marshall to stop, stop! Fanny ran at him and used the force of her body to throw him to the ground, but not before he was successful in a last hard shove. The swing flew and reached a