Free The Beaded Moccasins by Lynda Durrant

same thing, to show the world how brave and strong he is.
    And what about me? Don't I need strength, too?
    The little doll lies next to me. When her faded blue dress reflects the firelight, she glows like a little ghost. She does make me feel stronger, but the strength she gives me is of a different kind than the strength these boys are gaining, I reckon.
    These boys are learning to be Delaware braves; their newfound strength is about the future. My doll gives me the strength to remember my past.
    I study my doll at night, and entire days spent in Connecticut and Pennsylvania flood into my memory. I remember what we talked about at breakfast, dinner, and supper. I remember what we ate, too: oatmeal with thick cream in the morning; ham, corn bread, pea soup, and apple slump at noon; turkey, yams, cranberries, and berry cobblers at sunset. We had bread, butter, and honey with every meal. And lots of cold milk or cider to wash everything down.
    Just the thought of my mother's cooking makes my mouth water and my stomach growl.

    I remember giggling with Constance Farnsworth about the silliest things-like the time her elder brother sat on a gooseberry pie, or the time my grandfather sneezed so hard he blew a candle out.
    We spent long afternoons sitting on a bench near the window, looking into Constance's fancy picture book of the animal kingdom. We talked about the lions, tigers, monkeys, and elephants. While looking at the pictures we practiced being ladies. We sipped lemonade out of dainty teacups held in gloved hands, and nibbled ginger cookies with our little fingers high in the air.
    Always remember who you are, Mary.
    But when I start remembering, I begin to cry and can't stop.
    "I need strength," I whisper, sobbing to my doll. "I need more strength than you can give me." I stuff her dress into my mouth so no one can hear me weeping.
    I slept away the afternoon and now I can't sleep tonight. The family fires no longer hiss and sputter with flames but glow instead as silent embers. I imagine myself strolling right into Campbell Station next spring. The dogwoods are white and yet the most delicate pink from a distance. In the pasture the tender grass smells sweet. Livestock are treading on the wild strawberries again. Spring lambs and calves cleave to their mothers.
    Dougal is still sitting on his stupid rock in the middle of the pasture, mooning over his map.
    "Good afternoon, Dougal," I say.

    Seeing me dressed the way I am, he jumps clean into the air, thinking I'm an Indian. The map lands in the mud.
    "Mary?" he says, his eyes as big as wagon wheels. "Ma! It's Mary! She's home!"
    My mother, dressed in black, is sitting on the side porch dolefully churning butter. She jumps off the porch and charges toward me, skirts flying.
    "Mary," she hollers out. "Mary's come home!"
    My father runs toward us from the fields, holding his sun hat flat against his head so it won't blow away. Even Lady Grey is purr-winding around my ankles. My mother enfolds me in her arms.
    "I'm all right. I escaped. I'm all right."
    "Oh Mary! And it's your birthday, too! I'll make you a cake and everything!"
    As we walk toward the cabin, I can't go another step until I've given them all a piece of my mind.
    "Pa, if you hadn't made us go westering, this would never have happened. I've been starving, freezing, terrified, and so exhausted I've fallen asleep with half-chewed food in my mouth. You're so selfish. You only think about yourself."
    He hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Mary. We'll go back to Connecticut tomorrow, just as you wish."
    I turn to Dougal.
    "And you, you were supposed to be protecting me. If you hadn't been so lazy, I might never have been kidnapped."
    Dougal hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Mary. I'll never sleep beyond daybreak again. My lazy days are over."

    I turn to Ma.
    "And you, you were always so angry with me. Nothing I ever did was good enough. Why did you make my life so hard?"
    She hangs her head and speaks so softly I have to lean