Free Keesha's House by Helen Frost Page A

be
    hard to handle; it will be
    easier without him.
    If Dad sees how
    carefully I’m
    thinking this
    through, he
    might help
    convince
    Mom.

 
    I
    beg
    Mom:
    Please!
    I’d only take
    three dogs. You know
    I can handle them. You’ve
    seen me. She won’t listen. You
    are not old enough, she says. Or
    strong enough. I make a face (should
    not have done that). Mom starts in: A moose
    will charge at three dogs as fast as it will charge
    at six. A three-dog team can lose the trail, or pull you
    out onto thin ice. What if your sled turns over, or you lose
    control of the team? ( Mom really goes on and on once she gets
    started.) Willow, you could be alone out there with a dog fight
    on your hands. (Oh, right , Mom, like I’ve never stopped a
    dog fight by myself.) When Mom finally stops talking
    and starts thinking, I know enough to quit arguing.
    She looks me up and down like we’ve just met,
    then takes a deep breath. You really want to
    do this, don’t you, Willow? It takes me by
    surprise, and I almost say, Never mind,
    Mom, it doesn’t matter. But it does
    matter. I swallow hard and nod.
    Mom says, I’ll think about it
    and decide tomorrow.
    What if she says
    yes?

 
    You
    would
    trust her
    to take Roxy
    by herself? Mom
    questions Dad. They
    don’t know I’m listening.
    I know my dogs, Dad answers,
    how they are with Willow. It’s more
    that I’d trust Roxy to take her. Honey, if
    it’s up to me , I say let’s let her do this.
    I slip away before they see me.
    I’m pretty sure they’re
    going to say yes.
    (Yes!)
    I go out
    and talk to Roxy
    and Cora and Magoo.
    I think they’re going to let us go
    to Grandma and Grandpa’s by ourselves!
    I get out at noon on Friday—it’s the end of the
    quarter. We’ll leave by one, and be there before dark.
    We’ll have almost two days out there, and come home
    Sunday afternoon! Even as I let myself say it,
    I’m trying not to hope too hard.
    I know all I can do now is
    wait. It will jinx
    it for sure if
    I keep on
    begging.

 
    Yes,
    I have a
    wool sweater
    under my jacket.
    Extra socks, gloves,
    and, yes, I have enough
    booties for the dogs. I have
    my sleeping bag and a blanket,
    in case I get stranded somewhere
    (which of course won’t happen). Yes,
    I have matches, a headlamp, a hatchet.
    Dad keeps adding things to his checklist.
    Zanna comes up as close as she dares, keeping
    her distance from the dogs, to give me a card she
    made for Grandma. It’s cute, a picture of an otter
    sliding down a riverbank. Okay , Dad says, it looks
    like you’re all set. I know you can do this. Take it
    slow. He keeps on talking as I take my foot off
    the brake and let the dogs go . He might still
    be talking even now , yelling out last-
    minute warnings: Don’t forget to
    call us when you get there!
    Watch where the trail …
    And I can picture Mom,
    standing beside Dad,
    her arms folded tight,
    like she’s holding
    me, wrapped
    up inside
    them.

 
    Fox
    tracks,
    new snow,
    red-streaked sky
    and full moon rising.
    I know this trail, know
    where it gets scary . I know
    where it sometimes floods and
    freezes over. And I know Grandma
    and Grandpa will love it when they hear
    the dogs, knowing that it’s me mushing
    out to see them. I’m almost there.
    Can’t be more than half an hour
    to go. Down this small
    hill, past the burned
    stumps. There—I
    see the light
    by their
    door.

 
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    KEESHA’S HOUSE. Copyright © 2003 by Helen Frost.
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