Free At the Sign of the Star by Katherine Sturtevant

upon end I was as sullen as ever. But each day I tried to be nice to my stepmother at least one time. And each time I was nice to her, she smiled with such surprise and delight that for a moment it shamed me to be only pretending niceness. Then I would remind myself that it was she who had sent Hester from me.
    One Sunday in late October I went with my father and mother to dine at the home of Philip Gosse, who was a wine merchant in the City, and his family. This visit had been talked of for some time, for Susannah had been long acquainted with the family, and thought I should know them. This was on account of their daughter Anne, who was fifteen. By Susannah’s account, Anne was all that a daughter should be: skilled at women’s arts, and helpful in the care of her younger brothers and sisters. I had seen her at the wedding but did not like her; I thought she would be silly and dull. Before my father threatened to send me away, however, I looked forward to meeting her, simply that I might make sly remarks which would confuse or shock her. But now I dared nothing, so I dreaded meeting Anne Gosse. I vowed I would sit silent and smiling all the visit, so that afterward the Gosse family would wonder to each other if my mind was not quite sound.
    But it was not like that.
    When we came into the room where Anne sat with her mother she was surrounded by her brothers and sisters. It was a large room, with a bright wood fire and a map of England mounted upon the wall. A little boy buried his head beneath Anne’s apron and giggled whilst she tickled him, and a little girl tugged at her sleeve for attention, and an even smaller child tried to pull himself up on her skirt, but did not succeed, and plopped down on his bottom once more.
    â€œHush, hush, our guests have come,” Anne said when she saw us, and patted and smoothed the children, and then herself, as she smiled at us. She had had the smallpox, and her face was sorely pitted, but she had a lovely smile with good teeth, and a knot of fine, glossy dark hair upon her neck.
    â€œAnne, this is my daughter, Margaret, who has long wanted to meet you,” Susannah said when I had been introduced to Mrs. Gosse. “She is hoping you will show her some of your embroidery.”
    â€œOh, may I?” said Anne. “I am very vain about it, I confess. I have just done the most lovely thing, all peacocks and grass. It was an enormous labor.”
    I stared at her, for I had never heard a girl boast so.
    â€œI’ll get it, I’ll get it,” cried the little girl, and ran off. Susannah left, too, with Anne’s mother, and Anne and I sat down together on stools near the fire.
    â€œI did that seat cover,” Anne said, just as I lowered my bottom onto a huntsman and two deer.
    â€œYou’re very skilled,” I said politely.
    â€œIt took me forever to learn, you cannot imagine. My mother laughed at me, and said I would never be a needle-woman and had better darn and spin. But I was determined. Determination wins all prizes, does it not?”
    I gave my head a quick shake in spite of myself, and tears came to my eyes. For it was not my experience that determination won all prizes.
    I do not know if she saw my tears. But she said, “No, I suppose not. I wish it did, however.”
    I felt an odd sensation on my knee, and looked to see a tiny hand there. The baby had pulled himself to stand using my stool, and now grasped my skirts.
    â€œTom, Tom, this is our guest!” Anne said, reaching toward him.
    â€œNo, please—let him stay,” I said. I reached out and petted his soft cheek with a finger. His face was plump under its white bonnet, and his eyes were brown and bright. “How old is he?” I asked.
    â€œNine months. He is the latest—and last, we all hope! For my mother has done her part—there are ten of us. I am the eldest. And though she is strong, and has lost but two, there is much to fear when a woman