Free Morning Star by Judith Plaxton

if it will take some milk from this.” Florence extended the plastic baster full of milk. The kitten sniffed it, then opened its mouth and began to drink.
    â€œIt’s sucking on it, like a baby!”
    â€œWhat are we going to do when the other end works?” asked Delia.
    â€œWe’ll tear up some newspaper and put it in the box, see if it uses that.”
    â€œIt has to stay in the kitchen,” said Delia.
    Felicia was entranced with the feeding. “This really works, Nana. I knew it was starving.” She stroked the tiny, bony head with a finger. “Feeling better now, baby?”
    Later, the family sat over supper. “Do you have any homework?” asked Delia.
    â€œThere’s a special project I have to do for school. Maybe you both can help me. There’s going to be a big celebration with a play and everything, ’cause the school is one hundred and fifty years old this year.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œAnd Miss Peabody has asked everybody in our class to find out about their families, from way back, and then write it up and present it to the class.”
    Delia and Florence exchanged a glance. “Mmm hmm.”
    â€œSo tell me all about my family. I hope there’s somebody interesting. Matt thinks his uncle might have been a vampire.”
    Florence said, “I’m pretty sure we didn’t have any vampires. My great-grandfather was a cabinet maker.”
    â€œA what maker?”
    â€œA cabinet maker—sort of like a fancy carpenter. He made fine furniture.”
    â€œOkay. I guess I should write that down. Hold on.” Felicia returned to the table with pen and pad. “Who else?”
    â€œMy father worked on the railroad as a porter,” Florence said.
    â€œTell me again about my dad. I love hearing about him. He worked in a bank, right?”
    â€œYes. He was very good with numbers,” Delia said. “Had a mind like a steel trap when it came to figuring things out.”
    â€œAnd he liked music, too.”
    â€œYes, he strummed a guitar from time to time.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd he loved to read books. He read to you all the time when you were little.”
    â€œHe was so young when he died.”
    â€œYes, only forty-two. The leukemia got him.” Florence reached over and squeezed Delia’s hand.
    â€œAre you going to write about me, too?” Delia asked.
    â€œI’ll say you’re a career woman, Mom.”
    Delia’s sad expression dissolved as she threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a good one! I’m a secretary at a car dealership.”
    â€œAn administrative assistant, remember? Any other interesting women?”
    â€œLet me think,” said Florence. “Of course, there’s your great-aunt Agnes. She painted beautifully, just like you do. I have one of her paintings in my bedroom.”
    â€œThe picture of the bowl of fruit on a table?”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œOkay, Aunt Agnes the artist. Maybe I can take that painting to school and show everyone.”
    â€œI’m not sure about that. I’ll think about it. Oh, and there’s a family Bible with all kinds of names listed at the front. It belonged to my mother.”
    â€œWhat did your mother do?”
    â€œRaised seven children, that’s what she did.”
    Felicia imagined having six siblings. She had dim memories of her grandmother’s large family, their past get-togethers, tables laden with food and drink, the din of many conversations punctuated by laughter, singing, music. “Didn’t someone play the piano?”
    â€œMy sisters, Evelyn and Julia. They were very talented. I think Julia even composed some music. There should be a song sheet somewhere; it used to be kept in the piano bench.”
    Felicia continued to make notes. “Anybody related to the royal family?” she asked, pen poised above her list.
    â€œNow, there’s a