Free The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons by Barbara Mariconda Page B

spurred me on. As I neared the bottom, I felt the pins and needles of the mist at my feet and, chancing a look down, watched in amazement as the vapors actually curled back the wisteria vine, clearing a way for me. I watched the green curlicue tendrils loosen, uncoil, and creep aside as I placed my feet lower and lower.
    Finally I jumped to the ground and ran toward the mailbox—a peculiar spectacle, I’m sure, whatwith my full skirts still jammed into my bloomers.
    I waved at the postman, and, just as I hoped, he finally refrained from that infernal bell ringing long enough to jam a slim stack of letters into the box and gape at the strange sight of me barreling down the hill. Flustered and embarrassed, I’m sure, he left the mail, lifted the red flag, averted his eyes, cracked the reins across the back of the old horse, and was on his way.
    As I flew toward the mailbox, I got a bit ahead of myself and stumbled. I tumbled forward and skidded across the dirt on my belly, leaving two great green streaks across my knees and a nasty tear along the seam of my bloomers. I was aware of my knees bleeding, but I scrambled to my feet and ran on.
    Finally, out of breath and sweating like the dickens, I reached the box. I hurled myself at it, flipped the flag back into its resting position, and flung the little door open.
    A stack of letters sat there waiting for me. I snatched them from the box and, still panting, began shuffling through them with shaking hands. An envelope from the village grocer, one from our family doctor, several more addressed to Uncle Victor from people I’d never heard of.
    I slipped each of these to the bottom of the pile,revealing the next and the next letter. As I fingered the last letter of the stack, I saw a shadow—a long, thin shadow—fall across the ground before me. I spun about to find myself face-to-face with my uncle.
    I gasped and put my hands behind my back, shielding the precious letters from him.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing out here?” he snarled. His eyes were narrowed, and his expression was even more sinister than usual, what with the black-and-blue eye and his swollen, misshapen nose. He made a grab for my arm, and I quickly backed up, throwing him off balance. This infuriated him further.
    â€œGive me those letters, missy,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “It’s bad enough you’ve disobeyed me by coming out of doors against my wishes. Don’t make it worse by interfering with my mail, do you hear me?”
    He made another lunge for me, and again I stepped back.
    â€œI’m not interested in your mail,” I said flatly. “I’m looking for my own mail. Mine or Mother’s, which is none of your concern!” I was aware that I sounded most rebellious, and my shock at my own defiance seemed only to feed my behavior further. I was quite panicked, if the truth be known, and nearly out of control. Recklessly, I pressed on, UncleVictor’s fury only adding to my insubordination. I set my jaw tightly and nodded at him with a hmph of determination.
    â€œWhy, you little hussy,” he said, glaring at my bloomers, spitting the words. “How dare you leave the house like this? What are you trying to do—ruin my good name carrying on like a common street wench?”
    I felt the color rise to my cheeks, and my shame further fueled my agitation. I hastily untucked my skirts, avoiding my uncle’s eyes. He used that opportunity to fall upon me, wrenching the letters from my hands.
    â€œNo!” I shrieked and, shocking him as much as myself, I threw myself upon him, knocking the two of us to the ground.
    Dear Lord, I knew at that point that I was in too deep to back off. Despite the fact that I realized no good would come from it, and that I could not hope to win out, I engaged him in a wrestling match, the two of us tumbling about trying to gain possession of those letters.
    I stood finally, panting