Free Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) by T. K. Lukas Page A

good idea,” said Birdie, a slight catch in her voice. “Your grandfather a busy man this morning, getting the horses and wagon ready, and all.”
    “See,” Seamus said with a smirk. “Even Birdie knows it’s a farce. She’s memorizing what you’ve read to her. She’s not reading. Slaves are incapable. Their brains don’t function the way ours do.”
    “Birdie can,” Barleigh insisted. “Here, read this next paragraph that I haven’t read to you. Show Grandfather you’re not memorizing. Go on.” She handed the book to Birdie, pointing out the next paragraph.
    Birdie shook her head ‘no,’ clamping her hands behind her back, refusing to take the book.  
    Seamus laughed, his words caustic. “See. I told you. Darkies are ignorant. You can show them a task, but you can’t teach them complicated skills.”  
    Barleigh pressed the issue, insisting that Birdie demonstrate her command of reading, proud of how she’d taught her. “Birdie, show him he’s wrong. Go on, now.”
    Birdie hesitated, and then took the book in her hands. She read, her voice slow and steady, enunciating each word:
    “ This is God’s curse on slavery! A bitter, bitter, most accursed thing! A curse to the master and a curse to the slave! I was a fool to think I could make anything good out of such a deadly evil .”
    Seamus spun on his heels, pulling Birdie from the wagon, slapping her hard across her face with the back of his hand, knocking her onto the ground. She landed in a heap at his feet. The book slipped from her hands and lay open in the dirt, its pages flapping like a tiny flock of white birds trying to take flight.  
    He kicked the book into the dying embers of the campfire. “You are never to pick up another book again. Do you understand me?” he shouted, pointing his finger at Birdie who lay on the ground, an angry welt beginning to swell across her cheek.
    Birdie held a fist to her bleeding lip, tears welling in her eyes. “Yessuh. I won’t never.”
    “Grandfather, don’t!” Barleigh shrieked. “Stop!” She leapt from the wagon and attached herself to her grandfather’s arm as he lifted Birdie off the ground with one hand, his other slapping her across the mouth.
    “What the hell?” Henry came at a run to see his father with one hand a twisted fist gripping the front of Birdie’s dress, the other upraised, ready to inflict another blow to her already swollen face. Barleigh clung to his upraised arm, swinging like a monkey from a branch.  
    Henry’s voice growled low with a trembling fury not to be ignored. He spoke each word as a single imperative. “Let her go, Father. Never again lift a hand to her. If I ever see you or hear of you striking this woman, it’ll be me you face.”
    “Know your place, boy. Birdie is my slave. It’s my prerogative to punish her as I see fit. Any slave caught reading deserves punishment.”
    “That’s a damn coward’s way, a man striking a woman. If you wish to hit someone, hit me, Father .” Henry spoke the word ‘ father ’ without a trace of respect. He balled his fists, ready to receive or to land a blow.
    “Birdie is not a woman, she’s a slave. And she’s my slave, lest you forget.” Seamus spat out the words as if they tasted bitter in his mouth.
    “She’s a human being.” The veins that formed a V on Henry’s forehead and that crept their way to the surface when he showed anger pulsed hot and red. “Let the punishment fit the crime. If her crime is reading,” he said, enunciating each word with a crisp indignation, “then take away the book.”
    “I took that away, too. She is never to read again. Never. Do you all three hear my voice and understand my words? I demand you respect my rules,” shouted Seamus. “My slave. My rules.”  
    “You’re ashamed that Birdie can read—something you never learned. You pretend, all right, with your library full of precious books.” Henry’s hands fisted and unfisted at his sides.
    “I’ve never been