Kat arranged her bedroll on the rag rug. Though she was worn out, she didn’t lie down. Not yet. She wrapped the quilt around her and went to the window. She opened the shutters just a bit. All she could see was blackness.
She waited at the window; waited and worried. Then her heart jumped. The light went on! Its steady ray was revolving again.
Now she could rest.
She blew out the candle and burrowed into the comfort of the bedroll, but her thoughts drifted in all directions. The Carstairses. Boston. The lightning and her terror…
The door creaked open.
“Kat? Are you still awake?” Papa whispered.
“Yes.”
He came close and squatted next to her. “Some wiring came loose,” he whispered. “I soldered it. The light’s working fine again.”
“I know. I saw.”
“I found your slicker on the chair. You could have used it.”
“There wasn’t time,” she said.
“I know…. Kat, you saved those people. All by yourself.” His callused hand stroked her cheek. “I’m proud of you, Kat. I couldn’t be more proud.”
Kat knew he was smiling at her in the dark. She smiled back and closed her eyes.
“I thank God you’re safe, kitten. When I think of—”
Exhaustion washed over her and she didn’t hear anything else.
The next thing Kat knew, the shutters were wide open and sunlight was streaming into the room. It was morning already! Todd and James were gone and their beds were neatly made. It had to be late. The Carstairses might have left!
Kat jumped up and threw on her bathrobe. She brushed her teeth slapdash and splashed some water over her face. There was no time to bother with braiding her hair. She tied back the tangled mass in one big bunch and clattered down the stairs.
If she’d missed the Carstairses, she would die!
five
Oh, good! Mrs. Carstairs was still here, sitting at the table.
Ma, at the stove, raised her eyebrows. “Kat! Your hair. A dress would—”
“Why didn’t anyone wake me?”
“You needed your sleep,” Ma said. “After last night.”
Mrs. Carstairs smiled. “Besides, we’d never leave without saying good-bye to you.”
Kat suddenly felt awkward. Why hadn’t she stopped to get dressed? She was a complete mess and in front of a lady from Boston.
Mrs. Carstairs looked very different this morning. She was relaxed and her hair was in a neat bun. “Katherine, come sit with me,” she said. “Your mother made the most delicious flapjacks.”
Ma put a plate in front of Kat. “Here, I kept them warm for you.”
“Where is everybody?”
“At Alveira’s boatyard,” Ma said, “getting work done on the boat.”
“Thanks to you, there’s very little damage,” Mrs. Carstairs said. “It looks like we can sail home today without a problem.”
Kat poured maple syrup on her pancakes, but her fork remained in midair. She was too excited to eat. “Home to Boston! Do you live right in the city?”
“Yes, we live in a row house close to Beacon Hill. It’s an historic area. Well, Boston is an historic city. You can follow the path of Paul Revere’s ride.”
“And there’s a famous art museum?”
Mrs. Carstairs smiled. “Yes, it has quite a collection—Corots, Turners, many of the Dutch masters, including van Eycks and some Rembrandts, I believe. Even some of those modern French painters…Impressionists, I think they’re called. Renoir, Matisse…”
“Oh!” Kat said breathlessly. Oh, to see those paintings in person!
“Kat likes to draw,” Ma said. “They always hang up her pictures in school.” She gestured to the seascape over the fireplace. “That’s one of Kat’s.”
“Why, that’s lovely,” Mrs. Carstairs said. She got up for a closer look. “The way the sea blends into the sky, the shadows of the rocks…You are remarkably talented.”
“Oh! Oh, thank you!” This was a lady from Boston who would know! Well, maybe she was just being polite. But she didn’t have to say “remarkably”—so maybe she meant it! Kat was filled with a warm glow.
“Are there…are there any famous women artists in Boston?”
“Women artists?” Mrs. Carstairs frowned. “Let me see…I can’t think of any. I suppose women in art are mostly the artists’ models or wives,” Mrs. Carstairs said.
“Oh.” Kat felt heavy with disappointment. “Maybe…maybe it’ll be different by the time I grow up.”
“I hope so.” Mrs. Carstairs looked closely at Kat. “Do you want to be a professional artist?”
Katherine nodded, embarrassed. Did Mrs. Carstairs think that was silly? Or even worse, hopeless?
“Perhaps women will be taken more seriously if we ever get the vote,” Mrs. Carstairs said. “It’s beginning…. I’ve seen suffragettes parading on Commonwealth Avenue. Of course, a lot of people make fun of them. Some even throw rotten fruit!”
“They’re so brave,” Kat said. “I’d like to be a suffragette.”
“Kat, you don’t mean that!” Ma said.
“Commonwealth Avenue is the main street, isn’t it?” Kat asked.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Carstairs. “But it’s getting too crowded and busy, with more and more of those automobiles. Too noisy, and they really do scare the horses.”
Ma put an arm around Kat. “I hope my daughter isn’t pestering you with too many questions.”
“Oh, no, not at all. It’s nice to meet someone so bright and curious,” Mrs. Carstairs said.
“I’d give anything to live in Boston! There’d be so much to see!”
“I hope you’ll come to visit. I’d love to show you around,” Mrs. Carstairs said. Suddenly she exclaimed, “Mary Cassatt!”
“Pardon?” Kat asked.
“I just remembered. Mary Cassatt is a famous woman artist. She was discovered by Degas. She’s an American but she’s lived in France for many years.”
So there is someone, Kat thought. Wait till I tell Lizabeth and Amanda!
Kat’s flapjacks were cold and forgotten. And later—when Papa and Mr. Carstairs came in, when the boys made their noisy entrance, when the Carstairses were getting ready to leave, when the good-byes and thank-you’s were said—Mrs. Carstairs’s words were still going round and round in Kat’s head. Visions of Boston danced before her eyes.
Somehow I’ll get there, she thought, no matter what it takes.
six
After the Carstairses left, Kat helped Ma hang the laundry on the line outside the cottage.
“A nice sunny day,” Ma said through the clothespin between her teeth as she lifted a sheet from the laundry basket.
Kat took the other end of the sheet and fastened it to the line. Once the clothespin held it securely, Kat took a step back. She hated it when a breeze flapped wet laundry into her face!
“Look at the ocean, Ma. You’d never know we had a storm.” The sea was calm. Waves splashed lazily against rocks that didn’t look menacing today. Off in the distance, boats were out again. Except for some broken tree branches on the ground, there were few reminders of last night’s nightmare.
“Your father said some of the roof shingles were broken.” Ma shook out one of Todd’s shirts.
Kat pinned a pillowcase to the line and glanced back at the cottage. She couldn’t see much of the roof from where she stood.
“He’ll take a closer look when he gets back,” Ma said. Papa had taken the horse and wagon to see if there had been damage in town. “I hope everyone came through without trouble.”
Kat and Ma automatically took opposite ends of the larger items. Sheets, towels, clothespins, shirts, napkins, clothespins. Kat didn’t mind hanging the wash; it was the ironing she hated. When the laundry was not quite dry, it would be time to heat the five irons at the fireplace. As soon as one iron cooled too much to be of any use, Ma needed the next hot iron. It was Kat’s job to keep them coming. Ma was teach
ing her to iron. It was maddening. If Kat was careful not to scorch their things, she couldn’t iron them smooth enough. And shirts were impossible! What was the point, anyway, if everything was going to get wrinkled all over again? Though Kat had to admit she loved sleeping on freshly ironed sheets smelling of sunshine and sea breeze.
Women’s work was no fun. Kat knew exactly the kind of work she wanted to do. Mary Cassatt, she thought. She just had to see her paintings! If there was one famous woman artist, there could be others. And one of them could be Katherine Williams!
“Kat! You’re letting that towel trail on the ground!”
“Oh! Sorry.” Kat quickly pinned it to the line. Tablecloths, shirts, clothespins…“Ma, Mrs. Carstairs was so nice, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, I liked her very much. Kat, for you to come downstairs in a bathrobe—it just wasn’t proper.”
“I was so anxious not to miss the Carstairses…. I’m sorry, I didn’t stop to think.”
Kat held up two corners of a cotton blanket and Ma held the other two. They moved together to hang it.
“Kat, you’re growing up and certain things are expected of a young lady. You have to stop to think. You have to be less impulsive and—”
“I know, Ma. I’ll try. I really will.”
“Last night, you showed so much character and responsibility. A grown man couldn’t have handled it better. I’m very proud of you. But sometimes I don’t know what you’re going to do next.” Ma picked up the empty laundry basket and balanced it against her hip. “And there was something Aunt Sue mentioned to me. Something about finding you buried in leaves? What was that about?”
Kat shrugged. “Um…nothing.”
Ma raised her eyebrows.
“Nothing important,” Kat mumbled. She whirled around at the sound of approaching wheels. “Here comes Papa!” She ran to the horse and wagon on the lane and Ma followed.
“Hello, Papa!” Kat petted the horse’s velvety nose.
“What happened in town?” Ma asked.
“Bad news. The Hallorans’ barn was hit by lightning.” Papa jumped off the wagon. “Burned to the ground.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.” Ma shook her head. “I’ll call on Mrs. Halloran after church tomorrow.”
“Bad as it was, thank goodness it didn’t spread to their house,” Papa said. “And we lost that big maple by the side of the courthouse. It’s covering the village green.”
“That was a beautiful old tree,” Ma said.
“It’ll be a job to cut it up and haul it away. I was just coming back for my ax.” Papa sighed. “It’s a shame. Well, there’ll be more firewood for everybody this winter.”
“What about the Hallorans’ cows?” Kat asked.
“They made it out. They’re stabled at the Whites’ for now.” Papa was heading for the cottage. “So there’ll be a barn raising next week.”
“And a barn dance after?” Kat asked.
“Next Saturday night.”
“That will be such fun!”
Kat loved square dancing, loved whirling in circles with the caller’s “Swing your lady, swing her down, allemande left, promenade to town….” She wished she didn’t have to wait a whole week for it. But it would take the week for Mr. Halloran and his boys to assemble the timbers and have them ready to go. Then on Saturday, all the men would come to raise the framework into place, something that one family could never do alone. All the women would bring pots and pans of their best recipes in the evening. Ma would bring her special potato salad for sure, and probably apple pie….
“I ran into Amanda and Lizabeth in town,” Papa said.
“I can’t wait to see them,” Kat said. “I have so much to tell them!”
“You can tell them after church tomorrow,” Ma said. “Kat, please see about collecting the eggs.”
In church on Sunday, Kat turned every once in a while to see if that boy was still staring at Amanda. But she paid attention to Reverend Morgan’s sermon, too. His words always inspired her to be the very best person she could.
After the service, Kat saw Amanda holding Hannah’s hand, and Lizabeth waiting for her at the bottom of the church steps. She was dying to run right to them, but she was expected to file out with her family. Reverend Morgan stood at the door to say a few words to everyone as they left.
Kat didn’t know how he did it—he remembered the name of every single child in the congregation. Even all ten of the Hallorans, and Kat wasn’t sure the Hallorans themselves could keep them straight! Reverend Morgan was such a kind man, Kat thought. He was always calling on people who were sick or troubled, and helping in every possible way. The only fault Kat could see was that he didn’t have much time left over for Amanda and Hannah.
After he greeted Ma and Papa, the Reverend’s dark, serious eyes were on Kat. “You’re the talk of the town, Katherine.”
“I am?” Kat was startled. What did I do now?
“Saving a life earns a special place in heaven.”
Oh, the Carstairses! Kat blushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Reverend Morgan.”
He smiled at her. “I see Amanda and Lizabeth are waiting very impatiently…. Well, Todd, how is that project coming along?”
Kat flew down the steps to her friends.
“We couldn’t wait to see you!” Lizabeth said.
“Out in the lightning!” Amanda said. “Weren’t you scared?”
“I wasn’t scared,” Kat said. She looked at her friends. “I was terrified.”
“You’re a hero.” Hannah’s little face was awestruck.
“And wait till I tell you—Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs are from Boston,” Kat continued. In a rush of words, she tried to make them see all that Mrs. Carstairs had described. “And there is a famous woman artist. Mrs. Carstairs told me. Mary Cassatt!”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Lizabeth said.
“That doesn’t mean she’s not famous,” Amanda said. “Anyway, I have some news, too.” Lizabeth paused dramatically until the other girls stared at her, waiting. “I know who bought the house across the way from Amanda’s.”
“Go on!” Amanda said. “Who are they?”
“They’re from New York City. Dr. and Mrs. Forbes.”
“Why would they ever come here all the way from New York City?” Kat asked. New York was even bigger than Boston. It had to be full of wonders.
“Mrs. Forbes’s sister lives in Cape Light. Maybe that’s why. You know the Claytons, don’t you? They own those stables out past the orchard? Well, Mrs. Clayton is Mrs. Forbes’s sister.” Lizabeth was puffed up with importance for knowing all the facts. “Anyway, they’re going to turn part of the Reynolds house into Dr. Forbes’s medical office and waiting room. They’re moving in March.”
“Cape Light needs a doctor,” Amanda said. “Maybe if my mother had…” She glanced at Hannah and bit her lip.
Kat knew what Amanda was thinking. But Annie Albright was an excellent midwife, everyone said so, and later the doctor from Cranberry came….
“And the Forbeses have a daughter,” Lizabeth continued.
“Is she six years old?” Hannah asked hopefully.
“No. One daughter, that’s all. Her name is Rose. And guess what? She’s around our age. Fourteen.”
“I hope she’s nice,” Amanda said.
“I hope she’s fashionable,” Lizabeth said.
Typical Lizabeth, Kat thought.
“Rose is a pretty name,” Kat said. Maybe one day she would have a friend from a big city. She couldn’t wait until March to meet her.
seven
Miss Cotter, the teacher, said, “If you’ve finished your work, you must wait silently with your hands folded on your lap until I come around to you.” Kat couldn’t really blame Miss Cotter; with sixty students in grades one through nine in the same room, she had to keep the class in control. Especially with the assistant teacher, Miss Harding, out for the week with influenza.
But how could Kat possibly remain quiet for hours? She
always had so much to say!
The littlest children—Hannah, Mary Margaret, Betsy, and Joseph—whispered while they were working with wooden alphabet blocks. Todd was always good, but James got into trouble for talking to Roger and Francis.
That week everyone was thinking about the barn dance. The boys talked about the food. “I hope Mrs. White brings that lemon meringue pie.” “I love ice cream. You think someone will bring ice cream?” “Dummy, it would melt.”
“James and Francis!” Miss Cotter said. “Maybe your penmanship would be neater if you talked less and concentrated more.”
Well, Kat thought, at least Miss Cotter didn’t rap their knuckles with her ruler—that hurt!
Kat, Lizabeth, and Amanda sat at a table with Joanna, Mabel, and Grace. They were practicing their sewing: two small running stitches forward and one stitch back to make a tight seam. Amanda’s seam was neat and even. Kat didn’t have the patience. Her running stitches galloped ahead.
“Much too large, Katherine,” Miss Cotter corrected. “Please take them out and start again.”
“Why do we have to learn this, Miss Cotter?” Lizabeth put down her practice cloth. “You can make a tighter seam with a sewing machine. With your foot on the treadle, it goes so fast.”
“Not everyone has a sewing machine, Lizabeth,” Miss Cotter said.
While Miss Cotter was busy teaching division to the third graders, Lizabeth whispered, “What’s everyone wearing?”
“To the barn dance? I got the prettiest dress from Montgomery Ward. It just came last week,” Amanda said. “It’s dark red—the catalog calls it burgundy—and it has puffy shoulders and long, tight sleeves and a big sash.”
“I don’t understand clothes from a catalog.” Lizabeth sniffed. “They’re made in factories, with one person just doing sleeves and another just doing collars and…I don’t see how they can possibly fit. I always have at least two fittings.”
“Mine fits,” Amanda said.
“I’m wearing my Alice-blue dress,” Lizabeth said.
Katherine's Story Page 4
