Just as I Am by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

sorrowful, and she understood why. As the oldest of the orphans residing beneath the asylum’s roof, she carried the greatest responsibility. Of course they’d miss her helping hands. Just as they’d missed Robby’s help with the farm work when he’d left almost a year ago.
    Thoughts of Robby brought a second jolt of reaction, but this one of bittersweet remembrance. Pa Jonnson had branded Robby a rapscallion. During his four years at the asylum, he’d been taken in by families three different times, but they always brought him back, claiming he was incorrigible.
    Rascal or not, Daisy had loved him from the first moment he’d stepped over the asylum threshold and sent a disparaging glance across everything … except her. When he’d seen her, his narrow face had broken into a grin, and he’d tromped right over and given one of her tight curls a light tug. “I like you,” he’d proclaimed. “You an’ me are gonna be friends. I can tell.”
    She let her eyes drift closed, remembering how he’d confided that he acted up just so the folks would bring him back … to her. Oh, how she missed him. He wrote faithfully every month, and she treasured his letters more than anything else she possessed. But sitting there mooning over Robby wouldn’t get breakfast fixed.
    Daisy rose and headed for the door. “Hurry now. Dress and come down. I can stoke the stove and fry the hot cakes on my own, but I’ll need your help setting the table and pouring the milk.”
    “Yes, Daisy.”
    Daisy waited until Marion tossed the covers aside and climbed out of bed before leaving the small room that had been her home for more than half of her life. What would she do next month when she was too old to remain at the asylum? She’d spent most of her sleeping hours lying awake, considering the question, and as she lit a fire in the stove’s belly, mixed a huge batch of nutmeg-laden hot cake batter, and heated lard in preparation for frying crisp cakes, she continued to seek an answer.
    Her pondering was forced aside when the children—currently seventeen orphans in residence, plus Ma and Pa Jonnson’s trio of stairsteps—clattered into the dining room and filled the long benches on both sides of the table. Ma Jonnson joined Daisy in the kitchen, filling platters with steaming hot cakes and carrying them to the dining room. Marion splashed milk into tin cups for everyone while Pa Jonnson circled the table, ascertaining napkins were in place before breakfast began.
    The morning cacophony, thundering yet familiar and somehow joyful, filled Daisy’s ears and raised a wave of confused emotions. This was her home, her surrogate family. Yet it wasn’t a real home or family. How could she fear leaving when she’d never wanted to stay? Her tangled feelings made no sense.
    When everything was on the table, Daisy slid into her spot in the center of the toddler bench so she could help the smaller children. From his chair at the head of the table, Pa Jonnson cleared his throat, and the chatter quieted.
    Daisy bowed her head in readiness for the orphanage leader’s morning prayer.
    “Daisy?”
    Startled, she peered at her surrogate father through the tunnel of the bonnet’s brim.
    He winked. “Would you please remove your hat? Then I’ll pray.”
    A titter made its way around the table. She must look ridiculous wearing a sunbonnet indoors where the only sunshine was two slanted beams filtering through the lace curtains on the window. But she’d look even sillier without it, considering what she’d done—or tried to do—to her hair that morning. Why, oh why couldn’t her bright-colored locks lie smooth and feminine across her head? Wasn’t it enough she was taller than a girl should be, so skinny the boys called her Beanpole when the Jonnsons weren’t close enough to hear, with skin so pale and colorless people always thought she ailed? Couldn’t she at least have lovely flowing hair like every other female from Ma Jonnson down