Emma said. “Young women just don’t read in the barn. They read in the sitting room.”
Lizzie unlatched the screen door and walked out into the fresh spring air. It was a beautiful day. The pear trees were filled with blossoms. The neighbors were all out working in their yards. Lizzie took a deep breath and smiled.
The barn door swung open with its customary creak and Lizzie made a second note to oil the hinges so she could come and go from her place without the entire neighborhood knowing it.
There was a small tack room on the left and a workbench area on the right. Father had sold all the tack, but the smell of oiled leather remained in the small room. The workshop area was filled to overflowing with piles of magazines, broken machines that her father fully intended to have mended someday—when he found someone who didn’t want to charge him an arm and a leg to do it—a small pile of kindling that had lasted through the winter, and boxes and crates of miscellaneous junk. Two empty horse stalls were next, their damp dirt floors smelling musty. They needed some fresh straw. The barn would smell hot and dusty as the summer wore on, but for now, Lizzie thought about putting some fresh straw in the stalls to freshen up the air and get rid of the moldy stench of a wet winter just passed.
She put the candles and candlesticks in a pocket on her duster, then climbed the ladder to the hay loft.
There were two piles of hay at the top, both brown and dusty. Lizzie had long thought about forking them down and using them as winter cover on the garden, but the garden was fairly overgrown anyway, sorely neglected, and the hay was where she lay to read. She thought of cleaning it all up, bringing table and chairs, maybe even a cot or sleeping mat of some sort.
She set the candlesticks on the window sill, then flopped down into the hay. She’d have to buy a new mirror, and then hide it, for surely Emma would come up to investigate, to ascertain that Lizzie wasn’t up in the loft doing something Emma didn’t approve of.
The room needed a table of some sort, something to set the mirror and candles upon.
Lizzie jumped up, climbed down the ladder and emptied a produce crate of its load of mildewed magazines, tamped the dust out of it, then threw it up to the loft and climbed back up after it.
Perfect. Lizzie plumped the haystack up a bit to provide a backrest, set the box down and put the candles on top of it. She had an old silk scarf that would lend an air of elegance to the setting. Up she jumped again, and climbed down the ladder.
This reminded her of a “fort” she’d made as a little girl, out at the farm in Swansea. It was a secret place of her own. There was an old willow tree that had been storm-damaged and it leaned over all to one side. The curtains of dangling willow leaves provided a wonderful green translucent screen, which let in plenty of light and no other eyes. Lizzie stole a scissors from the kitchen and very carefully cut the green trailing fingers out of the center, apologizing to the tree the whole way. Then she brought a pillow and her favorite picture book, a doll and some cookies, and whiled away a long summer day.
She heard Emma call her and it made her giggle behind her hand, even as her heart pounded, wondering if Emma would give her a spank for being naughty. She was being naughty, hiding from her sister, hiding from her mother, and she knew it, but that little green room in the middle of the tree was just such a treasure. She couldn’t bear to leave it, she couldn’t bear to have Emma find it, she knew it had to be hers and hers only probably for just that day.
So she put her head on her pillow and played with the baby doll and ate cookies while she listened to Emma and her mother call and call and call.
That night she was sent to bed without supper, but Lizzie didn’t mind. She didn’t get a spank, she got a hug and a lecture from Mother instead. Emma told her that she had better
Lizzie unlatched the screen door and walked out into the fresh spring air. It was a beautiful day. The pear trees were filled with blossoms. The neighbors were all out working in their yards. Lizzie took a deep breath and smiled.
The barn door swung open with its customary creak and Lizzie made a second note to oil the hinges so she could come and go from her place without the entire neighborhood knowing it.
There was a small tack room on the left and a workbench area on the right. Father had sold all the tack, but the smell of oiled leather remained in the small room. The workshop area was filled to overflowing with piles of magazines, broken machines that her father fully intended to have mended someday—when he found someone who didn’t want to charge him an arm and a leg to do it—a small pile of kindling that had lasted through the winter, and boxes and crates of miscellaneous junk. Two empty horse stalls were next, their damp dirt floors smelling musty. They needed some fresh straw. The barn would smell hot and dusty as the summer wore on, but for now, Lizzie thought about putting some fresh straw in the stalls to freshen up the air and get rid of the moldy stench of a wet winter just passed.
She put the candles and candlesticks in a pocket on her duster, then climbed the ladder to the hay loft.
There were two piles of hay at the top, both brown and dusty. Lizzie had long thought about forking them down and using them as winter cover on the garden, but the garden was fairly overgrown anyway, sorely neglected, and the hay was where she lay to read. She thought of cleaning it all up, bringing table and chairs, maybe even a cot or sleeping mat of some sort.
She set the candlesticks on the window sill, then flopped down into the hay. She’d have to buy a new mirror, and then hide it, for surely Emma would come up to investigate, to ascertain that Lizzie wasn’t up in the loft doing something Emma didn’t approve of.
The room needed a table of some sort, something to set the mirror and candles upon.
Lizzie jumped up, climbed down the ladder and emptied a produce crate of its load of mildewed magazines, tamped the dust out of it, then threw it up to the loft and climbed back up after it.
Perfect. Lizzie plumped the haystack up a bit to provide a backrest, set the box down and put the candles on top of it. She had an old silk scarf that would lend an air of elegance to the setting. Up she jumped again, and climbed down the ladder.
This reminded her of a “fort” she’d made as a little girl, out at the farm in Swansea. It was a secret place of her own. There was an old willow tree that had been storm-damaged and it leaned over all to one side. The curtains of dangling willow leaves provided a wonderful green translucent screen, which let in plenty of light and no other eyes. Lizzie stole a scissors from the kitchen and very carefully cut the green trailing fingers out of the center, apologizing to the tree the whole way. Then she brought a pillow and her favorite picture book, a doll and some cookies, and whiled away a long summer day.
She heard Emma call her and it made her giggle behind her hand, even as her heart pounded, wondering if Emma would give her a spank for being naughty. She was being naughty, hiding from her sister, hiding from her mother, and she knew it, but that little green room in the middle of the tree was just such a treasure. She couldn’t bear to leave it, she couldn’t bear to have Emma find it, she knew it had to be hers and hers only probably for just that day.
So she put her head on her pillow and played with the baby doll and ate cookies while she listened to Emma and her mother call and call and call.
That night she was sent to bed without supper, but Lizzie didn’t mind. She didn’t get a spank, she got a hug and a lecture from Mother instead. Emma told her that she had better
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