Miss Spitfire by Sarah Miller Page B

scooping up the tray and stalking to the bay window. With the tray balanced atop my crossed legs, I glower at her over my plate. When I open the window to let the breeze waft the scent of the food through the room, she doesn’t budge.
    By the time Captain Keller passes by the windowon his way to the office, I’ve heard Helen’s stomach gurgle more than once.
    Striding up to the casement, he calls, “Good morning, Miss Sull—Sullivan.” The sight of his daughter sprawled across the floor startles him into choking on my name, but he manages to keep his composure. Until he sees Helen’s untouched breakfast sitting next to my empty plate, that is. Then his eyes narrow and his brows hunch together.
    â€œMiss Sullivan, do you have any idea what time it is?” His tone is deliberately even.
    â€œI don’t,” I tell him, returning his glare level for level.
    My insolence stuns him for the length of a breath. “Miss Sullivan,” he says again, a dash of venom lurking under his tight-lipped gentility, “it is nearly ten o’clock. Don’t you think Helen has been deprived of enough in her life?”
    Anger radiates through me until I hear it pounding in waves against my ears. I have it in mind to let him know that she hasn’t been deprived of nearly enough. But the edge in the captain’s voice warns me I’m walking a fine line with him.
    â€œI’ll deprive her only as long as she disobeys,” I return, battling to keep my voice level. “She’ll have her breakfast as soon as she dresses herself.” He doesn’t answer. I risk a jab. “Is that so unreasonable, Captain Keller?”
    His jaw stiffens. “When Helen is ready, send Percyto the kitchen for a plate of hot food,” he directs, lifting his chin to glance coolly down at me.
    â€œHot food is a privilege,” I snap. “If Helen wants a warm plate, she’ll have to dress sooner.”
    Puffing himself up with authority, the captain tugs at his cuffs, then straightens his collar. “Miss Sullivan,” he begins.
    I feel myself shrivel.
    â€œDo you know what we said to the Yankees when Lee surrendered to Grant?” he asks.
    My head jerks up. “I don’t.”
    â€œâ€˜You only won because you had more Irish’” the captain finishes, and marches away toward town.
    Openmouthed, I watch him go. “I won,” I murmur to myself.
    And it only took ten days.

Chapter 18
    The little house is a genuine bit of paradise.
    â€”ANNE SULLIVAN TO SOPHIA HOPKINS, MARCH 1887
    Helen holds out until just after noon.
    Percy comes in with the dinner tray and stands in the doorway, befuddled by Helen, lying still on the floor amid her dress and stockings. “Walk right by her,” I tell him, “and put it on the windowsill.” When the smell of the hot food passes over her, Helen gives a little snuffle. Percy glances at me, his eyebrows raised. I shake my head and beckon him to the window. The minutes tick past without so much as a tremble from her. And then the slightest puff of a sigh stirs the tangled hair across her forehead, and I see her fingers creep across the floorboards toward a stocking. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it.
    I feel a shift inside me as a smile breaks my face. “Take that cold dish of breakfast away please, Percy. It looks like Helen is ready for dinner.”

    From then on things are different. As if by magic I have not had any trouble at all with Helen since. Captain Keller stops in morning and night, but he never interferes. Both of them have tested my limits and found Miss Spitfire does not budge.
    The first time I take Helen outside for a frolic in the garden, she pushes my guiding hand away and stumbles off the porch on her own. “Go on, then, if you think you know the way,” I tell her.
    Exploring with her feet, she shuffles along, her hands searching the air. Keeping myself between Helen