out Mother to thank her for the chance to hone his skills, and after a quick word with him I tucked my Bible away and started for home.
The young man I had seen earlier followed me outside. “Miss Mary? You may not remember me. William Burke.”
“William! My goodness. I didn’t recognize you.”
“I’m sixteen now. I reckon I’ve grown some.”
“Indeed. But still reading, I hope.”
He laughed, his breath clouding the air. “Everything I can get my hands on. Missus lends me her religious books from time to time.”
“Dull reading for someone your age. At least I found them so when I was young.”
“No, ma’am. They aren’t dull to me. I want to be a preacher one day.”
“I see.”
“I’ve got a plan to preach outside, like John Wesley did back in the old times. In Missus’s book it says he was the best-loved man in all of England.”
We reached the back door of the house. Papa had lit the lamps, and yellow light spilled onto the snow. I was ready to go inside but William lingered, his hands in his pockets.
“I sold the gloves and the scarf I got for Christmas last year,” he said. “A man at the market gave me a goodly sum for them. Reckon in another year I might can have enough to buy a Bible of my own.” His eyes shone in the lambent light. “I never can thank you enough for showing me how to read. It was the best thing anybody has ever done for me. It’s a gift, and I sure don’t want to waste it.”
His earnestness was so touching I felt tears welling up. “I’m sure you won’t, William.” I handed him my Bible. “Here. It’s yours.”
He drew back as if he’d been struck. “I thank you kindly, Miss Mary. The Lord sure does move in mysterious ways.”
“Just don’t let your father find it.”
William tucked his new treasure inside his coat. “Don’t worry. I got a safe place to keep it.”
Despite the double layer of stockings, my feet had gone numb in the cold. “I must go.”
William bobbed his head and disappeared into the night, whistling a tune under his breath.
12 | S ELINA
B y the time little Miss Mee came into the world, I had been learning housekeeping for nearly four years. There was more to it than sweeping and dusting. Take the curtains, for instance. Come spring, we took down the heavy winter drapes, washed and pressed them, and stored them in bags with camphor to keep the moths from eating them. Then we had to wash the windows and put up the summer curtains. Soon as summer packed up and moved out, we had to put up the winter curtains again.
I learned to polish the woodwork with a soft cloth and beeswax. Make the wood shine like a new moon. Twice a year I scrubbed everything with a bristle brush to get the dirt out, and then I tackled the chandeliers with rags dipped in ammonia.
Candlesticks and knives and forks and all the other silver things that had belonged to Mister George Washington had to be cleaned and rubbed shiny before putting them back on the sideboard. Missus was forever going on about how the Washington pieces were so important. There was a whale of importance in that room. Besides the silver pieces there were stacks of china dishes and warming plates, and a punch bowl with a sailing ship painted in the bottom of it.
Januarys, Missus would count up all her belongings. She would hand me paper and a pencil, and we’d start with the china closet. She would tell me what to write.
“Missing one wineglass,” she would say, and I would write it down. “One glass chimney of a lamp, cracked. One white china teapot, missing. One dinner plate, broken. Two goblets, missing.”
I had to write fast to keep up with her.
After that we counted bed linens and the skillets and pans in George’s kitchen. Heaven forbid if they was anything missing. Missus wouldn’t rest until it was all accounted for.
Besides all the counting up and writing down, I learned where all the different serving pieces supposed to go on the dining table. Charles was the
The young man I had seen earlier followed me outside. “Miss Mary? You may not remember me. William Burke.”
“William! My goodness. I didn’t recognize you.”
“I’m sixteen now. I reckon I’ve grown some.”
“Indeed. But still reading, I hope.”
He laughed, his breath clouding the air. “Everything I can get my hands on. Missus lends me her religious books from time to time.”
“Dull reading for someone your age. At least I found them so when I was young.”
“No, ma’am. They aren’t dull to me. I want to be a preacher one day.”
“I see.”
“I’ve got a plan to preach outside, like John Wesley did back in the old times. In Missus’s book it says he was the best-loved man in all of England.”
We reached the back door of the house. Papa had lit the lamps, and yellow light spilled onto the snow. I was ready to go inside but William lingered, his hands in his pockets.
“I sold the gloves and the scarf I got for Christmas last year,” he said. “A man at the market gave me a goodly sum for them. Reckon in another year I might can have enough to buy a Bible of my own.” His eyes shone in the lambent light. “I never can thank you enough for showing me how to read. It was the best thing anybody has ever done for me. It’s a gift, and I sure don’t want to waste it.”
His earnestness was so touching I felt tears welling up. “I’m sure you won’t, William.” I handed him my Bible. “Here. It’s yours.”
He drew back as if he’d been struck. “I thank you kindly, Miss Mary. The Lord sure does move in mysterious ways.”
“Just don’t let your father find it.”
William tucked his new treasure inside his coat. “Don’t worry. I got a safe place to keep it.”
Despite the double layer of stockings, my feet had gone numb in the cold. “I must go.”
William bobbed his head and disappeared into the night, whistling a tune under his breath.
12 | S ELINA
B y the time little Miss Mee came into the world, I had been learning housekeeping for nearly four years. There was more to it than sweeping and dusting. Take the curtains, for instance. Come spring, we took down the heavy winter drapes, washed and pressed them, and stored them in bags with camphor to keep the moths from eating them. Then we had to wash the windows and put up the summer curtains. Soon as summer packed up and moved out, we had to put up the winter curtains again.
I learned to polish the woodwork with a soft cloth and beeswax. Make the wood shine like a new moon. Twice a year I scrubbed everything with a bristle brush to get the dirt out, and then I tackled the chandeliers with rags dipped in ammonia.
Candlesticks and knives and forks and all the other silver things that had belonged to Mister George Washington had to be cleaned and rubbed shiny before putting them back on the sideboard. Missus was forever going on about how the Washington pieces were so important. There was a whale of importance in that room. Besides the silver pieces there were stacks of china dishes and warming plates, and a punch bowl with a sailing ship painted in the bottom of it.
Januarys, Missus would count up all her belongings. She would hand me paper and a pencil, and we’d start with the china closet. She would tell me what to write.
“Missing one wineglass,” she would say, and I would write it down. “One glass chimney of a lamp, cracked. One white china teapot, missing. One dinner plate, broken. Two goblets, missing.”
I had to write fast to keep up with her.
After that we counted bed linens and the skillets and pans in George’s kitchen. Heaven forbid if they was anything missing. Missus wouldn’t rest until it was all accounted for.
Besides all the counting up and writing down, I learned where all the different serving pieces supposed to go on the dining table. Charles was the
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