"Jacob's been here? Are you certain? Hand me that ribbon," Peggy said, and I gave her the brown ribbon that matched the plaid of my school dress.
"Ow, don't pull so tight."
Peggy was good at braiding my hair, but sometimes she went too hard at it, trying to make it neat.
"The stable boy, Levi. He told Father."
"He told your father what? Now hold still, don't wiggle."
"He told Father that a boy comes sometimes and slips in and stands by the horses. He strokes their noses, the boy does. Levi called him a deaf-mute. But Father said no. Father said it must be Jacob, because Jacob loves the horses, but that Jacob is not a deaf-mute at all. He can hear. And Father says that though he doesn't talk like you and me, there is meaning to the sounds he makes."
Peggy nodded. "That's true."
"Why do I have to go to school, but Jacob doesn't? I would like to roam around all day in the country. I would climb trees and feed cows and and—" I thought, but nothing else came to my mind. I really didn't know what country children did. "I would play all day, the way Jacob does," I said, finally.
Peggy finished tying the ribbon at the end of the braid she had made in my hair. She straightened the sides of the bow. "There. Done," she said.
"And I would never wear a hair ribbon, either."
"You look pretty. Most girls like to look pretty." Peggy was laughing as she put the brush away and began to smooth my bedcovers.
"Anyway," she added, "Jacob don't have the sniffles or chicken pox. He's just different from most, and can't learn from books. But he don't play all day. Yes, he roams a bit. But he gets his chores done. He helps with the animals. Jacob's better than anyone with animals. It don't surprise me that he visits your horses."
"Does he comb and brush your horses at home? Levi brushes ours." I had been thinking that I might try to talk the stable boy into letting me braid Jed and Dahlia's manes, the way Peggy had just done mine.
"I suppose. And feeds them. And he watches out for the calves and lambs when they come. Sometimes they need extra care."
"Kittens, too," I said. "They probably need care."
"Come on, Naomi has your breakfast ready. Be quiet going past your mama's door. She's sleeping." Peggy started for the stairs and I followed her, tiptoeing past my parents bedroom.
"I wish I had a kitten."
"Well, our barn is full of them. That old tomcat chases the females around the barn and every time we turn around, it seems there's a new batch of kittens."
"What's a tomcat?"
Peggy chuckled. "He's a big old fella all full of himself who takes advantage of the females and next thing they know, they have kittens. Think old Tomcat stays around to help out? Not a chance. He's off looking for a new lady friend by then."
I chuckled too, not because I understood, but because Peggy made a funny gesture with her arms, imitating a stealthy cat on the prowl. "I do love kittens, though," I told her.
"Sometimes when a new litter comes and there are just too many, Jacob has to drown them."
I stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Drown?" I asked.
Peggy looked back at me. "It's what they do on farms, Katy. It's the kindest thing when there are too many. They don't know. It don't hurt them any. Jacob takes them down to the creek and it only takes a minute."
I stared at her in horror. Kittens?
"He's a gentle boy, Jacob is," she explained. "He wouldn't hurt nothing, ever."
I pondered for a moment, deciding how to feel about this. "Like when I step on ants, I suppose," I said at last. "They don't even know. Do you think it's the same, Peggy?"
"I guess. We don't need to think about it. Look! Naomi made pancakes!"
But I did think about it. I thought about the touched boy, his soft look the day that he had held apples to our horses mouths, and his gentle hands making the rhythm of the great grindstone against his thin, denim-covered thighs. I thought about his holding newborn kittens, so tiny, touching their fur with his fingers, and then lowering them into the creek and holding them under. The kindest thing, Peggy had said.
One morning late in November I found the Sears Roebuck catalogue open on Mother's desk in the parlor. I hoped she was planning to have a new dress made for me. Jessie Wood had a new one of black-and-white checks, with a sailor collar and red trim on the cuffs. She wore it to school, and I was jealous.
Usually Mother just looked at the pictures in the catalogue. Then she would have Miss Abbott, the seamstress, come. Miss Abbott would measure me all over while I stood on a stool. Mother would show her a picture and give her the fabric she had bought at Whittaker's store. Miss Abbott would study the picture and cut out a paper pattern, holding it up to me to be sure it was the right size. Then she would go away, to her own small house down on Vine Street, near the dairy, and when she came back, she would have the dress partly made, all basted together.
This was the part I liked. I would put on the basted dress, very carefully so the stitches wouldn't break, and Mother would stand me on the kitchen table. Then Miss Abbott would carefully mark the hem with her little tool that puffed chalk in a line when she squeezed the bulb. I liked how the white line appeared all the way around the bottom of my dress. Then she would take it away again and do the final stitching, and soon it would look just like the dress in the picture Mother had chosen.
When I found the catalogue there, I turned the pages until I found one that showed little girls, and in my mind I chose the dress I wanted, though I knew Mother would say no. It was too fancy. Carefully I sounded out the words that described it: "White lawn trimmed with lace," it said below the picture. "Neat belt of silk ribbon with rosette in front." I didn't know the word rosette, but I could tell from the picture that it was a wonderful bunched thing like a flower, maybe a peony not quite in bloom.
"Look!" I told Peggy, when she came into the parlor with a dust cloth. I pointed to the picture. "Do you think Mother would ask Miss Abbott to make me this? It has a rosette. I know it's too elegant for school, but I certainly could wear it to birthday parties.
"If I ever have a birthday party," I added, grumbling. My eighth birthday party the month before had been canceled because of my chicken pox.