Anna on the Farm (2 page)

Mother frowns, but Father gives her a kiss. "May is right, Lizzie. Anna can wear her play clothes."

While Mother and Father talk, Anna runs to the parlor and peers out the front window. She's looking for Rosa and Beatrice, but she doesn't see them. Too bad. She can hardly wait to tell them that she, Anna, is going somewhere, after all.

A
FTER SUPPER,
A
NNA GOES OUTSIDE.
C
HARLIE IS
sitting on his front steps, fanning his face with a comic book. Anna skips across the street to tell him her news.

"Guess what? Guess what?" Too excited to stand still, Anna hops back and forth from one foot to the other, waiting for Charlie to guess.

"What?" Charlie stares at her, his face puzzled. Behind him, his mother rocks a baby in her arms, trying to hush its cries. His little brothers race up and down the stairs. His older sister runs after them, begging them to hush before Papa gets cross and spanks them.

"I'm going to my Uncle George's farm tomorrow!" Anna cries. "I get to ride the train all by myself and stay for a whole week! I can wade in the pond and play in the barn, I can—"

Charlie fans his face harder. "Lucky you," he mutters.

Anna stops hopping and draws in her breath. Oh, no. Without meaning to, she's made Charlie feel just as bad as she felt when Rosa and Beatrice bragged about the ocean and the mountains. "I wish you were going, too," she tells him quickly. "It won't be any fun without you."

Charlie frowns and kicks a stone. He and Anna watch it bounce down the hill toward North Avenue. "Who wants to go to a dumb old farm?"

"I'll miss you, Charlie," Anna says.

Charlie doesn't answer. Instead, he sends another stone flying after the first one. It lands at the feet of the lamplighter, but he's too busy lighting the gas street-lamps to notice.

"At night it will be dark in the country," Charlie says. "Pitch-dark. No streetlights. There might be wild animals—bears and wolves. Poisonous snakes, too. Copperheads, water moccasins, rattlers."

Anna's heart beats a little faster. "I won't be scared," she says, "if that's what you're thinking."

"Your father won't be there to protect you," Charlie goes on. "You'll miss him and your mother so much I bet you'll cry yourself to sleep every night."

Anna's mouth feels dry. She's never spent a night away from Mother and Father. "I won't be homesick," she whispers, "if that's what you're thinking."

Charlie gets to his feet. "We'll see," he says.

Anna gets to her feet, too. "
I'll
see," she says, "not you. Because you won't be there to see anything!"

The two friends scowl at each other.

"I won't miss you one bit," Charlie says.

"I won't miss you, either!" Anna says.

"In fact, I'm glad you're leaving," Charlie says. "I wish you'd stay on the dumb old farm forever!"

"Maybe I will!" Anna sticks her nose up in the air and walks home. Behind her, she hears Charlie make a rude noise. What a stupid boy he is.

Father takes one look at Anna's face and asks, "Why, Anna, what's wrong?"

"I hate Charlie Murphy!" Anna wants to run to her room and cry, but the house has trapped every bit of the hot summer day upstairs.

Father takes her hand. "Did you and Charlie quarrel?"

Anna nods her head. "I told him I was going to the farm for a whole week, and he got mad. He said it will be dark in the country. Pitch-dark."

"There are no streetlights in the country," Father says, "but the moon and stars seem bigger and brighter there."

"Charlie said there'll be wild animals," Anna says.

"You'll see plenty of rabbits and squirrels," Father says. "You might see a raccoon, a possum, or maybe even a skunk."

"What about bears and wolves?"

Father laughs and shakes his head. "No bears, Anna. No wolves. Not in that part of Maryland, at least."

"No snakes, either?" Even though she's never seen one, Anna hates snakes more than anything in the world.

Father hesitates a moment. "I can't lie to you, Anna. You might see a snake or two, but most of them are harmless."

Anna shudders. She has no idea how to tell

harmless snakes from harmful ones. Besides, in her opinion, no snakes are harmless.

She edges closer to Father. "Do you know what else Charlie said?"

Father shakes his head.

"He said I'll miss you and Mother," Anna whispers.

Father smiles. "We'll miss
you,
Anna."

Anna hugs Father. He smells like pipe tobacco and newspapers and shaving lotion. Charlie might have been wrong about the wild animals, but he was right about Father and Mother. She'll miss them very much.

Father points at the sky. "Look at the moon."

Anna tips her head back and stares at the moon's pale, lopsided face, looking down at her from high in the sky over the city.

"When you're at the farm," Father says, "think of Mother and me standing here on the sidewalk looking at the same moon you're looking at. Then you won't feel so far away."

Anna squeezes Father's hand as tightly as she can. "Me on the farm and you and Mother in Baltimore, all of us looking at the exact same moon at the exact same time." She likes that idea.

Father and Anna crook little fingers and solemnly promise to look at the moon every night just before Anna's bedtime.

"Now that we've settled that," Father says, "why don't you ask Charlie to walk down to the bakery with us? A nice big chocolate ice cream cone would cool you both off."

Anna's not sure Charlie wants to see her again. She's not sure she wants to see him, either. But she's leaving for the farm tomorrow. How can she go away and have fun if Charlie is mad at her? Besides, he loves ice cream even more than Anna does. He won't turn down a treat on a hot summer night.

Father pats the top of Anna's head. "Go on," he says.

Anna looks out the front door. It's dark now. Ail the neighbors have come outside to sit on their steps. Anna can smell Uncle Henry's cigar. She's glad Father smokes a pipe. It smells much nicer.

Uncle Henry says something and Aunt May laughs softly. Down on North Avenue, a streetcar clangs its bell. Up the street, Mrs. Schumaker sings to her baby. Mrs. Anderson's big collie barks. Aunt May's bulldog Fritzi answers with an even louder bark. Both Mrs. Anderson and Aunt May tell their dogs to be quiet.

Across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy come outside to sit on their steps. The littlest Murphy cries. Charlie's sisters, Bridget and Molly, play hopscotch in the light from the streetlamp.

Anna sees Charlie standing in his doorway. He sees her, too. Slowly Anna crosses the street. Slowly, Charlie comes to meet her.

"Father and I are going to the bakery for ice cream," Anna says. "The honor of your company is requested."

Charlie laughs at Anna's fancy invitation and she laughs, too. Just like that, they are friends again.

At the bakery both Charlie and Anna pick chocolate ice cream. If Mother were with them, she'd make Anna choose vanilla. It doesn't stain clothes the way chocolate does.

"Eat it fast before it melts," Mr. Leidig says.

Father laughs. "You don't need to warn these two. That ice cream will disappear before you can say Jack Robinson!"

Anna, Charlie, and Father walk slowly home. It's too hot to hurry, too hot to talk, too hot to be angry.

T
HAT NIGHT,
A
NNA LIES IN BED AND STARES AT THE
skylight over her head. She can see a slice of moon and a few stars.
Der Mond und die Sterne,
Aunt May would say.

Anna wonders what it will be like to sleep in Aunt Aggie's house, far from home and Mother and Father. Suppose Father is wrong about the bears and the wolves? Suppose a snake slithers through her window and bites her while she's sleeping?

Maybe Anna shouldn't go away. Maybe she should stay right here in Baltimore and play with Charlie, as she always does. Thinking thoughts like this, Anna finally falls asleep.

After church the next day, Mother and Father take Anna to Camden Station. While they wait for the train, Anna begins to worry again. How will Father and Mother get along without her? How will she get along without them?

Just as Anna is about to say she's changed her mind, the station platform begins to shake under her feet. The train is coming. The locomotive huffs and puffs and screeches to a stop, belching clouds of steam. Cinders pepper Anna's pretty white dress. She smells hot grease and coal smoke. She moves closer to Father and puts her fingers in her ears to soften the sound of the whistle.

Passengers pour out of the cars. Friends and relatives rush to meet them. They hug and kiss and cry out their greetings.

The people who are leaving Baltimore begin to board the train. Anna hugs Father. She presses her face against his creamy white suit jacket to hide her tears. "Come with me, Father," she begs. "Come with me!"

Father frees himself gently. "I wish we could, but I have to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning."

Mother smooths Anna's hair and brushes a speck of dust from her sleeve. "Mind your manners," she says. "And keep your face and hands clean. Remember you're a little lady, not a country bumpkin."

"Be sure and give Aggie and George our love," Father says. "And remember to look at the moon tonight."

Anna sniffs back her tears and tries to smile. She's nine years old, much too big to be a crybaby. "I'll look at the moon every single night," she promises.

Father and Mother kiss Anna. She hugs and kisses them. Mother tries to brush her tears away before Anna sees them. Father hands Anna her straw suitcase. Even though she still isn't sure she wants to go, she lets the conductor take the suitcase and help her up the steps and into the passenger car.

As the train pulls away, Anna waves at Mother and Father from the window until she can't see them anymore. Then she sits quietly in her seat and watches Baltimore disappear behind her. The houses get farther and farther apart. Yards grow bigger. There are more trees and fields.

Cinders blow in the open window. Motorcars and horses wait at crossings for the train to thunder past. Anna waves. The drivers smile and wave back.

Soon the train slows for the first stop at Relay, then Elkridge, then Laurel. The conductor calls out the names of the towns. People get on and off, waving, hugging and kissing, rushing to greet each other on the station platforms.

The train is in the country now. Anna sees farms and woods, streams and dusty roads, a house here, a barn there, a store or two. A herd of cattle runs away from the train's whistle.

Just as Anna is beginning to enjoy the ride, the train stops at the Beltsville Station. The conductor helps Anna down the steps and hands her her suitcase. "Have a nice visit, young lady," he says.

Uncle George strolls toward Anna, tall and lanky in his faded overalls. "My, my," he exclaims. "Look at you, Anna! You've grown a foot since last Christmas. Why, you might catch up with me someday."

Uncle George is the tallest man Anna knows. Much taller than Aunt Aggie, much taller than Father. As much as Anna loves her uncle, she doesn't want to be as tall as he is.

"Where is Aunt Aggie?" Anna asks, looking around for her aunt.

"She's at home, making lemonade for you and me." Uncle George wipes his forehead with a bandana. "Whew, is it this hot in Baltimore?"

"It's even hotter," Anna says, lifting her arms to the breeze.

Uncle George tosses Anna's suitcase into the back of the farm wagon. Then he lifts Anna onto the high seat. His little dog, Jacko, wags his tail and licks Anna's hand.

Climbing up beside her, Uncle George slaps the reins against the horse's back. "Walk on, Alf," he says.

Alf pulls the wagon slowly over the dirt road, raising a cloud of dust that powders the weeds and wildflowers. Anna hears cicadas buzzing in the fields. A crow watches her from its perch on a fence post. Black-and-white cows gaze at her from a shady spot beside a stream. The air smells of fresh cut grass and honeysuckle. Anna smiles. Even Rehoboth Beach can't be better than this.

Uncle George's farm is high on a hill. Long before they get there, Anna sees the big white farmhouse, surrounded by Uncle George's fields. Rows of corn wave their silky tassels in the afternoon breeze, bending this way and that like waves in the ocean. The sound reminds Anna of waves, too, a gentle shushing song.

As soon as Aunt Aggie sees the wagon, she jumps up from her rocking chair on the porch and runs to meet Anna. Aunt Aggie is small and dark haired and thin, like Father and Anna.

"Anna!" Aunt Aggie cries, giving Anna a hug so hard it takes her breath away. "Don't you look pretty in that dress! Now, you come right inside and freshen up. You must be hot and thirsty and full of cinders."

While Anna washes her face and hands at the kitchen sink, Aunt Aggie pours her a tall glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. In Anna's opinion, Aunt Aggie makes the best lemonade in the world—not too sweet, not too sour, and the sugar is never gritty.

Suddenly, a boy a little taller than Anna comes to the back door and peers into the kitchen. "Is that the girl you said was coming?" he asks Aunt Aggie.