Chapter 4

I was first admonished for such stirrings—innocent though they were—quite young. I was playing with Judah and Abee Mobley. Abee, pronounced like “baby” without the “b,” called so after her father, Abel. She and Judah belonged to Celia, one of the help. It was six-year-old Judah’s hand I often wanted to hold. It was Judah to whom I had proposed, not Abee, with a ring made from a buttercup, which lead to us becoming playhouse spouses. It had all seemed so natural to me. But my hand was slapped right out of his one day in the kitchen and my cheek was reddened by a swift whack when I dared ask why in my slow and stuttering words.

It was the summer before I would have started lessons that this, and my first spell, occurred. I had so been looking forward to kindergarten, completely enamored with the notion of mingling and frolicking with children my own age rather than stoic adults like my sisters. Alas, I never got to go.