Diann Ducharme Read Online Free PDF

you should tutor Mr. Whimble in reading and writing this summer,” he said.
    “Pardon me?” Surely the yelps of the children outside had somehow interfered with his communication.
    He smiled at me, a smile with a warning concealed within it. “He indicated this afternoon that he would like to learn how to read and write, just rudimentary skills at best. He was crying over the fact that he had no one to teach him, and with no schools out here it’s impossible for him to learn anything. So it occurred to me then that
you
are a good teacher, having taught Martha and Charlie the last few years. I told him so, and one thing led to another.” He shifted his large weight, causing the new chair to cry out for mercy. “You should have seen his face. I’ve never seen such a display of teeth in my life. He was so grateful that he’s suspending all the fees charged to me for his guide service.” Then, an afterthought, he said, “It’s good business, Abigail.”
    I stared at his sunburned nose. I couldn’t even imagine a scenario in which I played tutor and dirty Mr. Whimble played student.
    “Good business! I hardly think that tutoring a strange man is a wise idea. Teaching my own brother and sister is one thing, but a grimy fisherman! You don’t even know this Mr. Whimble,” I said desperately. “He could be dangerous! He’s as filthy as an urchin! Lord knows what he does when he’s not fishing and hunting androaming around in the muck, adding clumps of dirt to his collection. I don’t want to do it. I
won’t
do it.”
    Some diners, lingering over their dessert and coffee, turned their heads toward our table.
    Mama shushed me, but Daddy merely looked at me as he would a curious specimen of duck. He said, “Ben is about as dangerous as a dandelion.” He shot back the last of his port. “He’s smart, in his way. And patient, a hard worker. And he’s a local hero, so they say,” he assured me. “I like him, I really do.”
    “Mama, how could
you
of all people agree to this? It’s not proper! What will people say?” I blurted. “He’s a fisherman, for mercy’s sake!”
    Mama disliked fishermen as a general rule. Her daddy had been a stevedore, laboring his entire immigrant life on the fast-paced Edenton ports after he arrived from Sweden, and she had learned to dislike with a passion anything that reminded her of her previous life as a daughter of the docks. Now Mama just shrugged, not up to the fight.
    In misery, I looked at the empty chairs and dirty plates and cups at our table. Me, tutor a fisherman? I snorted scornfully. But my mind wandered to Mr. Whimble’s bluebird eyes, and I heard my mouth mumble, “Well, I suppose I could give it a try. Only for a little while.”
    Daddy said with a nod, “I’ll tell him you can start tomorrow.”
    Mama worked hard at stifling a yawn with a vanilla hand. She said, “It will be good for your education, Abigail.
I
have found that teaching reinforces and expands our own learning. This will provide a worthy occupation for you, and keep your mind from sliding into oblivion this summer.”
    She removed her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. “And I will chaperone, of course.”
    They rose from the table, nodding and waving at everyone in the room, as I sat numbly, my head swimming. Mercy, what had I just agreed to?

    A pink-faced Maddie, closely circled by a flock of scavenging boys, called out to me to accompany them on her family’s cart back to the house. It was dark outside, and getting late, but I agreed to go, on account of how thrilled Mama and Daddy were at the offer.
    Sitting so close atop the cart, I could smell the pungent scent of alcohol on their breath as they laughed with one another. The boys then made a gallant show of assisting the ladies off the cart and helping us through the soft sand up to the little white house.
    The story-and-a-half house really was charming, nestled cozily amid the bushy trees, with spectacular views of the