Strawberry Moon Read Online Free PDF Page B

Grandmother was helping me spin my wool, I had liked her. But now I hated her. I closed my eyes and waited for her to tell me for the hundredth time how foxes killed all their chickens when she was a child.
    She didn’t. She tapped her cane on the floor and said in a brisk voice, “In that case, we better bring him inside. He’ll freeze to death out here.”
    We made a bed for the fox in a washtub. We lined it with an old quilt. I gave Grandmother one of my old wool scarves, and she folded it into a snug nest. We tucked the tiny fox into his new bed and carried him to the hearth. The fire was hot as I was still kindling it every morning. Soon I wouldswitch all my cooking and baking to the outdoor fire and bake oven.
    â€œNow, we better see about getting some milk into him,” said Grandmother.
    I told her what I had tried. “He doesn’t want it anymore,” I finished.
    â€œNonsense,” said Grandmother. “He wants the milk. He just doesn’t know how to get it.” She poured milk into a pan and set it on the hearth close to the fire. “We’ll try warming it. Cold milk must be an awful shock to his stomach.”
    When the milk was warm, Grandmother stirred in a spoonful of honey. “You hold him, and we’ll see what we can do.”
    Grandmother sat in the rocking chair. I kneeled beside her. I lifted up the little fox and cradled him gently in my hands. He was no heavier than a handful of leaves. I propped his head up with my fingers. Grandmother dipped the corner of a white cloth into the milk. It was one of her lace handkerchiefs from England! She squeezed a creamy white drop onto his chin.
    His nose quivered. Grandmother squeezed another drop of milk. The fox opened his mouth. A sliver of pink tongue curled up.
    I held my breath. Grandmother dipped the corner of the handkerchief back into the milk. Then she gently slid it into the fox’s mouth. He clamped down and sucked.
    I let my breath out with a rush.
    Grandmother soaked the handkerchief in the milk again and again. Each time the fox sucked hard. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his belly went up and down. After a few minutes, he stopped drinking and fell asleep.
    I tucked him back in his bed, folding the scarf around him gently. Grandmother said, “When your mother was your age, she found a baby crow. It had fallen out of the nest and been abandoned. She looked after it for a long time.”
    A prickle ran up my back. Papa never talked about my mother. “Did the baby crow live?” I asked.
    At first I didn’t think Grandmother heard me. Then she said in a soft voice, “Yes,it did. It stayed around for years and became quite a pet. Your mother named it Lucky.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m going to call this fox,” I said. “Lucky.”
    â€œWell, he’s going to need some luck to make it,” said Grandmother. Her voice became brisk again. “Right now, he needs sleep. And so do you. Your papa wants you to finish planting the potatoes tomorrow.”
    I was full of more questions about my mother and worried about Lucky. I tossed and turned in Papa’s big bed for a long time, thinking about everything that had happened that day. In the morning, Grandmother was sitting in the rocking chair with her eyes closed, the washtub at her feet. I wondered if she had sat there all night! I peeked in at Lucky. He was sleeping too, his tiny body curled into a ball.
    I dug hills for the last of the potatoes. I tried not to think about what Papa would say when he got home. At least I would have Grandmother on my side. Even Papahad a hard time standing up to Grandmother.
    When I finished in the garden, I slipped a rope around our cow Nettie and led her a little way into the forest behind the cabin. Nettie could eat grass during the day, and I would fetch her for milking in the evening.
    I hurried back down the trail, suddenly anxious to see Lucky and Grandmother. I