The Crystal City: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume VI Read Online Free PDF Page A

knack of makery. But he had walked away from his community of makers in Vigor Church because he could not be patient with his own inabilities as a teacher. Serene , therefore, was what he most needed to become. And peril ? He seemed to find it wherever he went.
    Mama Squirrel led them up to the garret, which was hot, with a ceiling that sloped in only one direction, from the east-facing front of the house to the back.
    “It’s an oven up here on a hot day,” said Mama Squirrel. “And it gets mighty cold in winter. But it keeps off the rain, which around here is no mean gift, and the beds and linens are clean and the floor is swept once a week—more often, if you know how to handle a broom.”
    “I been known to kill spiders with one,” said Alvin.
    “We kill no living thing in this house,” said Mama Squirrel.
    “I don’t know how you can eat a blamed thing without causing something that was once alive to die,” said Alvin.
    “You got me there,” said Mama Squirrel. “We got no mercy on the plant kingdom, except we’re loath to cut down a living tree.”
    “But spiders are safe here.”
    “They live out their natural span,” said Mama Squirrel. “This is a house of peace.”
    “A house of silence, too, judging by the school downstairs.”
    “School?” asked Mama Squirrel. “I hope you won’t accuse us of breaking the law and holding a school that might teach blacks and reds and mixes how to read and write and cipher.”
    Alvin grinned. “I reckon there must be a law that defines a school as a place where children are required to recite aloud.”
    “I’m surprised at the breadth of your knowledge of the legal code of Nueva Barcelona,” said Mama Squirrel. “The law forbids us to cause a child to read or recite aloud, or to write on slate or paper, or to do sums.”
    “So you only teach them to subtract and multiply and divide?” said Arthur Stuart.
    “And count,” said Mama Squirrel. “We’re law-abiding people.”
    “And these children—from the neighborhood?”
    “From this house,” said Mama Squirrel. “They’re all mine.”
    “You are a truly amazing woman,” said Alvin.
    “What God gives me, who am I to refuse?” she said.
    “This is an orphanage, isn’t it?” said Alvin.
    “It’s a boardinghouse,” said Mama Squirrel. “For travelers. And, of course, my husband and I and all our children live here.”
    “I suppose it’s illegal to operate an orphanage,” said Alvin.
    “An orphanage,” said Mama Squirrel, “would be obliged to teach the Catholic religion to all the white children, while the children of color must be auctioned off by the age of six.”
    “So I imagine that many a poor black woman would rather leave her impossible baby at your door than at the door of any orphanage,” said Alvin.
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Mama Squirrel. “I gave birth to every one of these children myself. Otherwise they’d be taken away from me and turned over to an orphanage.”
    “From the ages, I’d say you had them in bunches of five or six at a time,” said Alvin.
    “I give birth when they’re still very small,” said Mama Squirrel. “It’s my knack.”
    Alvin set down his poke, took a step closer, and enfolded her in a wide-armed embrace. “I’m glad to be paying for the privilege of staying in such a merciful house.”
    “My, what strong arms you have,” said Mama Squirrel.
    “Oh, now you done it,” said Arthur Stuart. “He’ll be bragging on them arms all month now.”
    “You wouldn’t need any wood-chopping,” said Alvin. “Of wood from trees as died naturally, of course. And no stomping any ticks or snakes as come out of the woodpile.”
    “The biggest help,” said Mama Squirrel, “would be the hauling of water.”
    “I heard there wasn’t no wells in Nueva Barcelona,” said Alvin. “On account of the ground water being brackish.”
    “We collect rain like everybody else, but it’s not enough, even without