January 1905

I AM FULL OF HATE, and that, I know, is wicked. When my mother wakens me, it already bubbles in my throat like a spring ready to overflow. "Get up, Pauline. It's time." My feet strike the cold floor as I tumble out of bed. Glancing back in the dark, I see my sister still under the warm quilt, her hands curled on the pillow like sleeping birds. The mill whistle begins like a woman sobbing before changing to a long wail. It prods me into dressing. As I raise my nightdress over my head, the chill seizes me, so I hurry to pull on my undershirt, drawers, and then my dress. I put everything out the night before, so the cold has less time to grab me. I leave off my shoes. I have learned to bargain with myself. If I take the time to put them on, I miss first chance at the privy and have to stand waiting, my whole self growing icier still. Mama has started the stove, the fire glowing red, and the warmth calls to me, but the other call is louder, and I step out onto the frozen ground past the cabbage rows glistening with frost. The outhouse door creaks like I woke it and it does not want to be bothered. Stop your complaining. It is I, not you, who must find the seat in the dark and start the pee from my shaking body down the black hole. ON THE STEPS outside, my brother waits, his frosty breath drifting. I feel a rush of air as he brushes by. Josh has not learned my trick about the shoes, so he is second. The moon still hangs, a sliver, like someone slit the sky, and stars spill out like bright stuffing. Since it is warm in the stove room, I guess it is no matter that I have to wait by the sink while Daddy washes his face. My stomach churns at the smell of the bacon, but all in good time. I curl my toes as I bide my time behind Daddy. Some feeling comes back to them as I watch him scoop big dripping handfuls from the pail. He is missing two fingers on his right hand. Mama frowns at him because water sloshes onto the floor and puddles under the sink. She leaves the bacon frying on the stove to hand him a towel. The kerosene lamp shines on her face. I do not know what time Mama gets up, only that she is already dressed and the fire made when she calls me in the mornings. If I did not know better, I would think she sleeps in her clothes. By the time Josh and I have washed up, Mama has put the plates of grits, each with a curl of bacon, on the table. She hands around biscuits left over from supper, and if I push mine into the grits, it takes on some of the heat, like it was fresh made. We bow our heads. Daddy says, "Thank you, Lord, for breakfast. Amen." Josh and Daddy make snuffling noises as they eat. Josh has no patience with a fork for grits. He ladles his in with a tablespoon. Mama looks down at her plate. She takes in a long breath before she starts to eat. My tongue burns with my haste, and my stomach fills with heat. We are busy with our breakfast, making our mouths too full for talk. I have barely swallowed the last of it before we rise from the table. Mama calls into our room, "Good-bye, Arlene. We're going now." I say nothing. How would she hear? She is still sleeping. Yes, we're leaving now. The dark still hunkers over the mill, but we're going out into the blackness while you, the favored one, sleep as late as you like. Enjoy the warmth of the quilt and the soft bed, while the shape of me there grows cold. I have never counted the steps to the mill. I know only that the number of steps is different every morning. Today the cold bites through my sweater and swirls around my legs as I try to keep up with Mama. Josh and Daddy push way ahead of us with their long steps. Margaret and Katie pass in the dark. They're best friends, eleven like me, and Katie has her younger brother Jimmy by the hand. He stumbles along half asleep. I do not think they see me. Sometimes I wiBoling, Katharine is the author of 'January 1905' with ISBN 9780152051198 and ISBN 0152051198.