Excerpts

Too Many Boys "How many eggs this morning?" Ruthie's mother asked. She walked slow and heavy around the corner of the hot stove and laid a platter of bacon on the table. "Fifty-seven." Ruthie slid into her chair. "Not bad," Ruthie's oldest brother, Joe, said approvingly. "Not bad," Ruthie's favorite brother, Paul, mimicked, dropping his voice low like Joe's. Joe flushed. He was fifteen, quiet and slow-moving, like the river this time of year. Joe loved the farm and took an interest in every part of it. Paul was nine, just one year older than Ruthie. He was quick as a spring flood and didn't care for farming at all. Paul was an adventurer. Ruthie would have liked to be an adventurer, but she was a girl. She grinned at Paul. Of all her brothers, he was the most like her. Father, Ted, and Luther came in from the barn. Ted whopped Ruthie's head with the back of his hand as he sat down. Ruthie kicked him. "Ruthie!" Father said. "He started it!" she protested. "It was an accident, Ruthie," Ted said mildly. Ruthie knew better than to believe that. Ted was thirteen. Luther stuck his face near hers. "Are you okay?" he asked solemnly. "Yes," Ruthie said, making the word sound long and annoyed. Luther was five, and he was always hanging on her. Mother plucked Charlie off the floor, where he was playing with a wooden horse, and sat him in the high chair. He howled until he noticed the food. Father said grace. When he finished, instead of saying "Amen" the way he always did, he paused a moment, then added, looking at his hands, "We pray for peace, today and for our future. Amen." "Amen," Ruthie said. She wondered what that was about. Grown-ups were always talking about war these days, but the war was somewhere far away. There was no need to pray about that war here. "Amen-pass-the-eggs!" Paul whispered. Ruthie giggled. "Paul Emory Hawk," Mother warned. "Sorry." He ducked his head. Ruthie piled her plate high with bacon, eggs, and toast. She swung her feet beneath her chair, ate, and tried not to worry about school. Today was the first day. She'd heard there were some new families living south of town. Maybe there would be enough new students that school would be different this year. She hoped so. Last year had been horrid. A glob of egg yolk fell off her fork onto her napkin. "Ruthie!" Mother sounded stern. "Did you muss your blouse?" Ruthie checked. "No, ma'am." "Keep yourself clean today, for a change. For this one day you can look like a lady." "I'll try." Mother cooked and cleaned, did housework, gardened, and chased after Charlie without ever getting a smudge of dirt on her. Ruthie despaired of being so tidy. She did try. She just couldn't do it. Maybe if she could, school would be easier. The other girls wouldn't scorn her so. "All of you had better try." Mother's glance swept the table. Joe, Ted, and Paul nodded. Luther nodded too, even though he was too young for school. Mother leaned back in her chair and ran her hand over her belly. She'd taken to doing that lately. "Mother," Ruthie said suddenly, "shouldn't I stay home from school? I could watch Charlie for you. And Luther. I could peel potatoes. I could be a big help." Mother smiled. "Ruthie, you need your education." "But--" Ruthie made a gesture toward Mother's swollen stomach. In just a few weeks, she was going to have a new baby. A girl, Ruthie hoped fervently. No family could have six boys and only one girl. It would be so unfair to the girl that it would never happen. "I'll be fine, Ruthie. Aunt Cleone is coming Friday to help out for a while. You go on to school." Ruthie nodded. It was the answer she'd expected. Mother inspected each of them before they left. She straightened Joe's collar, wiped a smut off Ted's neck, and made Paul tuck his shirttail in. She fussed longest over Ruthie, slicking stray hairs back behind her ears and smoothing and pulling at her new blouse. "Mother," Ruthie protested. "Mother, I look fine. I look better than the boys." Mother smiled. "You should. You're my little lady. Now remember that. Remember, you're a lady!" She gave her a kiss and a little swat on the shoulder. Excerpted from Ruthie's Gift by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.