WEN: 2260EE
Exhibitor Name: Jeshua Wickham
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
Priscilla Newman shut the door softly behind her and set off down the dusty street, her water pail swinging against her legs as she walked. She headed out of the town and toward the spring. Mother had sent her for more water. Most days she would have grumbled, but today was a beautiful summer day for a walk and she welcomed some time to be alone with her thoughts. The birds twittered and chirped in the trees above, and the sun shone down warmly on her bare head. Her feet were wet with the dew of the grass as she left the trail and cut toward the sound of the bubbling water. Their visitor had been able sit up today, and was rapidly improving. He had delighted her younger brothers with his stories and the small wooden toys he had whittled through his long days. The doctor was overwhelmed with the flood of the wounded from the battle, and Henry had no other place to be lodged, so for the time being he remained at the Newmans’ house. Priscilla normally would not have welcomed such an arrangement. Most of the boys she knew annoyed her terribly. They really couldn’t help themselves. She giggled at the thought of what some of them had done. One of them had tried to write her a poem. Anyone who could read could see how bad it was! All the village boys who saw her went crazy. She had large, laughing brown eyes, long, dark lashes, and silky brown hair, rosy cheeks, and a pretty face. Unfortunately, she cared nothing for all her poor devoted admirers, and all their efforts for her attention were in vain. Her prudent mother had raised her well, and, though she knew she was pretty, she was not vain or self conscious. She loved the outdoors, and the various animals they owned, and was a lively, laughing lass. Normally, she paid no attention to the boys, but this one was different. Even his best friend, that blond haired Randall, had fallen for her, but this Henry had kept his mind. She saw he admired her, but was still a sensible lad. She liked his quiet voice and ways, and enjoyed listening to his stories of his sisters and brothers far away. Wistfully, she thought how much fun it would be to have some sisters. Of course, there was little Ruthie, but she was only a baby. None of the other girls in the village wanted to be her friends. Jealous, she thought, but quickly recovered herself. She mustn't blame them. She would probably do the same thing in their places. Her animals were her friends instead, especially her horse, Blossom, on whom she went on long rides, when she wasn’t helping her mother, or caring for Ruthie. She sighed as she filled the bucket at the spring, enjoying the feel of the cool water on her hands. It was almost noon, she must hurry to get back. All this thinking had gotten her nowhere. She picked up the now-heavy bucket, sloshing some water onto her dress as it bashed against her shins.
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