A Cake for Washington
“Charlotte! Go get a dozen apples, or so, from the cellar!” Miss Belle called down to me. “Yes Ma’am!” I hollered back, and traipsed down the steps of the porch to the cellar. It was a beautiful day out, the clouds were white and fluffy, looking like the tails of bunny rabbits, and the sun was shining down, like God was smiling down on earth. I opened the door to the cellar and paused a minute as the cool, musky air washed over me. I trotted down the stairwell and gathered as many apples as I could in my apron. Just as I was about to turn around and make my way up the stairs, I felt a rough hand cover my mouth from behind, cutting off my yelp, and a strong arm circle around my waist. Then I felt cold hard metal against my neck. “Be yeh a patriot?” growled a low, gruff voice. I nodded yes, even though it was a lie. In a girl versus man with a big knife situation, man pretty much always won.
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