Phoebe's Birthday

Today is a special day. It's the birthday of my nephew and a special friend . . . but I chose April 4th to be the birthday of Phoebe, a young girl born in a little village near Albany, New York - back in 1800's, when the world was bursting with new inventions and discoveries. 
Here is a short excerpt from the novel A Home for Phoebe



Phoebe's Birthday


Once again, the winter winds turned into the warm breezes of spring. Streams roared with the melting snows, linens fluttered on the clotheslines, and the phoebes nested in eaves of the barn. The hens led their broods of chicks about the yard. Lolly, the Jersey cow had a calf.           
Maseppequa returned from the barn with a full pail of milk just as the family roused for the day. Ben tickled Phoebe. “Guess what today is.”
            “Christmas?” Her face lit up hopefully.
            “Close . . . It’s your birthday!  Five years ago, on a warm April day, a day like today, just as the sun peeked through the apple tree, God gave us a wonderful present that had two arms, two legs, and two blue eyes.”
            “Me!”
            Maseppequa poured the milk through a clean cloth while she listened.  I remember day Phoebe be born.  Much had changed in the last five years. It seemed a lifetime ago.
            Ben touched the tip of Phoebe's nose. “Yes, you . . . but what happened? You’re much too big to be that little girl!”
            “I grew!”
            “Are you sure? Let’s measure you on the door frame.”
         Phoebe scurried to the pantry door and pushed her back against it, holding her chin up high. Ben scratched a mark above her head and stretched the measuring tape to the floor. “Hmm . . . I don’t believe it! Ten feet tall!”
            “No, Papa!”
            “Hmm . . . Now, this is more like it . . . three feet and four inches.” 
            Phoebe tipped her head to look at the top. “How big are you, Papa?”
            Ben stood against the door as Martha marked him. 
            Maseppequa carried the pail to the shed where the milk would stay cool. When she returned, Ben was measuring Martha. Phoebe hopped from one foot to the other. "Maseppa, how many birthdays do you have?"
            She looked from Phoebe to Martha and Ben. "I . . . I not know. I be many seasons.” She held up her fingers. “Maybe four  . . . five hands . . . I not know." The room suddenly seemed too small and too warm. "I go for walk. I be back before dark."
            I not belong here. No matter how hard Maseppequa tried to forget her past, it crept up and reminded her that she was different. She would never fit in this world of the white man. Maybe Pete should have taken her back to the Indians. No, I not belong with Algonkin. Maybe it would have been better if he had never come back into her life.  I not belong. It be better I not be born.
            The trees and crickets whispered comfort to her soul. When the bright star shone in the west, she followed the trail back to where she knew there was love.


To read more - (CLICK HERE)
To order A Home for Phoebe - (CLICK HERE)

Coming soon- (sequel) Going Home with Phoebe


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