| |
September 1952
Isaac Moore sat on the porch steps, stuffing the last bit of bread and jam into his mouth. Most days he walked home with his little sister, but today he was hungry, and he had run ahead. Ada should have been home by now.
He stood, brushing the crumbs from his pants, and walked to the road. He squinted and caught sight of Ada bobbing toward him, a large goose close on her heels. Mrs. Hendricks must have left her gate unlatched again. Isaac doubled over laughing as the short, stubby girl swung her arms and lifted her knees as high as she could, trying to outrun the ornery fowl. She squealed as it nipped at her heels, then pulled an apple core out of her lunch pail and tossed it behind her. She looked back and frowned, seeing the goose still in pursuit. Isaac jogged down the road, keeping his eyes on his sister to see what she would do next. She tried again, this time pulling out a dried crust of bread and tossing it at the goose’s head, but it didn’t slow down. She turned her head, and her blue eyes lit up at the sight of her brother. Relief washed over her troubled face.
Isaac ran between Ada and the goose so she could run safely to the house. The goose nipped at Isaac’s calf with its huge orange bill. “Ouch! Cut it out!” A new bruise formed at every bite. He scowled at the beast and picked up the pace. The goose followed him the rest of the way home.
At last he reached the front door. Ada held it open for him, and he dashed inside, slamming the door triumphantly behind him. Isaac bent over, pulling up his pant legs up to assess the damage. Angry purple marks dotted both calves. He looked up to see Ada watching him with tears in her eyes. He fuzzed her head and grinned.