Dawn of a New Day Read Online Free Page A

will.”

2
C ONCERT IN F ORT S MITH
    P rue entered her bedroom, singing under her breath Johnny Preston’s version of “Running Bear,” but as soon as she stepped inside she stopped dead still and looked wildly about. She had left her room in good order, but now it appeared as though a bomb had gone off. The drawers of her chest were opened, and clothes were pulled out; the snacks she kept on top of her desk were all opened, and over on her dressing table, beside her bed, sat the culprit, a yearling coon who had a jar of cologne in the clever fingers of his right paw and the top in the other. He stared at her, eyes beady, then dropped the bottle and cap, leaped off the dressing table, and scurried across the floor. When he reached the girl’s feet, he reared up and pawed at her knee, his mouth open as if he were trying to speak.
    â€œBandit! What in the world have you done?” She stared down half filled with anger but amused at the same time. Her father had brought the coon home from a hunt, and she had raised it on a tiny doll’s bottle filled with condensed milk. He had grown rapidly, and though she usually kept him outside in a pen, she had brought him up to her room earlier to play with him. A call from her mother had drawn her away, and now twenty minutes later she came back to the wreckage that had been her room.
    â€œBandit! You’re a bad coon!” she scolded. The coon opened his mouth, and seeming to grin, pawed at her knees, making a plaintive noise in his throat. Stooping over, Prue picked him up and cuddled him as if he were a baby, holding his head beside her face. He nibbled at her ear gently, as he always did, and his tiny feet clutched her blouse. Despite herself, Prue laughed and shook her head. “You’re a charmer,” she said. “Now, look at this mess I’ve got to clean up.” She put the coon down and wagged her finger at him. “Now you behave yourself while I clean up the mess you’ve made.”
    Quickly the girl started putting the room in order, stopping long enough to turn on the radio of her new stereo set. Ray Charles began to belt out “Hit the Road, Jack!” and when he had finished, Ricky Nelson’s voice filled the room, and Prue sang along as he crooned “Travelin’ Man.”
    Soon she paid little attention to the music and did not actually care for most of what she heard. Keeping one eye on Bandit, who seemed content with the stick of peppermint that she gave him as an offering, Prue completed her job, then hesitated for a moment and glanced at the clock. Quickly she turned, opened the door, and stepped into a room no more than eight by ten. It had been used as a storage room, perhaps as a bedroom, by her grandparents, but Prue had made it into her own special treasure room. She had transferred her diary there and for the past year concealed it in an old horsehide trunk with a curving top. The shelves were filled with items she had kept from her childhood on, including baby rattles and the toys that she had grown up with.
    At one side of the room was an enormous chifforobe made out of cherry. It reached almost to the ceiling and was fully four feet wide. Taking a key from a gold chain around her neck, Prue unlocked the armoire and swung both doors open, thinking, It’s nice to have a private place like this . She pulled out a twelve by fourteen pad covered with canvas used by artists, and snatched up a piece of charcoal. She glanced at the variety of paints that she had collected, mostly odds and ends, then turned and went out into the bedroom. Sitting down on the bed with her legs underneath her, she held the pad steady with her left hand and with her right began sketching the raccoon as he sat sucking on the peppermint. Her hand flew fast, and in a very short time she had captured the animal just as he polished off the candy. He dropped to all fours, came scurrying over, and clamored up on the bed,