Impatient With Desire Read Online Free Page A

the ink unevenly, so the little features on the face are askew, which bothered Elitha, but there wasn’t time to start over. It is a queer little thing, but Georgia thought it was perfection, even if Elitha didn’t.
    Georgia asked me for a raisin cake like the one I made Frances on her 6th birthday in July. “All for myself,” she said.
    “I’ll make you a big one in California,” I said.
    “All for myself just like Frances’s?” she asked.
    “If you want,” I said.
    She thought awhile, then said, “If it’s very big, I will share with Eliza.”
     
    Of all my children, I worry about Georgia the most. At 5, she is no taller than Eliza, fifteen months younger. Because they’re both dark with black hair and brown eyes, they have sometimes been taken for twins by the careless observer. But Georgia is petite and there is a frailty about her, while Eliza is sturdy as a small oak.
    Georgia began life as a fat, rollicking baby and, as far as I know, never knew a day of pain almost her entire first year.
    Then, one beautiful spring day, I was hanging clothes to dry, and she toddled up behind the new pony, surprising it, and it kicked out.
    We would forever be thankful that the kick that might have crushed her only grazed her tiny leg.
    George carried her in on a plank. We set the poor little twisted limb. She was in agony for weeks. The leg festered, and had to be cupped many times. The fever damaged her heart. She had a long convalescence.
    “Georgia’s just a spoiled little baby,” Leanna has said more than once, and it’s true that we all tend to fuss a little more over her. For her third birthday, George made her a special chair, a miniature of those in our house. It had a high, straight back, and for the seat, he wove light and dark leather strips into a patchwork pattern. Georgia jumped up and down, clapping her hands in delight, and George said, “You’re not one bit happier than I was making it for you, Georgia.”
    Elitha fusses over her most of all. Age 10 at the time of the accident, she had been with Georgia just a moment before and blamed herself. For a time she was inconsolable. She seemed to finally accept that no one was at fault, but throughout Georgia’s long convalescence, Elitha was attentive to her every want and, to this day, remains solicitous.
    After her painful accident and long illness, Georgia didn’t learn to walk steadily until the day her baby sister Eliza pulled her up and led her to the sandbox. Since that day, Eliza has been Georgia’s staff, Georgia Eliza’s shadow.

December 5th 1846
    L eanna Charity Blue Donner turned 12 today.
    When I showed interest and skill in botany at a young age, people frequently remarked that I was my mother’s daughter, notwithstanding that Hannah Cogswell, whose herbarium and methods of specimen preservation were admired throughout the county, was actually my stepmother. And now I remark similarly about my stepdaughter Leanna. Of all my children she is most like me: intensely curious, adventurous, quick-tempered. Unlike me, she is tall and lean, can run a mile without stopping, and her handsome collection of marbles includes several glass beauties made in Germany that she won from overconfident boys.
    There was a break in the weather, and we were able to go outside just long enough for a snowball fight, which invigorated everyone, and Leanna won fair and square.
    George came up with the splendid idea of giving her a promissory note for a fine mare in California.
    He had given her a feisty pony, Rouser, on her 9th birthday, and every morning on the plains, she and George jumped on their horses to ride ahead to pick a camping ground. One day he even took her on a buffalo hunt, “in the chase, Mother, close beside Father.” Though they were both exhilarated, I said, No more buffalo hunts for Leanna. I would have liked to say, No more buffalo hunts for you, George, but I would have been wasting my breath. The meat was delicious, especially the