The Twelfth Child Read Online Free

the way she did. I certainly had to admire the girl’s industriousness.
    One Saturday morning in the early part of October, I went out to fetch my Middleboro Tribune and it was nowhere to be found.  I’d gotten somewhat used to it being behind the wisteria, but this time it wasn’t there.  And, it wasn’t up under the porch, where it had also landed on a number of previous occasions—those delivery boys could be fairly irresponsible at times. I started thinking maybe it hadn’t come yet and was about to quit looking when I spotted the Cooper’s paper on the far edge of their drive. It stood to reason that if their Tribune had been delivered, mine had also; so I kept searching, poking and prodding my way through every bush along the walkway. Finally, I spotted the darn thing hanging off the edge of the roof; the plastic wrap was snagged in the gutter and it was dangling there like it was right ready to drop. So, I got hold of a broom and took four or five jabs at it, but it wouldn’t budge. By then, I was pretty well winded and about ready to give up, but Destiny came trotting over with that wobbly stool hooked under her arm. “I’ll get your newspaper, Missus Lannigan,” she called out.  
    That’s me, Abigail Anne Lannigan.     
     I’d seen Destiny scamper on and off that stool fifty times or more, but this time she reached a bit too far and over the stool went. It toppled sideways and when I tried to catch hold of it so she wouldn’t fall, we both ended up on the ground, flat on our back, with that blasted newspaper still stuck to the roof.
    “Oh!  I’m so sorry, Missus Lannigan,” she sputtered. Before I could explain to her that it was all my fault, she was back on her feet and tugging at my arm. “Can you get up?” she asked.  “Here, let me help you. You hurt?”
    “Don’t worry about me,” I answered, “I’m fine.” Truth be known, my knee was hurting, but that was because of my arthritis. I hadn’t taken much of a fall; whereas Destiny had gone heels over head. She had a good size scrape and a sizeable welt rising up on her shinbone.  I’d seen enough bumps and bruises in my day to know that ought to have ice on it, so I said, “Come inside and I’ll patch you up.” She was so pleased; you’d think offering to put a chunk of ice on her leg was the kindest thing in the world. I looked at her great big smile and right off noticed what a pretty little thing she was; velvety green eyes, not bright like an emerald, not yellowy either, just a misty color that was so soft you’d wonder if there wasn’t a touch of gray mixed in. Elliott can claim I don’t have a speck of sense in my head, but I’m telling you, God Almighty would have trusted this girl if he’d caught sight of those eyes.
     Once we were inside the house, I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I’d put the ice pack; but things like that didn’t bother Destiny. She took an ice cube and slid it up and down her shinbone. “See,” she said, “this works just fine.” 
    That morning it was a bit on the cool side so I fixed us a pot of tea and, busy as she was, Destiny sat there talking to me for well over an hour. I said, “You must have better things to do than spend time with a clumsy old lady,” but she smiled like she was having a real nice time and poured herself another cup of tea. She was a talker, Destiny, and when she got to telling a story, you’d lean in close to soak up every word that came out of her mouth. The sound of her voice was so sweet; you’d believe it impossible for a mean word to ever come from that mouth. Looking back, I can honestly say I can’t remember a single hard-edged thing about the girl; she was petite, delicate-boned, and sweet as a summer strawberry.  
    Sitting at the kitchen table, babbling on like we’d been friends for a hundred years, I learned how Destiny got that strong backbone of hers—she’d grown up without a soul to see to her wellbeing. The poor