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the cart.
    They all called out to me as they saw me bumping along toward the ocean, “Bye now, Abigail! Don’t get washed away by the waves tonight!”
    I could hear Maddie’s laugh spiral over and over in the wind.

CHAPTER THREE
    Abigail Sinclair

June 20, 1868
    I was greatly delighted with him, and made it my business to teach him everything that was proper to make him useful, handy, and helpful; but especially to make him speak, and understand me when I spoke and he was the aptest scholar that ever was, and particularly was so merry, so constantly diligent, and so pleased, when he could but understand me, or make me understand him, that it was very pleasant to me to talk to him
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    —R OBINSON C RUSOE

    W ITH A BELLY FULL OF PULLED PORK AND W INNIE’S TASTY COLLARED greens, I sat idly on the porch, watching the beachcombers strolling up the shore. My limbs still felt like large pieces of waterlogged driftwood from my poor night’s rest, and some strands of hair, havingescaped a sloppily pinned knot, blew in ticklish ovals around my face.
    I longed for a nap, but Mama had just leaned her head out the window to see if I had planned a lesson for Mr. Whimble. I finally went poking around in one of my trunks to find some appropriate items. I pulled out my slate and a couple pieces of chalk, which I had brought for Charlie and Martha’s summer lessons, and some writing paper and my quill and ink.
    Since there wasn’t much wind today, I brought everything out to the porch, along with the old wooden table and chairs. I couldn’t for even a minute imagine sitting indoors all summer, especially with such a smelly man.
    After what seemed like a long while, I heard Winnie greet Mr. Whimble at the door on the western side of the house, but she didn’t invite him in like she would a normal guest. She walked him around the outside of the house, like she would a horse.
    “Here you go, Mr. Benjamin. She been waitin’ on you—it ain’t right to keep a lady a-settin’ in the heat, you know,” she said, and ambled back inside. She didn’t even offer him anything to drink, which he desperately looked like he could use.
    Mr. Whimble seemed not to care. He climbed up the three steps to the porch and greeted me with an easy smile. But I could see how filthy he was. I tried to conceal my distaste, since I didn’t want to embarrass him. Yet even outside I could smell the fishy stench that lingered on his clothing and skin.
    I was somehow disappointed that the man didn’t even bother to wash before coming to sit for hours in the company of a young lady. He seemed to realize his state by the sour look on my face. “I’m afraid that I stink like a hog at slop time. I came straight from hunting with your daddy, and those largemouth bass sure gave us a hard time. I can go wash up, if you can’t stand me,” he offered.
    I fiddled with the supplies and nibbled my lower lip. Making him wash seemed the utmost in rude hostessing. But I was spared a response by the squeaking of the screen door and Mama’s appearance on the porch.
    She stared at him as if waiting for an answer to an obvious question, and he shifted around in his chair, stammering out his crude introductions. I began to feel a little sorry for him, in spite of myself.
    “Tell me of the schooling out here, Mr. Whimble,” she ordered.
    “Oh, we don’t get much schooling out here, Mrs. Sinclair. We don’t have a proper schoolhouse, and no teachers, neither. Every so often Shep Johnson offers up some lessons, you know, in between fishing runs and whatnot. And all the younguns drag themselves over to his house to learn their figures.
    “But we all have to earn our living, ma’am, and no schooling is going to bring in the fish or build the boats. So I guess you could say we ain’t too educated out here, and it don’t matter that much to us, anyhow,” he finished.
    He seemed almost smug in his ignorance. Mama inquired the obvious: “Then why do you want to learn now?