A Girl Called Samson (11)

“I’ll drill with you, Rob,” Phineas said, coming up behind me, but he plucked my cap from my head and pulled it on his own. He looked ridiculous, the ruffle flopping against his cheeks, and I chased him around the barnyard using the broom as a sword and trying to retrieve my cap. He parried my blows with the handle of a shovel, and when he knocked my broom aside, I sprinted through the barn door, scooped up a handful of dirt and straw, and tossed it at his face as he tumbled inside behind me. He roared and caught me about my waist, his cheek pressed between my shoulder blades, and brought me down on a bed of hay. I’d used the same maneuver on him more than once. It was how Deacon Thomas caught pigs.

Phineas had gotten stronger in recent years, and I’d simply sprouted breasts and rounder hips, which hadn’t helped me at all. If anything, they got in the way, and I was in a dress to boot. He rolled me over and pressed my shoulders into the ground, calling himself the victor. “You’re pinned.”

I wriggled and bucked, and he bore down harder, his upper body pressed to mine.

“You run like a boy. You shoot like a boy, fight like a boy, and you even look like a boy when you wear your britches. But you don’t feel like a boy, Rob.” I kicked and spat and swung my arms, humiliated by his words, but his eyes were frank as he pinned me with his knees and stared down into my face. I thought he would dribble spittle and exact promises, like he’d done a dozen times before, but he didn’t. Or maybe he just didn’t get the chance.

Phineas was suddenly knocked aside, and a red-faced Nat stood over me, his rage apparent.

“That’s enough, you two,” Nat thundered, though his anger was directed at me. Phineas stood, brushing at his clothes, and he was no longer smiling. Bits of hay sprouted from his hair and clothes, and he was glaring at his brother.

“Why are you so mad, Nat?” he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“You know full well. I told you this had to end. Now get,” Nat snapped. “And shut the barn door on your way out. I need to speak with Deborah.”

Phineas looked at me and then back at his brother, his face growing crimson, though I wasn’t sure if it was fury or embarrassment. He turned and left, his departure marked by squawking chickens trying to get out of his way. He swung the door so hard the whole structure shook.

“You need to apologize to Phineas,” I said.

“Phineas needs to apologize to you,” he shot back.

“Why?”

“Because a man doesn’t handle a lady that way. He says he’s old enough to fight. He’s not even old enough to know that.”

“I’m not a lady.” I laughed. “I’m just . . . Rob. We’ve always been like this. You know that, Nat. He didn’t do anything wrong. He doesn’t see me that way. He never has. That’s why I like him.”

“Do you like him, Rob? I need you to think on that long and hard. Do you like him?”

“Of course I do. I know we fight. But that’s the fun part.”

He reached down and offered me a hand. I swatted it away and stood on my own, brushing at my arms and shaking my skirts. I didn’t know where my cap was. Darn that Phineas.

“Phineas needs to grow up. He shouldn’t be tossing you around like you’re one of the brothers. You aren’t. Never have been. Never will be.”

His voice was so vehement that for a moment I couldn’t see for the hurt that sprang to my eyes, but Nat continued, undeterred.

“You aren’t ten anymore, Rob. You’re a young woman. And you should act like it.”

“I do!” I cried.

His brows shot up, and his mouth fell open.

“Well . . . most of the time, I do!” I insisted. “But acting like a young woman usually means not having any fun. Acting like a woman means working like a dog. It’s perfectly fine that I churn the butter and milk the cows and wash the clothes. And somehow it’s ladylike to scrub the floors, beat the rugs, and do all the chores. But I can’t march in the yard, race up the hill, or wrestle Phin in the barn. Who decides these things, Nat?”

He shook his head. “For someone so smart, you are awfully dumb, Deborah Samson.”

I gritted my teeth, and my palm itched, just like before.

“You heard what he said, didn’t you?” The anger was back in his voice. “What Phineas said? That you didn’t feel like a boy. Well, you don’t. And you don’t look like one either . . . because you aren’t one. And don’t think Phineas and all the rest of us haven’t noticed. Why do you think Benjamin avoids you all of a sudden? He won’t even look you in the eyes.”

Benjamin had been acting oddly for some time. But he’d always been a little quieter, stuck right in the middle of the pack. He was the obedient one, the peacemaker, and sometimes keeping the peace in a big family meant you stayed silent. That’s what Mrs. Thomas told me anyway, when I asked if something was bothering him.

“If you’re not careful, Phin is going to think that wrestling means something different than it does. If that’s what you want, so be it. But he’s got some growing up to do. If he isn’t what you want, then you’d best decide who it’s going to be and make it known.”

“What? Make what known?”

“You’re beautiful. We all think so.”

It was my turn to gape at him. “I am not,” I scoffed. “And no you don’t.”