Rebel Girl

Almost as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Milton moved into their new house the little girl next door was there. The couple had been forced to move from their former home, in a different city-state, for political reasons. Their name wasn’t even Milton, but they had enough papers that said it was that no one argued with them. They couldn’t live under their original name anymore; they were already wanted in several city-states for political crimes. All they wanted to do was unite the city-states into one nation but talk like that was considered treasonous and made the couple like hunted animals.

Because of the nature of their business the couple had decided that they wouldn’t get close to anyone in their new home if they could help it. Sooner or later their friends would either betray them to the authorities or get dragged into danger. It was better, and hurt less, to keep apart. The little girl standing in front of them, with a basket of cookies from her mother in her arms, didn’t look very threatening. It helped that she was all of six and therefore couldn’t be knowledgeable about politics.

“Mama said to bring you these cookies,” the little girl said, looking up at Mrs. Milton innocently. Mrs. Milton had gotten used to the idea that children were supposed to be at least a little shy or scared of adults but the little girl in front of her showed signs of neither. “Are you going to live here?” The girl strained her neck around, obviously trying to look inside the house. Mrs. Milton thought for a minuet and finally surrendered.

“If your mother isn’t expecting you right home you can come in if you like. I think I have some lemonade if you would like some,” she said, taking the basket of cookies from the little girl’s unresisting hands.

“Mama won’t mind,” the girl told her confidently.

After that day the little girl was over almost every day. Her name was a bit of a mystery, she told them her name was Rashie, which it was assumed was short for something. Mrs. Milton had been afraid that her husband wouldn’t approve of the strange friendship she had developed with the little girl but he didn’t mind at all. Actually if anything he practically adopted Rashie as the daughter he had never had. They never really saw her parents or her older brother, but Rashie became a permanent fixture in their lives.

Just because they were in a new city didn’t mean that they stopped their political work. Once he became comfortable with Rashie, and knew that she could keep a secret, Mr. Milton would even practice his speeches on her. He had thought that he would bore the small child with ideas she couldn’t understand but she seem entranced by the ideas he expounded. She would even clap at particularly rousing parts. Mrs. Milton wrote protest songs, which she would then teach the little girl. Rashie knew the latest songs of rebellion even before the rebels did. All of this of course was taught to her on the strict condition that she never speak, nor sing, what she heard anywhere but Mr. and Mrs. Milton’s house.

While the other children of the neighborhood played in the street Rashie was helping Mr. Milton ink his small press to print fliers. When he asked her if she didn’t ever want to go play with the other children her age she told him that his house was a lot more fun. Besides, the other children weren’t very nice to her. He could understand why. She was such a serious young girl.

To be continued...