This bread is real good. I’m sure glad Pa bought it, but I wish we had some jam to put on it. But I shouldn’t have mentioned that to Pa, ’cause I know he’s doing the best he can, like taking that job sweeping the floor for Mr. McGruder. Pa shouldn’t have to do things like that. I’m just five, almost six, but I know some things. One thing I know is my Pa shouldn’t be sweeping floors in another fellow’s saloon, and earning enough money for bread but no jam. So listen, Pa…I got this idea.

Of course I’m just pretending I’m saying this to Pa. I have lots of thoughts, and it’s fun to pretend that I’m really saying them and people are really listening, but I know grownups wouldn’t like to hear all the thoughts that go on in my head. Pa says I’m ahead of the game, knowing this already, ’cause there are plenty of grownups in the world who think anything that pops into their head oughta come out their mouth. He says it’s smart to keep some thoughts to yourself, so I’m practicing with this one.

So anyway, here’s my idea, ’cause jam would sure be good on this bread. So I wish we could plant some berries in little pots and carry them with us when Pa gets enough money for us to travel West. A few little pots won’t take much room, and the berries’ll grow up just like I’m growing up. And when we get West, we can plant them in the ground, and they’ll make bushes and more berries, and we can pick them and make lots of jam. I don’t care what kind. I like strawberry, blueberry, raspberry, huckleberry, blackberry…oh, just about any kind of berry except pokeberry, ’cause that’ll make you sick, and I don’t like being sick. I was sick when we got here, but Miss Inger gave me some tonic that tasted awful. But it made me feel better, and she’s nice, so I forgive her for the awful taste.

Jam comes from berries, which I knew already, but Miss Inger said it when I was helping her one day. She knows a lot of things. She’s so smart she could be a schoolteacher if she wanted to, but she’s got this store that she runs with her brother even though he’s not there most of the time. I think he’s in the saloon where Pa sweeps floors, but Miss Inger’s brother doesn’t sweep. He just drinks and sings and laughs a lot, but it’s not a nice laugh like Miss Inger’s.

But anyway, when she reminded me jam comes from berries, I got my idea about planting them in pots to make more berries so we can have jam when we get West. I wish Miss Inger could come too, because she’s nice and she knows a lot about jam and tonics and other things we might need. She can even fish a little bit, and she does all right for a girl…I mean a lady. Besides, it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want to fish, ’cause I can catch enough fish for all of us. Pa says I’m the best fisherman this side of the Mississippi River, which I remember crossing a long time ago. It was pretty big, and we rode across on a ferry boat. I was so little I thought Pa said “fairy boat,” and I spent the whole trip wondering where the fairies were. Later I figured it out, but I didn’t say anything about thinking “ferry” was “fairy.” That’s one of those thoughts I’d rather keep to myself, ’cause grownups would laugh. But you know what? I told Miss Inger and she didn’t laugh. She said it’s proof I have a good imagination.

I wish I could get up enough nerve to ask Pa if she could come with us, but I’m pretty sure I know what he’d say. He’d say it wouldn’t be right to ask her to leave her store and her brother and go traipsing off with two men she barely knows. But I bet if he asked her real nice she’d do it. She looks at him like she might like him, and I think she’d come with us if he asked her. And she could show us how to plant the berries and make the jam. I’m sure she knows how, because she knows a lot of things.

So I mean…listen, I got this neat idea. Hey, you listening? Hey? You listening…?