“E-man-ci-pa-tion,” Frederick stumbled over the long word. “What does it mean, Anna?”
“Freedom, Frederick—or rather setting the people free. Listen to this!” The two dark heads bent near the oil lamp. “‘The Constitution of the United States knows nothing of white or black men; makes no distinction with regard to the color or condition of free inhabitants.’”
Frederick learned to love the paper and its editor. Now he and Nathan Johnson could really talk together. Nathan found an apt pupil, and Ma Johnson took Anna under her wing.
As the days grew cooler folks began talking about Thanksgiving.
“What is it?” Anna asked, wrinkling her brow.
Then Ma Johnson told her about the Pilgrims, of their first, hard winter, of how now each year after harvest time the people of New England set aside a special feasting day in their memory, a day when they gave thanks for all the good things of the earth.
“What a beautiful idea!” Anna turned it over in her mind. “A day of thanksgiving!”
“Those poor young ones never tasted turkey.” Ma conveyed this tragic information to Nathan. They decided to take a turkey to them.
“And I’ll show her how to cook it.” Ma was very fond of Anna.
They carried the fresh-killed bird, resplendent in all its feathers, to the little house. Frederick and Anna gazed upon it with awe.