"Pat Murphy - An American Childhood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Pat)

AMERICAN
CHILDHOOD
Pat Murphy

Nadya Rybak was five years old when she realized that her family was
not like other families. She was in the crossroads store, staring at the jars
of candy on the high shelf behind the counter and wondering if her father
might buy her a peppermint stick to suck during the wagon ride home. It
was late spring in Missouri, and the wooden floorboards were warm
against her bare feet.
She liked the store. The clutter of boxes and barrels intrigued her.
Interesting smells clung to them: jerked beef, clarified butter, pickles, and
spices. Her father leaned against the wooden counter in the back, talking
with Mr. Evans, the storekeeper, about Indian trouble up north. Two fur
traders had been killed the month before. Mr. Evans blamed all the
trouble on whiskey and whiskey peddlers, and Nadya's father agreed.
Nadya's mother and Mrs. Evans sat on a bench near shelves that held
bolts of fabric and sewing notions. A three-month-old issue of Godey's
Ladies Book, worn from handling, lay open on Mrs. Evans's lap. Lottie
Evans, a wide-eyed three-year-old, sat at her mother's feet, staring at
Nadya. One chubby hand clutched her mother's skirt. She was fascinated
by the older girl, but had not yet gathered her courage to approach.
A bearded man came in the door and threw a bundle of furs onto the
counter. Nadya stared up at him with interest. He was a very shaggy man:
his beard was long and unkempt; his hair needed cutting. He was wearing
a buckskin coat, homespun pants, and a shirt that hadn't been changed
any too recently. There hung about himтАФmingling with the usual
man-smells of chewing tobacco, whiskey, and sweatтАФa strong smell of
many animals. She smelled bear and deer and buffalo and beaver, but
what caught her attention was the faint smell of wolf.
The man leaned against the counter, evidently content to wait for the
storekeeper's attention. He glanced down at Nadya. "Hello there,
young'un."
 "Hello."
The wolf smell came from the bundle of furs on the counter.
"You know, I've got a little sister back in New York that's not much
older than you."
Nadya considered this gravely, but didn't say anything.
"What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for my papa."
"Looked like you were watching those jars of candy back there." She
nodded, and the man grinned. "Thought so. Well, maybe when I trade
these furs, I'll buy you a piece of candy. Would you like that?"
Nadya nodded solemnly. She watched the man untie the rope that
bound the furs together and spread the furs on the counter. She could
smell wolf more strongly now. Emboldened by the man's grin, she reached
up and touched one of the furs, a soft pelt the color of butter.
"That's a painter," the man said. "A mountain cat." He let her stroke the
soft tawny fur, then lifted it aside. "Now here's a beaver pelt. Some fine
gentleman in New York City will be wearing a hat made from that soon