The Twins

"Yeah, I'm ugly! What does that have to do with anything? I can whip you and most anyone I've ever come across! Age and being a girl ain't nothing," the five and a half foot tall fourteen-year-old asserted. Her hands were as big as J. N.'s and bigger than those of most boys. Her hair was straight, her face plain with a light copper cast. Since she could walk, Lou's manner had always been rough and tumble. She had a collection of dogs, cats and raccoons, even a bear cub the summer she was ten; she had roamed the creek, valley, coves and ridges for years. Dolls and fancy things did not hold her attention. She liked to tinker, fix things and be physically active, whether at the bellows, over her shoeing box or turning somersaults to make her grandparents, John L. and Mama Bear, laugh.

J. N. had to admit she was not in any way dainty or fragile. She was strong, willful and agile. "Lou, for a girl, could be a pretty good boy," J. N. thought. She had had her grandfather cut her hair like Alex's since she was seven. J. N. could not remember if she had ever had curls. Her hair hung straight and thick over her ears. It was cut below her ears and parted in the middle with the shine of a crow in sunshine.

"Well and good, Sister, but where do you, I mean we, go? General Wheeler can be anywhere from Knoxville to the Alabama Shoals." Alex had entered the argument so quietly, J. N. paused to take in his words.