Better Plans Part 1
It was a quiet, cool autumn morning. I watched as my eleven-year-old sister Mary poured water from the well into both of our jugs. Then we each took a jar to carry home, as we had done many times before. I was seven years old, old enough to help out around the house, Mommy said. Most other Jewish girls my age were doing the same, though, so I didn’t mind. In fact, I rather liked being grown up. Now that I was helping so much, I hoped my siblings would stop calling me baby.