Borrowed Children by George Ella Lyon

says to Mama.
    â€œYes I do! I just can’t believe it, that’s all.”
    â€œWell, it’s settled. You go on to bed, and we’ll talk tomorrow.
    â€œI don’t think I can sleep.”
    â€œWant a spoon of Willie’s potion?” Daddy offers.
    â€œJim!” Mama’s shock is half real. “Sit still then, Mandy. I’ll make you some cocoa.”
    And that’s the strangest thing of all: sitting at the table while Mama waits on me, a huge gift where I’d expected a slap in the face.

11
    Before Helen was born, we used to go to Memphis once a year. “Come summer, I have to go home,” Mama would say, and pack a trunk and a hamper. I only remember the last two visits: red waxy flowers in Omie s back yard, Aunt Laura pretty as a catalogue cover, Opie peeling apples with his pocket knife. One trip the boys disappeared the moment the train pulled out and Mama told me to quit looking out the window and watch Anna till she found them.
    But it wont be like that this time. I’ll be on my own. I close my eyes and see myself sitting on the red plush seat, brave and lonely.
    Maybe I’ll feel I belong in Memphis. It’s a real city, even if it’s not Boston. Things happen there—interesting things to interesting people. I’ve seen that in Aunt Lauras eyes.
    Mama said I can go a week from Sunday. That’s tomorrow. Ben and David took no notice, even when she told David he might go down next summer to work for Opie.
    â€œIf I’m going to saw logs, I might as well saw them here,” was all he said. He doesn’t want to leave Polly.
    Mama told the girls, too. Anna was mad.
    â€œMandy gets to do everything! Stay out of school to take care of Willie! Go see Omie and Opie! Its not fair.”
    But Helen got tearful.
    â€œWhat if you forget how to come back?”
    I explained about the railroad, the track being nailed down and going both ways. And about a roundtrip ticket.
    â€œBut if it’s round, you don’t come back like you went. That’s straight.”
    â€œHelen—” I always forget she sees each word-picture. You have to tell her it’s not real.
    â€œRound trip just means the ticket will bring you back.”
    I told Willie I’m going. He smiled with his lips tucked in. That’s his new trick. He practices all the time. Last week he worked on his tongue. Not sticking it out, but smiling with it laid from his lip to his chin. He’s never idle. If he’s not asleep, he’s nursing, working, or crying. I admire him. He knows he’s got a lot to do and he doesn’t waste a minute.
    I wonder if he’ll know I’m gone. Will he forget me? Mama says he won’t but the idea makes me sad. In two weeks he’ll be a different baby. Mama’s baby.
    I don’t see how I can feel so many things. I want to go—of course I do. I’m ready as a big red tomato is to get off the vine. Then why does the vine suddenly seem fragile, like it might wither up if I’m gone? No, that’s not right. I’m more afraid the vine doesn’t need me, will grow right over the place where I was. Before Mama got better it felt like I was the vine. Now I don’t know.
    And last week, when the Christmas box came from Omie and Opie, I felt left out because there wasn’t a present for me. Isn’t that silly, when mine is the biggest gift of all?
    What with packing and fretting the week has spun by. It’s a cold Saturday night and we’re loaded in the wagon to go to the train. I can tell David and Ben are sour about being here. They had to get their chores done early. But Mama insisted that the whole family take me.
    It’s a squeeze to get us all in. Anna sits up with Mama. I’m back with the boys, and Helen sleepy in my lap. I was hoping to hold Willie but Mama didn’t offer. Anyway, Helen seems rooted. She’s the only one somber to see me go.
    Daddy coaxes Midge