things were not right, and kept looking from one to the other, a puzzled expression on her face.
As soon as Mr. Callahan finished, Margaret stood to clear the table.
“Quila, would you help me get Celia's things together?” she said.
I followed her into the room Celia and I shared and watched as she began to pull things out of the dresser: Celia's dresses, stockings, her woolen coat and hat.
I didn't say anything because I could feel the sting of tears in the back of my throat and knew if I started crying, I wouldn't be able to stop. It wasn't until Margaret picked up Celia's driftwood seal and her doll that we realized Celia had followed us.
“What you duning?” she asked, and it came to me we hadn't prepared Celia at all for what was about to happen. She had no idea she was leaving us. I swallowed hard and crouched in front of her.
“You're going on a trip,” I told her, trying to sound as cheerful as I could. “You're going on a trip with Margaret.”
Celia frowned.
“Go smimming with Marget?” she said. I puzzled over her words until I realized the only time Celia had heard the word
trip
was when I'd run off with her and ended up almost drowning her. No wonder she was suspicious.
“No, honey, a good trip. No swimming.” I pulled her to me, and my arms ached when I realized this would be the last time I'd ever hold her. I felt sick at the thought of losing her, but I was also envious of all she would see and experience. Margaret had told us someabout her life in Lawrence, about the mills and boardinghouses, the lectures and concerts that she and the other mill girls attended at night. Someday I'd see the sights that Celia was about to see, know what it was like to ride in a carriage down a street lit with lamps, listen to an orchestra play, sit in a library and know that every book there was just waiting for me to read it.
“I'm sure some of her things are in my room, too,” Margaret said. “Your room,” she corrected herself. “You'll probably be glad to get it back.” But I didn't feel glad, even after I followed Margaret into her room and saw, draped over the back of the chair, the dresses I'd noticed missing from Mama's wardrobe: the blue print, the red calico, and the green delaine. What I felt was anger, white-hot anger that boiled up in me like a storm-tossed sea. Isn't it enough that you're taking Celia? I wanted to shout. Do you have to take Mama's dresses, too? Margaret wasn't even trying to hide them. In fact, she scooped them up and held them out to me.
“I took them in and shortened the hems,” she said. “The green should look especially good on you.”
Shame flooded over me, putting out the fire of myanger. She hadn't stolen them at all. She'd altered them to fit me.
“Thank you for being my friend,” Margaret said, and I saw she was fighting back tears. “It's not everyone that gets to experience life in a lighthouse, and to have such a good teacher.”
I wanted to slink away, like a dog with its tail between its legs. I'd treated her horribly. I hadn't been a friend to her at all. But she had been one to me, and now I was losing her, too. Why was it that whenever I loved someone, they were taken from me? First Mama, and now Celia and Margaret.
“Margaret?” Papa's voice startled us both. He'd come to the doorway, but seemed afraid to come in. “There's something I'd like to ask you.”
Margaret turned toward him, and I could see she was holding her breath.
“I want you to take Quila with you,” he said.
It wasn't the question she'd been expecting and it caught her off guard. It caught me off guard, too. Papa was sending me away?
“She could tend to Celia while you're at work in the mills,” Papa went on, “and then in the evenings goto some of those lectures and concerts you've talked about.”
“Quila's welcome to come with me,” Margaret said, keeping her voice even. “But have you asked her what she wants? She's not a child anymore.”
“I know
As soon as Mr. Callahan finished, Margaret stood to clear the table.
“Quila, would you help me get Celia's things together?” she said.
I followed her into the room Celia and I shared and watched as she began to pull things out of the dresser: Celia's dresses, stockings, her woolen coat and hat.
I didn't say anything because I could feel the sting of tears in the back of my throat and knew if I started crying, I wouldn't be able to stop. It wasn't until Margaret picked up Celia's driftwood seal and her doll that we realized Celia had followed us.
“What you duning?” she asked, and it came to me we hadn't prepared Celia at all for what was about to happen. She had no idea she was leaving us. I swallowed hard and crouched in front of her.
“You're going on a trip,” I told her, trying to sound as cheerful as I could. “You're going on a trip with Margaret.”
Celia frowned.
“Go smimming with Marget?” she said. I puzzled over her words until I realized the only time Celia had heard the word
trip
was when I'd run off with her and ended up almost drowning her. No wonder she was suspicious.
“No, honey, a good trip. No swimming.” I pulled her to me, and my arms ached when I realized this would be the last time I'd ever hold her. I felt sick at the thought of losing her, but I was also envious of all she would see and experience. Margaret had told us someabout her life in Lawrence, about the mills and boardinghouses, the lectures and concerts that she and the other mill girls attended at night. Someday I'd see the sights that Celia was about to see, know what it was like to ride in a carriage down a street lit with lamps, listen to an orchestra play, sit in a library and know that every book there was just waiting for me to read it.
“I'm sure some of her things are in my room, too,” Margaret said. “Your room,” she corrected herself. “You'll probably be glad to get it back.” But I didn't feel glad, even after I followed Margaret into her room and saw, draped over the back of the chair, the dresses I'd noticed missing from Mama's wardrobe: the blue print, the red calico, and the green delaine. What I felt was anger, white-hot anger that boiled up in me like a storm-tossed sea. Isn't it enough that you're taking Celia? I wanted to shout. Do you have to take Mama's dresses, too? Margaret wasn't even trying to hide them. In fact, she scooped them up and held them out to me.
“I took them in and shortened the hems,” she said. “The green should look especially good on you.”
Shame flooded over me, putting out the fire of myanger. She hadn't stolen them at all. She'd altered them to fit me.
“Thank you for being my friend,” Margaret said, and I saw she was fighting back tears. “It's not everyone that gets to experience life in a lighthouse, and to have such a good teacher.”
I wanted to slink away, like a dog with its tail between its legs. I'd treated her horribly. I hadn't been a friend to her at all. But she had been one to me, and now I was losing her, too. Why was it that whenever I loved someone, they were taken from me? First Mama, and now Celia and Margaret.
“Margaret?” Papa's voice startled us both. He'd come to the doorway, but seemed afraid to come in. “There's something I'd like to ask you.”
Margaret turned toward him, and I could see she was holding her breath.
“I want you to take Quila with you,” he said.
It wasn't the question she'd been expecting and it caught her off guard. It caught me off guard, too. Papa was sending me away?
“She could tend to Celia while you're at work in the mills,” Papa went on, “and then in the evenings goto some of those lectures and concerts you've talked about.”
“Quila's welcome to come with me,” Margaret said, keeping her voice even. “But have you asked her what she wants? She's not a child anymore.”
“I know
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