that,” Miss Robbin told me, “all of us have things we don’t see. I would guess, Hannah, that you see some things people with perfectly good eyes don’t.”
“We’ve never pretended to Hannah that she was like other children,” Mama said. “We believe in facing up to facts.”
“Oh, but surely, Mrs. Thomas, Hannah is like other children.”
“No, she’s not. I don’t say there’s anything bad about her, mind you. She’s good company for me when the other children are away at school and Mr. Thomas is out in the fields. I couldn’t ask for better. She can make up a story right out of her head that you wouldn’t believe.”
“I suppose you would miss her if she went to school?” Miss Robbin asked. For a moment I got so excited by the thought of being able to go to school, my breath stopped.
“Well, she’s not going to go,” Mama said. And for the first time I wondered if Mama was keeping me home from school because I wouldn’t do well there or because she just wanted me for herself.
I got to sit next to Miss Robbin at Sunday dinner. She smelled of something nice. It wasn’t strong like the perfume Mama kept in a little bottle on her dresser and neverused. It was more like fresh lemonade. Mama went to a lot of trouble to make a good dinner for Miss Robbin. “I don’t want the teacher telling other families she doesn’t get a decent meal here,” Mama said. We had all my favorite things: roast chicken and mashed potatoes with lots of gravy, and biscuits. For dessert there was apple pie sweetened with maple sugar from our own sugarbush. Mama cut my meat for me. When I heard the milk jug being passed around, I held my mug out so Mama could pour for me.
“I’ll show you how to pour your own milk, Hannah,” Miss Robbin said.
“She’ll only make a mess of it,” said Mama.
But Miss Robbin told me to put my finger inside my mug. “Here is the pitcher, Hannah. Just pour very slowly until you feel the milk with your finger. Then stop right away.”
Everyone was quiet. I knew they were watching me, and I worried about spilling the milk. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of making Mama angry with me but that I didn’t want her to be angry with Miss Robbin. I poured as carefully as I could, and as soon as I felt the cold milk on my finger, I stopped and held out the pitcher for someone to take.
“Very good,” said Miss Robbin. Her words sounded a little strange. In our house no one praised you for doing something right. It was just expected of you. Miss Robbin had nice things to say about Mama’s cooking too. “Mrs. Thomas, this chicken is so tender, I can cut it with my fork. And I’ve never tasted lighter biscuits. If I didn’t keep my hand on them, I think they would float right up to the ceiling.”
Johnny giggled. I could tell by the way Mama insisted that the chicken was stringy and the potatoes lumpy and the biscuits too well done—none of which was true—that she was pleased. The more you said nice things to Mama, the more she fought them off.
After dinner Miss Robin said, “I ate so much, I can hardly take a breath. I’ll have to walk some of that delicious dinner off. Hannah, will you come with me?”
I jumped up eagerly. It wasn’t often that someone asked me to walk with them. They usually got tired of holding my hand and telling me to look out for things.
“I don’t know that it’s healthy to take a walk after a big meal,” Mama said. I began to feel Mama and Miss Robin were each pulling at me from different sides. I wasn’t sure I liked being in the middle.
“Nonsense,” Papa said. “I go out and plow a field after a big dinner six days a week.” I could have hugged him.
3
I knew the sun was shining, because I could feel its warmth like a wool shawl all along my arms and shoulders. There were no leaves under my feet, so I guessed they were still on the oak trees. Soon they would fall. Already I could hear the acorns dropping on our roof. “Why don’t
“We’ve never pretended to Hannah that she was like other children,” Mama said. “We believe in facing up to facts.”
“Oh, but surely, Mrs. Thomas, Hannah is like other children.”
“No, she’s not. I don’t say there’s anything bad about her, mind you. She’s good company for me when the other children are away at school and Mr. Thomas is out in the fields. I couldn’t ask for better. She can make up a story right out of her head that you wouldn’t believe.”
“I suppose you would miss her if she went to school?” Miss Robbin asked. For a moment I got so excited by the thought of being able to go to school, my breath stopped.
“Well, she’s not going to go,” Mama said. And for the first time I wondered if Mama was keeping me home from school because I wouldn’t do well there or because she just wanted me for herself.
I got to sit next to Miss Robbin at Sunday dinner. She smelled of something nice. It wasn’t strong like the perfume Mama kept in a little bottle on her dresser and neverused. It was more like fresh lemonade. Mama went to a lot of trouble to make a good dinner for Miss Robbin. “I don’t want the teacher telling other families she doesn’t get a decent meal here,” Mama said. We had all my favorite things: roast chicken and mashed potatoes with lots of gravy, and biscuits. For dessert there was apple pie sweetened with maple sugar from our own sugarbush. Mama cut my meat for me. When I heard the milk jug being passed around, I held my mug out so Mama could pour for me.
“I’ll show you how to pour your own milk, Hannah,” Miss Robbin said.
“She’ll only make a mess of it,” said Mama.
But Miss Robbin told me to put my finger inside my mug. “Here is the pitcher, Hannah. Just pour very slowly until you feel the milk with your finger. Then stop right away.”
Everyone was quiet. I knew they were watching me, and I worried about spilling the milk. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of making Mama angry with me but that I didn’t want her to be angry with Miss Robbin. I poured as carefully as I could, and as soon as I felt the cold milk on my finger, I stopped and held out the pitcher for someone to take.
“Very good,” said Miss Robbin. Her words sounded a little strange. In our house no one praised you for doing something right. It was just expected of you. Miss Robbin had nice things to say about Mama’s cooking too. “Mrs. Thomas, this chicken is so tender, I can cut it with my fork. And I’ve never tasted lighter biscuits. If I didn’t keep my hand on them, I think they would float right up to the ceiling.”
Johnny giggled. I could tell by the way Mama insisted that the chicken was stringy and the potatoes lumpy and the biscuits too well done—none of which was true—that she was pleased. The more you said nice things to Mama, the more she fought them off.
After dinner Miss Robin said, “I ate so much, I can hardly take a breath. I’ll have to walk some of that delicious dinner off. Hannah, will you come with me?”
I jumped up eagerly. It wasn’t often that someone asked me to walk with them. They usually got tired of holding my hand and telling me to look out for things.
“I don’t know that it’s healthy to take a walk after a big meal,” Mama said. I began to feel Mama and Miss Robin were each pulling at me from different sides. I wasn’t sure I liked being in the middle.
“Nonsense,” Papa said. “I go out and plow a field after a big dinner six days a week.” I could have hugged him.
3
I knew the sun was shining, because I could feel its warmth like a wool shawl all along my arms and shoulders. There were no leaves under my feet, so I guessed they were still on the oak trees. Soon they would fall. Already I could hear the acorns dropping on our roof. “Why don’t
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