framed birthday squares. Her mother
had made her one for every year of her life. Rose stared at them now:
The first
was a country cottage with a black door and pink shutters with four cutout
hearts, a garden filled with lilies and roses.
The second
was a white baby basket carried over the green countryside by a red-and-yellow
hot-air balloon.
The third
was a blue station wagon parked among snow-laden pine trees, with four
golden-eyed owls hidden in the dark branches.
The fourth
was a carousel with whales instead of horses.
The fifth
was fish flying through the sky and birds swimming underwater.
The sixth
was nighttime, with the spruce tree in their backyard decorated for Christmas,
with hearts instead of bulbs, and real stars instead of lights.
The seventh
was the same cottage as the first square, but shrunken down to the size of a
doll’s house … with a blue door instead of a black door … and with a hot-air
balloon lifting it up, carrying it out to sea.
The eighth
showed a group of girls and women, all wearing hats and heavy coats, warming
their hands by a fire on the snowy, rocky shoreline while a white whale
frolicked in the foreground; there were Rose and her mother, Cindy, Marlena,
Nanny, and all the Nanouk Girls of the Frozen North. Rose recognized all the
figures except two women off to the side … her mother had told her that they
were her grandmother and great-grandmother.
The ninth …
well, Rose knew that her mother was busy stitching the ninth one right now.
Rose closed her eyes, wishing … . She knew how terribly
much her mother loved her. Even though she was only almost nine, she knew that
her mother sometimes hurt with loving her so much. Having such a fragile heart
made Rose feel certain things more than normal. Her skin would tingle, as if a
cool breeze were starting to blow, and she’d be filled with other people’s
dreams and words, as if their hearts were talking directly to hers.
Not
everyone, but some. Nanny, for instance. Rose had
always been able to read Nanny’s mind. She could feel her joy and curiosity,
her power and strength. And Rose’s mother; Rose always knew when her mother was
happy or sad, tired or, especially, worried—worried about Rose. Like now,
waiting for her surgery, planning the trip to Boston—it was almost all her
mother could think about, even with the birthday square to finish and the party
to get ready for. But Rose wasn’t tuned in to either of them, or even to
Jessica, another kindred heart spirit.
Dr. Neill.
She couldn’t stop thinking of him. It was funny. At bad times, whenever she
needed him, there he was. He had knelt with her down by the stone fisherman,
holding her hand and letting her know she wasn’t alone. Rose knew that if she
had a father, that’s what he would have done. He would have stayed with her and
held her. He would take care of her.
Dr. Neill
was so big. He had put his arm around her for a minute, when she was the most
scared, when she felt the most unable to breathe. Rose closed her eyes and
almost swooned. She wanted a father to hold and love her. All her friends had
fathers—even Jessica, whose father was a stepfather; it didn’t matter.
Rose felt
her heart beating through her green T-shirt. She wished and wished for her
heart to be whole again. She had a mother who loved her; if only she had a
father too. All the birthday squares, all the parties, all the surgeries in the
world couldn’t do for her what that would do.
Why
wouldn’t her mother let Dr. Neill come to her party? Even if she didn’t like
him—and Rose wasn’t dumb, she knew that her mother did like him, deep down—shouldn’t Rose be allowed to invite him
anyway? Even though the other kids were scared of his artificial arm, even
though they called him Captain Hook, Rose loved him. She knew that if she had a
father, he would be just like Dr. Neill.
He would
love whales, dolphins, and even sharks. He would not give up, just because one
part of his body
had made her one for every year of her life. Rose stared at them now:
The first
was a country cottage with a black door and pink shutters with four cutout
hearts, a garden filled with lilies and roses.
The second
was a white baby basket carried over the green countryside by a red-and-yellow
hot-air balloon.
The third
was a blue station wagon parked among snow-laden pine trees, with four
golden-eyed owls hidden in the dark branches.
The fourth
was a carousel with whales instead of horses.
The fifth
was fish flying through the sky and birds swimming underwater.
The sixth
was nighttime, with the spruce tree in their backyard decorated for Christmas,
with hearts instead of bulbs, and real stars instead of lights.
The seventh
was the same cottage as the first square, but shrunken down to the size of a
doll’s house … with a blue door instead of a black door … and with a hot-air
balloon lifting it up, carrying it out to sea.
The eighth
showed a group of girls and women, all wearing hats and heavy coats, warming
their hands by a fire on the snowy, rocky shoreline while a white whale
frolicked in the foreground; there were Rose and her mother, Cindy, Marlena,
Nanny, and all the Nanouk Girls of the Frozen North. Rose recognized all the
figures except two women off to the side … her mother had told her that they
were her grandmother and great-grandmother.
The ninth …
well, Rose knew that her mother was busy stitching the ninth one right now.
Rose closed her eyes, wishing … . She knew how terribly
much her mother loved her. Even though she was only almost nine, she knew that
her mother sometimes hurt with loving her so much. Having such a fragile heart
made Rose feel certain things more than normal. Her skin would tingle, as if a
cool breeze were starting to blow, and she’d be filled with other people’s
dreams and words, as if their hearts were talking directly to hers.
Not
everyone, but some. Nanny, for instance. Rose had
always been able to read Nanny’s mind. She could feel her joy and curiosity,
her power and strength. And Rose’s mother; Rose always knew when her mother was
happy or sad, tired or, especially, worried—worried about Rose. Like now,
waiting for her surgery, planning the trip to Boston—it was almost all her
mother could think about, even with the birthday square to finish and the party
to get ready for. But Rose wasn’t tuned in to either of them, or even to
Jessica, another kindred heart spirit.
Dr. Neill.
She couldn’t stop thinking of him. It was funny. At bad times, whenever she
needed him, there he was. He had knelt with her down by the stone fisherman,
holding her hand and letting her know she wasn’t alone. Rose knew that if she
had a father, that’s what he would have done. He would have stayed with her and
held her. He would take care of her.
Dr. Neill
was so big. He had put his arm around her for a minute, when she was the most
scared, when she felt the most unable to breathe. Rose closed her eyes and
almost swooned. She wanted a father to hold and love her. All her friends had
fathers—even Jessica, whose father was a stepfather; it didn’t matter.
Rose felt
her heart beating through her green T-shirt. She wished and wished for her
heart to be whole again. She had a mother who loved her; if only she had a
father too. All the birthday squares, all the parties, all the surgeries in the
world couldn’t do for her what that would do.
Why
wouldn’t her mother let Dr. Neill come to her party? Even if she didn’t like
him—and Rose wasn’t dumb, she knew that her mother did like him, deep down—shouldn’t Rose be allowed to invite him
anyway? Even though the other kids were scared of his artificial arm, even
though they called him Captain Hook, Rose loved him. She knew that if she had a
father, he would be just like Dr. Neill.
He would
love whales, dolphins, and even sharks. He would not give up, just because one
part of his body
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