Mitzi says it takes time to be perfect.”
I don’t have time to say another word. There’s a shadow in the doorway. I let out a chilling scream.
Cassie screams, too.
“Aaaaa!”
I reach for her, but Joey says, “What’s the matter with you two?”
For a moment we just stare at him. Then Cassie’s arm goes straight out, pointing at me. “Rachel’s afraid of the dark. She’s afraid of anything that moves.” And then she raises one shoulder. “Me too,” she says in a small voice.
Just those two words and I forget that we’re always arguing. I want to put my arms around her.
“I have an idea,” Joey says. “We could go back to sleeping in the living room.”
And that’s what we do. In the dark, we drag the mattresses out of the bedrooms and push them down the stairs. They bump along halfway and we have to give them another shove to get them to the bottom.
It’s not easy, but we don’t care. We’re all glad to be sleeping here together.
I miss you, Pop.
Dear Miss Mitzi
,
We are sleeping on the living room floor now. Early this morning I awoke, listening to sounds: Cassie breathing, and Joey snorting a little
.
I could look out the window and see hundreds of stars
.
Pop said there’s life outside. And when it was almost light, I heard a red-winged blackbird chirping. He was saying: “Talk to me, talk to me.”
In my head, I told him that without school, I won’t have any important words. I told him how terrible it was not to go to the library for books. I said, too, that we can’t even write to Pop yet. We don’t know where he is
.
That reminded me of the night last winter when we went up on your apartment roof. You showed us the Milky Way, which looked just like a path of milk across the sky. We saw the Big Dipper and the North Star. Pop told us that sailors in the olden days used that star to guide them, because it always pointed north. “It was almost like reading,” he said
.
“I’m glad we have books,” you told him. “It’s too cold to be outside reading stars.”
We laughed as we went downstairs and had hot chocolate and sugar cookies
.
Do you remember that night, Miss Mitzi? Sometimes when I remember happy things, it makes me sad
.
Love
,
Rachel
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On Thursday a week later, I tiptoe into the kitchen before Joey and Cassie are awake. I want to check on the eggs. We’ve learned how to manage the fireplace so the fire never goes out. Inside the eggs, the growing chicks must feel toasty warm.
I bend over them and check the Xs we’ve marked on each one so we can tell which side is up. We’ve been careful to turn them five times every day. Maybe they get tired of lying on their backs or their stomachs.
“Come out,” I tell them. “See the world. I have names for you: Abigail, Betsy, Constance—”
Joey rustles around in the living room. I close my mouth. This talking aloud to myself has got to stop. “Gladys,” I whisper, my nose an inch above the eggs.
But right now I have other things in mind. I pull on my coat, wind my woolly scarf around my neck, and cut a slice of bread. I bite off chunks that are rock hard. They take a long time to soften in my mouth.
Out front, I flip open the mailbox even though I know it’s still too early for mail. A tan spider has moved in; he’s spinning a poor-looking web that waves out to nowhere. Maybe even spiders are feeling the Depression.
I start down the road, swiveling my head back and forth; on one side are the trees, still bare; on the other side is our field. Pop has money in a mayonnaise jar for seed so he can plant corn when he comes back.
I’m enjoying the view, but I look for Clarence, of course, and I keep my eyes open for mountain lions.
Nothing to fear.
There’s something I want to see up close. It’s a really long walk, but I want to see this place alone, in all its faded glory.
I love that.
Faded glory
.
And there it is, up ahead.
The Warren Harding School.
“Hello,” I whisper. It’s
I don’t have time to say another word. There’s a shadow in the doorway. I let out a chilling scream.
Cassie screams, too.
“Aaaaa!”
I reach for her, but Joey says, “What’s the matter with you two?”
For a moment we just stare at him. Then Cassie’s arm goes straight out, pointing at me. “Rachel’s afraid of the dark. She’s afraid of anything that moves.” And then she raises one shoulder. “Me too,” she says in a small voice.
Just those two words and I forget that we’re always arguing. I want to put my arms around her.
“I have an idea,” Joey says. “We could go back to sleeping in the living room.”
And that’s what we do. In the dark, we drag the mattresses out of the bedrooms and push them down the stairs. They bump along halfway and we have to give them another shove to get them to the bottom.
It’s not easy, but we don’t care. We’re all glad to be sleeping here together.
I miss you, Pop.
Dear Miss Mitzi
,
We are sleeping on the living room floor now. Early this morning I awoke, listening to sounds: Cassie breathing, and Joey snorting a little
.
I could look out the window and see hundreds of stars
.
Pop said there’s life outside. And when it was almost light, I heard a red-winged blackbird chirping. He was saying: “Talk to me, talk to me.”
In my head, I told him that without school, I won’t have any important words. I told him how terrible it was not to go to the library for books. I said, too, that we can’t even write to Pop yet. We don’t know where he is
.
That reminded me of the night last winter when we went up on your apartment roof. You showed us the Milky Way, which looked just like a path of milk across the sky. We saw the Big Dipper and the North Star. Pop told us that sailors in the olden days used that star to guide them, because it always pointed north. “It was almost like reading,” he said
.
“I’m glad we have books,” you told him. “It’s too cold to be outside reading stars.”
We laughed as we went downstairs and had hot chocolate and sugar cookies
.
Do you remember that night, Miss Mitzi? Sometimes when I remember happy things, it makes me sad
.
Love
,
Rachel
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On Thursday a week later, I tiptoe into the kitchen before Joey and Cassie are awake. I want to check on the eggs. We’ve learned how to manage the fireplace so the fire never goes out. Inside the eggs, the growing chicks must feel toasty warm.
I bend over them and check the Xs we’ve marked on each one so we can tell which side is up. We’ve been careful to turn them five times every day. Maybe they get tired of lying on their backs or their stomachs.
“Come out,” I tell them. “See the world. I have names for you: Abigail, Betsy, Constance—”
Joey rustles around in the living room. I close my mouth. This talking aloud to myself has got to stop. “Gladys,” I whisper, my nose an inch above the eggs.
But right now I have other things in mind. I pull on my coat, wind my woolly scarf around my neck, and cut a slice of bread. I bite off chunks that are rock hard. They take a long time to soften in my mouth.
Out front, I flip open the mailbox even though I know it’s still too early for mail. A tan spider has moved in; he’s spinning a poor-looking web that waves out to nowhere. Maybe even spiders are feeling the Depression.
I start down the road, swiveling my head back and forth; on one side are the trees, still bare; on the other side is our field. Pop has money in a mayonnaise jar for seed so he can plant corn when he comes back.
I’m enjoying the view, but I look for Clarence, of course, and I keep my eyes open for mountain lions.
Nothing to fear.
There’s something I want to see up close. It’s a really long walk, but I want to see this place alone, in all its faded glory.
I love that.
Faded glory
.
And there it is, up ahead.
The Warren Harding School.
“Hello,” I whisper. It’s
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