Sleeping Beauty by Judith Michael Page B

cross-legged on the bed beside him, gazing at the black square of her window and the tree branch that lay against it, faintly illuminated by the lamp beside her bed. There were small green leaves on the branch, new and glossy in the April breeze. When Vince had first come to her room, months earlier, the leaves were large and deep green. She had watched them turn red and then russet, and she had watched them fall. They had held on as if greatly afraid, until a gust of wind or a rainstorm had torn them off and sent them spinning to the ground, where the gardeners raked them up. The branch stayed dark and bare for months, except when snowstorms outlined each twig with a slender coat of white that sparkled in the next day’s sun, a brief beauty that vanished when the snow melted, leaving the branch naked again, waiting for the spring.
    Anne was getting to know all the seasons by heart just by looking through her window while she waited for Vince to leave.
    Lying on her bed, eyes closed, he nodded toward his jacket, on her chaise. “Your birthday present, little girl. I didn’t give you one at dinner; did you notice?”
    â€œI thought maybe you’d decided you’d given me enough already.”
    His eyes flew open and he looked closely at her to see if she was being sarcastic. But Anne returned his look, her eyes wide and clear. It was a look he trusted. He smiled. “A woman never thinks she has enough, sweetheart. You’ll learn that soon enough. Now open your present.”
    Anne found the small box and sat on the chaise as she lifted the lid. Nestled inside was a gold and enamel Raggedy Ann lapel pin. She looked at it for a long moment. “It’s been a long time since I had a Raggedy Ann doll,” she said at last. “You must have looked for it for a long time.”
    â€œIt reminded me of you. Something about those big eyes, seeing everything.” Vince propped himself up on another pillow. “What did you do today?”
    Anne laid the pin on her dressing table and returned to sitbeside him on the bed. This was the time when she was supposed to entertain him with stories. “We had a history test, and part of it was to explain what history is. So I said it was like cooking. You take a whole bunch of things that are there for a long time with nothing happening, and then all of a sudden they get put together in a new way and you get a war. Or a gold rush. Or a revolution and a new constitution and a whole new country. If I ever saw a bunch of those things early enough, I’d like to add more heat and see what happens.”
    â€œWhat do you think would happen?” he asked, amused.
    â€œSomething really terrible that would destroy everything. It could blow up, like a pressure cooker, and everything gets splattered on the ceiling. Or it could be like a cake. When you add too much heat, it collapses.”
    Eyes closed, he smiled. “What else did you do?”
    â€œPlayed softball. There’s a new pitcher, a girl who just moved here, and she started by striking everybody out.”
    â€œIncluding you?”
    â€œThe first time. She’s very tall and has a boy’s haircut, and she’s got incredible muscles, so I figured her father wanted a son and got her instead and he’s bringing her up like a boy. So I thought she’d probably think like a boy, too, and after she struck us out once she’d feel superior to all of us, as if we’re timid and female, and then she’d get careless. And she did. And I hit a home run.”
    Vince was watching her now. “What a pleasure to see that little mind of yours at work,” he said softly. “And those big eyes that do see everything. Did your team win?”
    â€œOne to nothing. She concentrated more after I got my home run. She’s really awfully good.” She paused. “That’s all that happened at school; the rest was infinitely dull, as usual. They’re so slow