Water Steps by A. LaFaye Page A

could. Gram’s only brother died in the Vietnam War, and she didn’t have any other children besides my dad. And Mom was an orphan like me. At least I had Mem and Pep, and now an aunt. Even one as grouchy as Aunt Rosien was a good thing.
    â€œGlory to the stars,” Aunt Rosien smiled and patted her knee. “Now that’s a fine story.” She looked at Mem who came to the table with her tea.
    â€œAnd it’s true,” Mem said, smiling.
    â€œEven better.”
    I smiled to see that Aunt Rosien salted her tea like Mem and Pep did.
    Stirring a little sugar into my cup, I asked, “So, did Mem rescue any animals?”
    Rosien’s face stretched into a smile of surprise. “Now how’d you know she did that?”
    An animal shows up in our yard and Mem finds it
a home whether it has wings, fur, or scales. She even found a home for a blind, albino squirrel. With a record like that, she would’ve had to start young.
    Mem blew on her tea, saying, “She doesn’t need to hear any of that.”
    â€œOh?” Rosien asked, then nudged me saying, “Your mem would’ve started her own zoo for all the critters she dragged in—otters, seagulls, even brought home a three-legged turtle.”
    I laughed, imagining Mem, all pigtails and pretty dresses, dragging home one animal after another. Leave it to Mem to be bringing home sea critters. I bet she combed every beach, the way she loved the water.
    â€œAye, our Mem thought Itha wanted a wee baby to care for, so she had our brother, Shannon.”
    â€œA boy named Shannon?” I had an uncle?
    â€œWasn’t no name for a girl till you Yanks started messing with it.”
    Felt like I should apologize, but I said, “Where’s Shannon now?”
    â€œIreland,” Mem jumped in, all smiles. “Lad’s studying to be an oceanographer.”
    â€œCool . . .” Wow an uncle too? Man, I might even have a couple cousins, but they probably love the water like the rest of the clan.

    Rosien grumbled into her tea, but Mem quickly said, “And what I’d like Rosien to tell us is how she made that jumper she’s wearing.” Mem gave it a tug. A mossy green, it hung low at the cuffs and had a loose weave that made it “drape,” as Mem called it. What I’d like to know is why anyone would want a jumper that looked like drapes? It’s not like you’d hang it in a window, right?
    Besides, I wanted to know more about Mem’s family, not how to knit. But Mem brought out the yarn and the two of them set to clicking their needles and chattering in Irish, laughing and teasing until I felt about as useful as a toe next to a thumb. Right about then, I decided it would be good to try my hand at mapping a few of the trails through the woods around the house. If I did a good enough job, made my own signs to mark the trails, maybe even cleared a trail or two of my own, I might just be able to finish that Get With the Land project after all.
    But I didn’t get much further than a few squiggly lines, because I kept thinking about little girl Mem traipsing home with her wee found pets. Why couldn’t she share her true stories with me? Just ‘cause it’s true doesn’t mean a real story could hurt me. Could it?

HAIR
    W hen I came back that evening and saw the two of them still sitting at the table, I figured Mem and her sister had worked out a little truce over their knitting. But their battle resumed when Aunt Rosien left. They’d been talking about recipes when they walked out of the kitchen. Then I heard Aunt Rosien say, “Well, you know, Itha, it’s a duty, not a vacation attraction. You can’t just come up here to enjoy yourself for a while, then leave.”
    â€œI’m well aware of my duties, Rosien.”
    I tried to keep cleaning up the kitchen, but the anger in Mem’s voice froze me still. Besides, Mem spoke true. A Sierra Club president