Borrowed Children by George Ella Lyon Read Free Book Online Page A

read.
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    Tuesday now and still no mention of the gravy boat. Mamas stronger, doing a little more each day. And she studies me on the sly whatever we’re doing. I catch her at it. Does she want to get out of the way in case I throw something else?
    Right now Doc Bailey’s here to look at Willie.
    â€œThis boy’s not sick,” he says. “Just immature digestion.”
    But Mama worries. “I’m afraid it’s because I’ve neglected him.”
    â€œHogwash!” Doc Bailey tells her. “He’d have colic if you’d been sitting by him day and night. I’ll give you some syrup to soothe him. You don’t have any business being up all hours.”
    â€œIts Mandy who gets up.”
    â€œOr Mandy either.” He turns to me. “You’re getting your motherhood early.” The way he says it makes it sound like something I could wear.
    He opens his worn bag, with its shelves of pills and liquids, and pulls out a bottle of something green as grass.
    â€œThis should do the trick.” He hands it to Mama. “Let me know and I’ll write a prescription if you need more.”
    We thank him, feeling a little shamefaced since Willie has been quiet as an egg ever since he came. Just smiled and waved his hands when the doctor felt his belly.
    â€œThat’s the way it goes,” Mama says after Doc Bailey is gone. “Five minutes with a doctor can cure a child—till the doctor leaves.”
    And she’s right. Willie wails again as soon as she feeds him, knees drawn up, face tight as a fist. And we can’t give him the medicine till bedtime. But when we do, it works like a charm. For me that means the first real sleep since the Skidmores’.
    I wake up before dawn in a panic. Willie! I run into Mama’s room, my heart loud as thunder. The tiny back under the crib quilt rises and falls. Mama is a big ball in bed. And I am as awake as I’ll ever be. Feeling foolish, I put on the coffee and take up the book.
    Now while the birds sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor’s sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief…
    It isn’t ten minutes till Willie cries. I go in as usual to change him before giving him to Mama, but she’s already up, crooning to him.
    â€œThis boy slept all night!” she proclaims, happy as Christmas. Willie stares at her face like a great light.
    I try to be glad. I am glad about the sleeping, but I feel useless. I thought it was me Willie needed.
    â€œWe’re fine here,” Mama says. “You start breakfast.”
    Anybody’d rather hold a baby than cook.
    The rest of the day and the week are like that, too: Mama gaining strength and taking over. Not enough for me to go to school, but enough to talk about it. Yet no one does. Is that my punishment?
    It’s Friday night now, and Mama and Daddy are figuring. Given all that’s happened with Willie, I’d forgotten about the mill, forgotten to worry. Tonight Helen asks Daddy about the big ledger book.
    â€œYou’re doing your books,” she says. “What are you studying?
    â€œHow money disappears.”
    â€œAre you a scholar?”
    â€œNo, honey. Just a Professor of Hard Times.”
    She stares at him.
    â€œI wish I were a scholar,” he says. “It’s going to take some research to figure out how to make ends meet.”
    Mama signals for us to go to our room.
    Once down the hall, Helen continues her questions. “Ends of what?”
    â€œHe means we’re poor,” Anna offers.
    â€œThe whole country is poor right now, not just Perritts.”
    â€œWho’s going to meet their end?”
    â€œNo, no, that’s not what he’s talking about. He means making the money which comes in equal the money that goes out. Having a balance.”
    â€œHow can he do that?”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure. It takes adjustments.”
    â€œOh. Do we