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

have some?”
    â€œYou don’t have adjustments; you make them.”
    â€œCould we make some?”
    â€œWe already have. We’ve adjusted a lot to Willie’s coming.
    â€œBut that didn’t have to do with money,” Anna puts in.
    I think about that.
    â€œWell, it did in a way. If I hadn’t stayed home, we would have had to hire help to look after Willie and Mama.”
    â€œSo you kept money from going out?”
    â€œSort of.”
    â€œLike the boy at the dike.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat’s a story we heard at school,” Anna explains. “But he was keeping the water out, Helen, out of the village.”
    â€œAnd in the sea,” Helen insists. “Like the money. Mandy’s been keeping the money in.”
    I wish I’d thought of that. Somehow it makes me feel a lot better.
    â€œYou girls get ready for bed,” Mama calls.
    I start to help Helen out of her dress.
    â€œI can do it myself now,” she says. “Since Willie, my arms are longer.”
    Mine, too, I guess. But I hadn’t even noticed I’d quit helping her. Why didn’t Anna do it?
    Anna’s got her dress off, her gown on, and has jumped into bed.
    â€œAnna, get up and brush your hair. And your teeth.”
    â€œI’m too tired.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.”
    â€œYour teeth will fall out and get stuck in your hair,” Helen warns.
    You can tell she’s been to school.
    Anna rolls out of bed and does what’s needed. We’re all about settled when Mama appears at the door.
    â€œCome into the kitchen a minute, Amanda.”
    I climb out of the warm bed, stone cold. I half expect to see every china chip laid out on the table, a note written in blood beside it: You must put it back together by morning or die.
    But this isn’t a fairy tale. Daddy is seated at the work table drinking coffee. Mama motions me to have a seat.
    â€œMandy,” Daddy begins—he never calls me Amanda, no matter how serious things get—“your mother and I appreciate all your work since Willie came. We know it’s not been easy. You’re the only child I’ve got who would grieve missing school, and you’re the one who’s had to do it. …”
    He pauses and Mama goes on.
    â€œSo now that I’m better—”
    â€œYou mean I can go back to school?”
    I blurt this out from excitement and relief.
    â€œAfter Christmas, yes,” Mama continues, “but before that we have a present for you.”
    A present? The first thing I think of is the ring Mama ordered. It seems years ago and I’d forgotten all about it. But I don’t want a ring, not with money like it is.
    â€œYou like trains, don’t you?” Daddy says, as if to fill up the silence.
    â€œSure.” But they can’t be going to give me a toy train. I don’t know what to do. They’re both looking at me.
    â€œOmie’s invited you to come to Memphis,” Mama says. “It’s your Christmas present. And we’d like to let you go.”
    I can’t believe it.
    â€œYou mean on the train?”
    Daddy nods.
    â€œBy myself?”
    It’s all I can do to keep from saying: Without Willie?
    â€œJust you,” Mama confirms. “A week and a half to visit and see the sights.”
    â€œAnd describe that baby to your grandmother,” Daddy adds. “She wants an eye-witness.”
    I smile. “Are you sure its all right? I mean…”
    â€œWell, we wouldn’t be ready to spare you tomorrow,” Mama admits. “But I’m stronger every day, and in another week—”
    â€œBut I’ll be there at Christmas!”
    â€œThat’s right,” Daddy says. “You can ride streetcars hung with holly.”
    â€œAnd eat Mama’s plum pudding.”
    And miss yours, I think. And miss Willie looking at the
    tree.
    â€œI don’t think she wants to go,” Daddy