How It Happened in Peach Hill by Marthe Jocelyn Read Free Book Online Page A

me, you old liar, except to show pity.
    I spent every penny Mama had given me, knowing it was a rare opportunity. I bought a tin of talcum powder from the chemist—“June Rose”—and a paintbox, and a new book called
Black Beauty
. I lingered outside the window of Laraby Jewelry & Pawn Shop, always curious to see new wares.
    But what was that? Sitting there in full view on a blue velvet tray was Mrs. Poole’s bracelet, the one we’d passed about at the séance only last Friday. I would have known it anywhere, with that plum of a ruby. What was it doing here? Had Mr. Poole sold it for some reason?
    I tried to treat myself to lunch at Bing’s Café, but Bing’s wife, Sadie, was quick to tell me, “On the house, darling, if you touch my sore knee.”
    “Happy to, ma’am. Delicious iced tea.”
    I hadn’t decided whether to tell Mama about the bracelet at Laraby’s when I burst in the front door, late in the afternoon, carelessly slamming it behind me. Mama hates a slam, especially when she’s working. This time, it brought her out of the front room with a scary smile pasted on her mouth.
    “Why, Annie, dear,” she said. “You’re home.”
    Dear? Who was with her? Not a customer, or the parlor door would have stayed shut.
    “Come in, dear,” said Mama. “There’s someone here inquiring after your health.”
    I peered into the room. It was a woman, wearing a serge suit the color of lilacs. Her hair, faded yellow, was drawn back into a bun. Her hat sat on her knees with pansies popping up all over it.
    “This is Mrs. Newman,” said Mama. I recognized the note of poison in her voice. “She is insisting that you attend school, as of tomorrow morning.”
    “It’s the law,” said Mrs. Newman. “Not a personal whim.”
    My stomach began to churn. This was Mrs. Newman? This perfectly pleasant-looking woman with the silly hat was the shark Sammy had spoken about?
    She wanted me to go to school?
    Mrs. Newman was looking at me.
    “I am overjoyed to have my child recovered,” said my mother, stroking my cheek. “But she has only been well for a matter of hours. How can you imagine she is ready to attend school? She is not yet a normal girl.”
    Mrs. Newman’s right eyebrow rose to a suspicious peak.
    “She is not educated,” Mama went on. “She has always been near me. Already the town bullies have plagued her. I fear she may have trouble if placed in a classroom with these same cruel children.”
    “Indeed, Mrs.—?”
    “Madame,” said Mama.
    “Indeed, madame. It is my job to obey the law that states that all children under the age of sixteen must attend school.Your daughter is apparently healthy and able. Her lack of learning is not a drawback but a challenge. However, you make an important point, that she is somewhat behind her peers in learning the fundamentals. She will be placed in the first grade under the instruction of Miss Carruthers and will—”
    “But I need her at home!” Mama snapped. “She is a great help to me, and—”
    “That is of no account. It is precisely to avoid the exploitation of children that the law was devised. The law states that all—”
    “Oh, pish the law,” said Mama.
    “Excuse me,” I said, so politely that even Mama stopped in surprise. “Mrs. Newman. I’ve been ill, or slow-witted, or, some say, idiotic. I’m not certain what you mean by school, exactly, but if it’s a place where I’m to learn my letters and make some friends, why, it sounds wonderful!”
    Mama snorted. I would not look at her. Mrs. Newman’s eyes narrowed to blue slits; she didn’t know she was handing me a ticket to freedom and adventure.
    “I will accompany you to school in the morning,” she said. Her gaze slid over my clothing. “You will need to look tidy and clean. Dark skirts are preferable, with a crisp blouse or trim sweater.”
    Mama actually snickered. “Crisp” and “trim” were not adjectives that applied to us.
    “I don’t have anything like that,