Nightingale by Susan May Warren Read Free Book Online Page B

naught.
    Regards,
    Peter

    â€œâ€˜Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole and shut his eyes.’”
    Sadie placed her hand over the page before Esther could turn it. “I want to live in a rabbit hole, mama!”
    â€œBut you’re not a rabbit, silly. And we have a pretty bed, with your pretty daisy quilt Grandmother made you.”
    Sadie looked up at her and wrinkled her nose. Again. Then she took her pudgy fingers and mashed them to her nose, pushing it around.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œI’m being a rabbit.”
    Esther kissed her on her nose, then her cheek, inhaling her fresh-washed scent. Her tawny ringlets sprang from her head as they dried. Esther could stay right here, Sadie pocketed in her lap, forever. Just she and Sadie, chasing Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit and eating bread and milk and blackberries with Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail.
    Dusk had already settled upon the town, a haze of gray laden with the drizzle of a somnolent storm. She didn’t relish her walk to work. Perhaps she should drag her bicycle out of the shed. One of these days, they might loosen the rations and she would borrow Linus’s roadster.
    Or perhaps not.
    â€œYou’re a very pretty rabbit.” Esther tapped Sadie on her nose then poked a finger in her tummy. Sadie doubled over with giggles.
    She finished the story then scooped Sadie up and set her on one side of the double bed, rolling back the covers and then tucking her in, down one side, then the other.
    â€œWhy do you tuck me in like a sammich, Mama?”
    â€œIt’s what my mama did for me. So you’ll be warm and toasty all night.” She kissed Sadie on the forehead, grabbed Peter, and snuggled the flop-eared rabbit next to her pillow.
    She hated leaving Sadie in the attic every night, but with Bertha’s room at the foot of the stairs, at least the housekeeper could hear her daughter’s cries, should she awaken. Esther had made the attic as homey as possible—a bouquet of lilacs in a milk-glass vase on the bedside table, a throw carpet with a basket of dolls for Sadie when the judge demanded quiet in the rooms outside his den, and an old rocking chair where Esther had spent her most cherished hours, Sadie at her breast, believing in redemption.
    â€œSweet dreams, Peanut. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
    She got up, but Sadie reached out of her cocoon and fisted her sleeve. “Mama? Is my daddy coming back?”
    Esther sat back on the side of the bed. Pressed her daughter’s curls from her cherub face, running them through her fingers. Oh, to have such curls, not have to wear rags to bed. “Why?” See, she managed to keep her voice soft, without the blemish of fear.
    â€œGrandmother said so. That he would come home soon, and that Bertha will make bread pudding.”
    â€œOf course she will. You love Bertha’s bread pudding, don’t you?”
    Sadie grinned, her baby teeth rickrack in her mouth. Nodded.
    â€œI hope so, Sadie.” Except her throat burned when she said it. She swallowed it back, found her truth in Sadie’s blue eyes. “I hope he comes home real soon.”
    â€œMe too.” Sadie grabbed Peter and pulled the rabbit to her chest. “Leave the light on.”
    Esther pressed another kiss to Sadie’s forehead, lingering for a moment, longing to crawl in beside her, spoon her tiny, sweet body against her own.
I hope he comes home real soon
. For a moment, one she savored, those words didn’t burn. Yes, she could imagine Linus here, beside her, tucking in Sadie, perhaps capturing her hand, smiling down at her.
    Sadie should have been my child.
    Rosemary’s serrated voice tore through her.
    Of course. The minute the words spat from Rosemary’s mouth, the barbs and shadowed glances