The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt by Patricia MacLachlan Read Free Book Online Page B

over the typewriter keys. There were several other letters on the table.
    Dear Mrs. Pratt,
    I love all your books but one.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Please write back,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Emma Jane Van Winkle
    Dear Mrs. Pratt,
    My dog, Frank, ate page 27 of your book A Day in the Life of Petunia . Did I miss much?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Respectfully yours,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Tuli Kiplinger
    Dear Mrs. Pratt,
    Do you ever get ideas from your children? My mother says she gets lots of ideas from me. If you need some ideas I’m sure she will send them to you.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Best regards to your family and to your pet (if you have one),
    Maurice Choi
    P.S. My lizard, Lurlene, died yesterday.
    Answers, answers. Questions and answers. Do you get ideas from your family? Writers have all the answers. Minna stared at the typewriter. It was quiet in the mess. Peace among the socks. Very carefully, Minna removed her mother’s letter about typewriters and moths and put in a fresh sheet of paper. She thought a moment, her fingers frozen above the keys. Dear Mama. No. She took a breath. And then, with two fingers, very slowly, she began to type.
    Dear Mrs. Pratt,
    A door slammed. The front door. It was the exuberant sound of her mother returning. Her mother had never been known to close a door quietly. How much time had gone by? Quickly Minna rolled the letter to her mother out of the typewriter, folded it, and put it safely in her pocket.
    Downstairs in the kitchen, Emily Parmalee washed dishes, the suds up to her elbows. Minna’s mother was unloading books from her book bag. McGrew was reading his science report to them.
    â€œThe beaver,” he read, “uses his teeth for several reasons. One, to eat trees. Two, because of nervous energy. Last and least, to shine his teeth. Shiny teeth are highly valued in the beaver community.”
    Emily Parmalee and Minna’s mother burst into laughter.
    â€œWhere did you get those facts?” asked Emily, scratching her nose and leaving a spot of suds there. “Did you interview a beaver?”
    â€œI made them up,” said McGrew, looking pleased. “What do you think?”
    â€œMcGrew, you can’t make up facts!” Minna protested. She thought of Imelda’s facts. The researched facts. The truths . “Made-up facts are not true,” she said, exasperated.
    Minna’s mother leaned the broom against the wall and folded her arms.
    â€œBut Mama makes up facts,” said McGrew. “In her books. I can, too.”
    â€œThat’s fiction!” said Minna, her voice rising. “It’s not true!”
    â€œIt’s about people and feelings and places,” said McGrew, “and all those things are true.”
    Minna thought suddenly about the sign over her mother’s desk. FACT AND FICTION ARE DIFFERENT TRUTHS . She thought about the letter folded in her pocket, full of feelings and facts about the person who was truly Minna Pratt though the letter could not be signed by her. “Truths, untruths; facts, fictions.”
    Her mother put her hand on Minna’s shoulder, and Minna realized she had spoken the last out loud.
    â€œDon’t you remember, Minna, when you were five?” said her mother. “I once said to you, ‘Is that true, Minna?’ and you answered, ‘It’s one of the truths, Mama!’”
    There was silence then. Minna stared at her mother. What did I know then, thought Minna, that I’ve forgotten?
    â€œOne kind of truth, Min,” her mother said. “A different kind.”
    She looked at McGrew. “And not,” she said sternly, “for a science report.”
    â€œUnless you interview a beaver,” repeated Emily Parmalee, scouring out the bean pot, making them smile.
    Minna leaves them with their truths and soapsuds and beavers.