The Wonder by Emma Donoghue Read Free Book Online

aren’t we to be friends?”
    Lib regretted her choice of word at once, because the round face lit up. “I’d like that.”
    â€œThen tell me about this prayer I hear you muttering on and off.”
    â€œThat one, ’tis… not for talking about,” said Anna.
    â€œAh. A
secret
prayer.”
    â€œPrivate,” she corrected Lib.
    Little girls—even honest ones—did love their secrets. Lib remembered her own sister keeping a diary hidden under their mattress. (Not that it stopped Lib reading every anodyne word of it.)
    Lib screwed the sections of her stethoscope together. She pressed the flat base to the left side of the child’s chest, between the fifth and sixth rib, and put the other end to her own right ear.
Lub-dub, lub-dub;
she listened for the minutest variation in the sounds of the heart. Then for a full minute, by the watch that hung at her waist, she counted.
Pulse distinct,
she wrote,
89 beats per minute.
That was within the expected range. Lib moved the stethoscope to different positions on the child’s back.
Lungs healthy, 17 respirations per minute,
she recorded. No crackles or wheezes; despite her odd symptoms, Anna seemed healthier than half her compatriots.
    Sitting down on the chair—Miss N. always began by breaking her trainees of the habit of perching on a patient’s bed—Lib put the device on the child’s belly. She listened for the least gurgle that would betray the presence of food. Tried another spot. Silence.
Digestive cavity hard, tympanitic, drumlike,
she wrote. She percussed the belly lightly. “How does that feel?”
    â€œFull,” said Anna.
    Lib stared.
Full,
when the belly sounded so empty? Was this defiance? “Uncomfortably full?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou may dress yourself now.”
    Anna did, slowly and a little awkwardly.
    Reports sleeping well at night, seven to nine hours.
    Intellectual faculties seem unimpaired.
    â€œDo you miss going to school, child?”
    A shake of the head.
    The O’Donnells’ pet apparently wasn’t expected to help with the housework, Lib noticed. “Perhaps you prefer to be idle?”
    â€œI read and sew and sing and pray.” The child’s voice undefensive.
    Confrontation was beyond Lib’s remit. But she might at least be frank, she decided. Miss N. always recommended it, since nothing preyed on a patient’s health like uncertainty. Lib could do this little faker real good by setting an example of candour, holding up a lamp for the girl to follow out of the wilderness into which she’d strayed. Snapping shut her memorandum book, Lib asked, “Do you know why I’m here?”
    â€œTo make sure I don’t eat.”
    Of all the skewed ways of putting it… “Not at all, Anna. My job is to find out whether it’s true that you
aren’t
eating. But I would be most relieved if you’d take your meals as other children—other people—do.”
    A nod.
    â€œIs there anything at all you could fancy? Broth, sago pudding, something sweet?” Lib was only putting a neutral question to the child, she told herself, not pressing food on her in such a way as to influence the outcome of the watch.
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    â€œWhy not, do you suppose?”
    A trace of a smile. “I can’t say, Mrs.—ma’am,” Anna corrected herself.
    â€œWhy? Is that
private
too?”
    The girl looked back at her mildly. Sharp as a pin, Lib decided. Anna must have realized that giving any explanation would get her into difficulties. If she claimed that her Maker had ordered her not to eat, she’d be comparing herself to a saint. But if she boasted of living by any particular natural means, then she’d be obliged to prove it to the satisfaction of science.
I’m going to crack you like a nut, missy.
    Lib looked around. Until today it must have been child’s play for Anna to sneak food from