Wings of a Dream by Anne Mateer Read Free Book Online

head jerked toward one of the men who’d come with the wagon. He spit into the rain.
    “No.” I hoped the snap in my voice smacked him as firmly as an open palm, but his words stirred my insecurities.
    “His nose bleeds sometimes,” Ollie told us, finding a clean spot on her dress and pinching again.
    Dan started to cry, hiding his head in my skirts as I forced myself to stand.
    Over and over and over again Ollie sullied her dress with her brother’s blood. Her crisp, white dress wilted with rain and mud and blood. The dress, she’d told me, that Miss Ada had finished just before the influenza forced her into bed.
    The preacher said amen. James’s nose stopped bleeding. I blew out a long breath, anxious to get the children back home without further mishap.
    The men threaded two ropes beneath the coffin, one on each end, readying it to lower into the ground. Straining at each rope-end, the four men held on with gloved hands, letting the thickness slide through in small intervals as rain waterfalled over the brims of their hats. But wet took its toll, whether on gloves or rope or wood. Someone, something, lost its grip. The wooden box tumbled from its rope cradle, landing at the bottom of the hole with a squishy thud.
    Dan stepped forward, peering into Miss Ada’s grave. “Uh-oh,” he said. “It fell down.”
    I closed my eyes, praying I wouldn’t let loose the scream in my head. “Yes, dear.” What else could I say?
    Ollie pulled her brothers away from the edge, afraid, I think, that they would pitch in headlong, as well. I thanked the preacher and the other men, as Mama would have expected, while Ollie herded the boys to the car. No matter about umbrellas now. Maybe the rain would wash some of the muck from our clothes. With Janie in my arms, I stood graveside another moment. Shovelfuls of mud dropped with jarring splats on the wood below. I hurried away, wishing I could cover my ears with my hands.
    Then I recognized James’s small voice through the clatter. “Miss Ada’s gone to heaven to be with Mama, right, Ollie?”
    “Yes, James. Mama and Miss Ada are in heaven and Daddy’s in France. But Daddy’ll come home soon. And I’ll take care of you until then. Don’t worry.”
    James spied me, his smile quivering. I tried to put on a brave face, but as the thick mud sucked at my boots, I thought of my aunt at the bottom of that hole. And I thanked God that the rain hid my tears from the children.

I half-expected Mama to come marching into the house after the last train whistle blew that evening. But she didn’t. And no one delivered a telegram from her, either. Soon, an empty Sunday stretched before us.
    My whole body ached. A hundred times that morning I felt my cheeks, my forehead, the back of my neck, checking for fever. But though my fingers tingled cold on my skin, no unnatural heat warmed them.
    We needed a quiet, peaceful activity. “Do you have any books we could read?” I asked. Ollie nodded and scampered to a shelf in the corner while I lit the kindling in the parlor fireplace.
    I figured they owned a Bible for sure, which would be quite appropriate for the day, but I hoped she’d return with a story that would capture their attention for a length of time.
    The little flame caught, then blazed to lick at the larger logs. I warmed my hands for a few minutes before establishing myself on the sofa. The children scooted close. Ollie handed me a book, a piece of red silk jutting from the pages about a third of the way through.
    “Miss Ada was reading this to us,” she said. “Before.”
    Before. So much in that one word. Before Miss Ada got sick. Before Miss Ada went to heaven. Before. Sometimes it was good to go back to before.
    I ran my fingers over the gold-embossed letters stamped on the front and smiled. Heidi. “My mama read this to me when I was about your age.” I lifted James’s chin. “And to my brother, as well.”
    “Where’s your brother?” he asked, suddenly