thing for that day and her mother had taught her that if a nice
thing came along, she should just enjoy it but not expect a second visit. Don ’ t be looking for the last nice thing to
show up, or you might miss the next one. Celeste was out for a morning walk,
keeping an eye open for the next nice thing.
She
found nuns. Not that she recognized them as nun, but she saw two women up
ahead, neatly, if not as finely dressed as the lady from her previous morning wander.
They stood with their backs to her as she approached so quietly, that even two
nuns couldn ’ t hear. Identically dressed women with
hats like flying gulls, stopping to talk about something on the other side of
where they stood, blocking the sidewalk to Celeste ’ s view. She drew up close enough to
hear, but not be heard.
“ He was here yesterday
as well, ” said one.
“ Poor soul, ” said the other. “ Poor lost soul. Lost without his
family. His children were his life. ”
“ Influenza is hardest
on the young and the very old. Not so easy for even the strong, but for the
weak …” The first nun shook her gull winged head.
“ And for his wife to
just leave him, as if it was his fault. Still, I don ’ t know what was in her heart. ”
“ He drinks to forget,
but the drink only deepens his sadness. Poor lost soul. ”
The
women swayed apart from each other and through that cleft, Celeste could
glimpse the man lying on the sidewalk. For an instance, she thought it was her
father. As quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn ’ t so. This was another man. A man lying on the sidewalk asleep, trying to hide from Sadness.
A
feeling slipped up on her from behind. A sudden rush of a
feeling. Something like anger but not quite the same either. She surged
forward, parting the nuns like tall grass, pressing on to where the man lay.
She tugged at his dirty shirtsleeve, firing a look back at the mystified
sisters.
“ He ’ s not lost! ” she shouted at them. “ He ’ s just sad and needs
to rest! ”
The
man stirred but did not wake.
Celeste
shot back the way she ’ d come, giving the nuns a wide berth.
It
was autumn but still warm, and an evening breeze sighed through the house. In
through the Library ’ s tall windows off the courtyard, past
Odette in her chair, past Celeste seated at the desk and on through the house,
up and up to the windows off the gallery. Celeste was applying paint to paper
and careful not to lose any on the leather top. She ’ d been painting for weeks now and
thought it was going well. Odette agreed. Agreed too, that Celeste was doing
well with studies and chores, so Celeste felt emboldened to ask the question
she tried not to ask too often.
“ When ’ s Papa coming back? ”
“ When the war is over, ” Odette said. She folded the newspaper
into her lap and looked up at Celeste, who was watching her and wanting more
than the answer she ’ d heard before. So Odette expanded that
answer. “ We are winning the war. At last. Maybe word will come any day that it is over. ”
“ How will word come? ”
“ By the sound of
church bells and cheering in the streets. ”
As
it happened, that day was the next day. Celeste had gone to her room to find
her shoes when the bells began ringing, the horns from passing cars, driving
fast, blared between buildings and people came out into the streets as if
fleeing fires. She went out onto the high porch and listened until she knew it
was the day Odette described. Then she went downstairs to find Odette, and ask
her question again.
Since
Odette still could not say for sure and certain, Celeste dreamed of her father
steering a boat like the one that had helped bring their train across the
river. She could see it was hard going and things were in his way. So many boats crowding to get through. Every one captained
by someone wanting to be home. She could see this, even though she was on the
shore so, so far away — standing on the shore of the
thing came along, she should just enjoy it but not expect a second visit. Don ’ t be looking for the last nice thing to
show up, or you might miss the next one. Celeste was out for a morning walk,
keeping an eye open for the next nice thing.
She
found nuns. Not that she recognized them as nun, but she saw two women up
ahead, neatly, if not as finely dressed as the lady from her previous morning wander.
They stood with their backs to her as she approached so quietly, that even two
nuns couldn ’ t hear. Identically dressed women with
hats like flying gulls, stopping to talk about something on the other side of
where they stood, blocking the sidewalk to Celeste ’ s view. She drew up close enough to
hear, but not be heard.
“ He was here yesterday
as well, ” said one.
“ Poor soul, ” said the other. “ Poor lost soul. Lost without his
family. His children were his life. ”
“ Influenza is hardest
on the young and the very old. Not so easy for even the strong, but for the
weak …” The first nun shook her gull winged head.
“ And for his wife to
just leave him, as if it was his fault. Still, I don ’ t know what was in her heart. ”
“ He drinks to forget,
but the drink only deepens his sadness. Poor lost soul. ”
The
women swayed apart from each other and through that cleft, Celeste could
glimpse the man lying on the sidewalk. For an instance, she thought it was her
father. As quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn ’ t so. This was another man. A man lying on the sidewalk asleep, trying to hide from Sadness.
A
feeling slipped up on her from behind. A sudden rush of a
feeling. Something like anger but not quite the same either. She surged
forward, parting the nuns like tall grass, pressing on to where the man lay.
She tugged at his dirty shirtsleeve, firing a look back at the mystified
sisters.
“ He ’ s not lost! ” she shouted at them. “ He ’ s just sad and needs
to rest! ”
The
man stirred but did not wake.
Celeste
shot back the way she ’ d come, giving the nuns a wide berth.
It
was autumn but still warm, and an evening breeze sighed through the house. In
through the Library ’ s tall windows off the courtyard, past
Odette in her chair, past Celeste seated at the desk and on through the house,
up and up to the windows off the gallery. Celeste was applying paint to paper
and careful not to lose any on the leather top. She ’ d been painting for weeks now and
thought it was going well. Odette agreed. Agreed too, that Celeste was doing
well with studies and chores, so Celeste felt emboldened to ask the question
she tried not to ask too often.
“ When ’ s Papa coming back? ”
“ When the war is over, ” Odette said. She folded the newspaper
into her lap and looked up at Celeste, who was watching her and wanting more
than the answer she ’ d heard before. So Odette expanded that
answer. “ We are winning the war. At last. Maybe word will come any day that it is over. ”
“ How will word come? ”
“ By the sound of
church bells and cheering in the streets. ”
As
it happened, that day was the next day. Celeste had gone to her room to find
her shoes when the bells began ringing, the horns from passing cars, driving
fast, blared between buildings and people came out into the streets as if
fleeing fires. She went out onto the high porch and listened until she knew it
was the day Odette described. Then she went downstairs to find Odette, and ask
her question again.
Since
Odette still could not say for sure and certain, Celeste dreamed of her father
steering a boat like the one that had helped bring their train across the
river. She could see it was hard going and things were in his way. So many boats crowding to get through. Every one captained
by someone wanting to be home. She could see this, even though she was on the
shore so, so far away — standing on the shore of the
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