First Came the Owl by Judith Benét Richardson Page A

owls, it just…”
    Nita went on and on with her story until Dad finally said, “Whoa, slow down, I’ve never heard you talk so much in your whole life.” But he laughed as he spoke, so Nita could see he really liked having her go on and on this way.
    She kept talking to keep Dad listening, but finally even her enormous banana split was finished. Dad paid the bill, and when they came out of the restaurant, they walked up and down the street looking in windows, as if they were on vacation or it was a holiday.
    And then Nita saw it again. The sun quilt. It glowed in the afternoon light and lit up the whole street. A huge burst of color, made of hundreds of tiny scraps. “Look!” breathed Nita. It was even more wonderful than the first time she saw it. Dad stopped in his tracks.
    â€œThat’s amazing,” he said. “Each scrap is separate, and yet they make a pattern.”
    The quilt glowed in the late afternoon light like a thousand hummingbirds, like a multicolored sun.
    â€œMaybe … maybe,” said Nita, “we could buy it for Ma-jah.”
    â€œOh, it’s probably much too expensive. And why are you calling her Ma-jah?”
    â€œBecause I’m going to speak Thai to her. You know about the Roots Committee.”
    â€œIf only she hadn’t taken that trip ho—back to Thailand.”
    â€œSee, you almost said ‘trip home ’! Oh, Dad, let’s just ask about the quilt. If we put it on her bed, then it won’t be white like a freezing snow bank, but a promise of the sun coming back. Maybe then she’ll remember that if she feels bad, she could get better, the way the days get longer and the winter ends and the sun gets warmer. Then she’ll like being home.”
    Dad looked at her. “Well, you’re … maybe this acting … honestly, Nita, I’ve never heard you talk like that before. But”—he held up his hands—“I get your drift.” He opened the shop door.
    â€œIt’s expensive,” said Dad, looking at the back of the quilt and fingering the tag. Then he peered around to see the front of it again.
    â€œEverything here is handmade,” said the woman at the counter.
    Nita held her breath and just looked at Dad, silently pleading, almost begging him. Please? said her eyes.
    â€œAye, aye, sir! Let’s do it!” said Dad, laughing at Nita’s spaniel look.
    â€œA wonderful present,” said the salesperson. She took Dad’s check. “Thank you very much.”
    Nita beamed at her. “Thank you, and could you tell the person who made it how much we like it?”
    â€œIt was a group of people, actually, in a handicapped workshop.” She smiled back at Nita. “They’re up in Maushop and they always make such beautiful things, I just—”
    â€œThanks. Good-bye,” said Dad, as if he were a bit tired of all this chatting. So who’s impatient now, thought Nita.
    â€œWhat a great idea, Nita,” he said, squeezing her arm as they walked back out onto Water Street. “She’ll love it. For the first time, I feel like she really will come home.”
    Nita smiled back at him. Now, she thought, maybe he will stay home, too.

Eighteen
    D AD STAYED in Maushope’s Landing, but he didn’t go home, and Nita couldn’t either. Wednesday Dad came to the Stillwaters’ for dinner, and Thursday he took them all out for Chinese food. Still, no one said when Ma-jah could come home, but Nita was so busy with rehearsals, she only had a few minutes to think each night before she fell asleep. Then she would see the lighthouse flashing in her mind’s eye and think, Home, home! before she drowsed off.
    On Friday morning, nothing seemed to go right.
    â€œHas anyone seen my Thailand report?” asked Nita. The Stillwater breakfast table was covered with cereal bowls, geology journals, yesterday’s mail, and one red mitten, but