to two-year-old Emily?
Ma Jonnson prompted, “Quickly now, Daisy. The food is growing cold.”
Everyone had joined hands. She alone remained unlinked to the chain. Sadness welled up inside of her. Hadn’t she always been unlinked? Pulling in a breath, she yanked the bow loose and slipped the bonnet from her head. At once laughter exploded from the opposite side of the table where the nine six- to eleven-year-olds sat in a row. Two of the oldest boys pointed at her, openly guffawing. Most of the girls covered their mouths to muffle the sound of their merriment, but it still came through, harsh and grating and hurtful.
Daisy pulled the bonnet back into place and clambered out of her seat as Pa Jonnson smacked his palms together and ordered, “That’s enough!” The children’s laughter changed from raucous blasts to restrained sniggers, and Pa Jonnson delivered a second order for them to behave themselves.
Unwilling to wait to see if they obeyed, Daisy ran straight through the kitchen and out the back door into the damp morning air. As she ran, the bonnet slipped from her head and bounced on her shoulder blades. She dashed across the dew-kissed grass to the big rock barn, where she finally collapsed in a stall with her arms wrapped around a sturdy upright beam. The hard, smooth length of wood couldn’t take the place of a person’s warm embrace, but at least it offered stability.
Her throat ached with the desire to cry, but crying accomplished nothing. Hadn’t she learned that truth when Grandma and Grandpop left? She’d wailed for two days until her raw throat couldn’t release even a whimper, but it hadn’t brought them back. So she’d given up the childish release of tears. Now, instead of crying she hugged the beam and clenched her teeth so tightly her temples throbbed. No one came after her, but it didn’t disappoint her. She hadn’t expected anyone to come. The younger children needed attention, and she was capable of taking care of herself.
Taking care of herself . She sat up, her heart leaping in recognition. The years of being Ma Jonnson’s “best helper,” as the woman had always put it, had taught her housekeeping and cooking and gardening skills. Of course she knew how to take care of herself. She only wanted to stay because the asylum was familiar. But what might be waiting away from the Dunnigan Asylum and little Brambleville, Kansas? She knew what was waiting—or rather, who. Robby. In Sinclair. A flutter of excitement replaced the lump of dread.
In Robby’s last letter he’d told her all about the factory where he worked as a packager. He’d promised to send her a box of the chocolates manufactured in the Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory for her birthday, but wouldn’t he be surprised if she showed up to receive his gift in person? The thought of seeing her dear friend—her only friend—provided the impetus she needed to leave the orphanage now rather than waiting until her birthday.
Pulling herself up hand over hand on the beam, she made her plan. There was a mouse-chewed carpetbag in the basement no one would miss. She could send all her wardrobe items down the laundry chute to the washroom—Monday was wash day, so no one would wonder why she was down there—and pack the bag. Then after everyone had gone to bed, she could leave. Marion slept like a log, so she wouldn’t even notice Daisy wasn’t there until morning.
For a moment guilt tried to wrap its tentacles around her. Ma Jonnson relied on her to get breakfast started while she dressed the littlest ones. Would the youngsters all be crying with hunger before someone realized she wasn’t there to fix their morning meal? She pushed the emotion aside. They needed to get used to making do without her help since she wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway—not with her birthday waiting around the corner.
The decision made, she yanked the faded sunbonnet, which dangled along one shoulder, and threw it into the
Ma Jonnson prompted, “Quickly now, Daisy. The food is growing cold.”
Everyone had joined hands. She alone remained unlinked to the chain. Sadness welled up inside of her. Hadn’t she always been unlinked? Pulling in a breath, she yanked the bow loose and slipped the bonnet from her head. At once laughter exploded from the opposite side of the table where the nine six- to eleven-year-olds sat in a row. Two of the oldest boys pointed at her, openly guffawing. Most of the girls covered their mouths to muffle the sound of their merriment, but it still came through, harsh and grating and hurtful.
Daisy pulled the bonnet back into place and clambered out of her seat as Pa Jonnson smacked his palms together and ordered, “That’s enough!” The children’s laughter changed from raucous blasts to restrained sniggers, and Pa Jonnson delivered a second order for them to behave themselves.
Unwilling to wait to see if they obeyed, Daisy ran straight through the kitchen and out the back door into the damp morning air. As she ran, the bonnet slipped from her head and bounced on her shoulder blades. She dashed across the dew-kissed grass to the big rock barn, where she finally collapsed in a stall with her arms wrapped around a sturdy upright beam. The hard, smooth length of wood couldn’t take the place of a person’s warm embrace, but at least it offered stability.
Her throat ached with the desire to cry, but crying accomplished nothing. Hadn’t she learned that truth when Grandma and Grandpop left? She’d wailed for two days until her raw throat couldn’t release even a whimper, but it hadn’t brought them back. So she’d given up the childish release of tears. Now, instead of crying she hugged the beam and clenched her teeth so tightly her temples throbbed. No one came after her, but it didn’t disappoint her. She hadn’t expected anyone to come. The younger children needed attention, and she was capable of taking care of herself.
Taking care of herself . She sat up, her heart leaping in recognition. The years of being Ma Jonnson’s “best helper,” as the woman had always put it, had taught her housekeeping and cooking and gardening skills. Of course she knew how to take care of herself. She only wanted to stay because the asylum was familiar. But what might be waiting away from the Dunnigan Asylum and little Brambleville, Kansas? She knew what was waiting—or rather, who. Robby. In Sinclair. A flutter of excitement replaced the lump of dread.
In Robby’s last letter he’d told her all about the factory where he worked as a packager. He’d promised to send her a box of the chocolates manufactured in the Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory for her birthday, but wouldn’t he be surprised if she showed up to receive his gift in person? The thought of seeing her dear friend—her only friend—provided the impetus she needed to leave the orphanage now rather than waiting until her birthday.
Pulling herself up hand over hand on the beam, she made her plan. There was a mouse-chewed carpetbag in the basement no one would miss. She could send all her wardrobe items down the laundry chute to the washroom—Monday was wash day, so no one would wonder why she was down there—and pack the bag. Then after everyone had gone to bed, she could leave. Marion slept like a log, so she wouldn’t even notice Daisy wasn’t there until morning.
For a moment guilt tried to wrap its tentacles around her. Ma Jonnson relied on her to get breakfast started while she dressed the littlest ones. Would the youngsters all be crying with hunger before someone realized she wasn’t there to fix their morning meal? She pushed the emotion aside. They needed to get used to making do without her help since she wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway—not with her birthday waiting around the corner.
The decision made, she yanked the faded sunbonnet, which dangled along one shoulder, and threw it into the
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