the cards, so I gave her my hand. She was winning, anyway. We started collecting the plates and silverware to take them to the dining room.
"Can I do the napkins?" Gunther asked, and his daddy lifted him back down so's he could help us. He was real good at folding the napkins into triangles and putting one beside each plate.
"I got a call at the office today," Mr. Bigelow said to Sweet-Ho. "From Meadowhill."
Gunther went on about his business, folding napkins real careful. Sweet-Ho kept right on stirring something on the stove, but she looked over at him with a question in her eyes. I counted forks and didn't
say nothing. Veronica picked up a stack of five dinner plates and headed for the dining room, but I noticed she kept the door open so's she could listen from where she was.
Meadowhill was the name of the hospital where Mrs. Bigelow was. Where she had been now for two months. The doctors there had told Mr. Bigelow no visitors, not even family, at least for a while. He talked to them once every week; I knew because Sweet-Ho told me. They always said no change.
Veronica never said nothing about her mother, never asked nothing.
"Veronica?" Mr. Bigelow called. "Honey? Come in here for a minute."
Veronica set the plates on the table and came back to the kitchen real slow, with her eyes on the floor, like she might see something scary if she looked up.
Her daddy put his arm around her.
"I talked to one of the doctors at Meadowhill," he said. "And he said they'd like you and me to come for a visit on Saturday."
"Rabble and I have to help Millie Bellows on Saturday," Veronica said, real quiet. "We're going to scrub her kitchen floor."
"And wax it, too," I added. "We can take a can of floor wax from here, can't we, Sweet-Ho?"
"Self-polishing is what we need," Veronica said, still with her head down. "She has loads of rags there, old clothes all ripped up, so we don't need rags, but she doesn't have any self-polishing wax, soâ"
Gunther trotted off happily to the dining room with his hands full of folded napkins.
"I'm very proud of you girls, for the way you've been helping Millie Bellows," Mr. Bigelow said, with his arm still around Veronica. "So is Sweet-Ho."
"I surely am," Sweet-Ho said, and she took the stew from the stove and turned the burner off.
"We won't leave till after lunch on Saturday, so you can do her floor in the morning if you want. And we'll be back by suppertime." Mr. Bigelow was looking at Veronica as he talked.
She finally lifted her head up. "Do I have to?" she asked.
He didn't say nothing for a moment. Then he said, "No. But I hope you will."
Veronica pulled away from him and picked up the pile of silverware on the table. "I'm hungry," she said. "Can we eat now?"
Sweet-Ho nodded. "Everything's ready. Rabble, bring the salad, would you?"
"I'll go if you want me to," Veronica said to her father. She went to the dining room with the silverware.
I carried the bowl of salad to the table. It wasn't heavy, but I felt a great powerful weight inside me.
Later that night, in bed, I felt the feeling again. I didn't cry. I never cry. Not once have I cried since the time that Gnomie died, and even then I wasn't crying for me but for her, that she had to leave her flowers behind before they bloomed, and that there was no way to be right-out absolute-positive that there would
be prizewinner delphiniums wherever she was headed.
But the weight came back, inside me, during that time before I went to sleep. And I felt all choky. It was the feeling that things was changing and I couldn't do nothing about it.
11
"Norman might come to help," Veronica told me while we walked to Millie Bellows's house on Saturday morning.
I stopped right where I was and stood still, with my arms full of floor wax, the giant can Sweet-Ho had given us. Veronica was carrying a bag of date-and-nut bars that Sweet-Ho had made for Millie, for her sweet tooth.
"When did you talk to Norman Cox?" I asked. "Or did you write
"Can I do the napkins?" Gunther asked, and his daddy lifted him back down so's he could help us. He was real good at folding the napkins into triangles and putting one beside each plate.
"I got a call at the office today," Mr. Bigelow said to Sweet-Ho. "From Meadowhill."
Gunther went on about his business, folding napkins real careful. Sweet-Ho kept right on stirring something on the stove, but she looked over at him with a question in her eyes. I counted forks and didn't
say nothing. Veronica picked up a stack of five dinner plates and headed for the dining room, but I noticed she kept the door open so's she could listen from where she was.
Meadowhill was the name of the hospital where Mrs. Bigelow was. Where she had been now for two months. The doctors there had told Mr. Bigelow no visitors, not even family, at least for a while. He talked to them once every week; I knew because Sweet-Ho told me. They always said no change.
Veronica never said nothing about her mother, never asked nothing.
"Veronica?" Mr. Bigelow called. "Honey? Come in here for a minute."
Veronica set the plates on the table and came back to the kitchen real slow, with her eyes on the floor, like she might see something scary if she looked up.
Her daddy put his arm around her.
"I talked to one of the doctors at Meadowhill," he said. "And he said they'd like you and me to come for a visit on Saturday."
"Rabble and I have to help Millie Bellows on Saturday," Veronica said, real quiet. "We're going to scrub her kitchen floor."
"And wax it, too," I added. "We can take a can of floor wax from here, can't we, Sweet-Ho?"
"Self-polishing is what we need," Veronica said, still with her head down. "She has loads of rags there, old clothes all ripped up, so we don't need rags, but she doesn't have any self-polishing wax, soâ"
Gunther trotted off happily to the dining room with his hands full of folded napkins.
"I'm very proud of you girls, for the way you've been helping Millie Bellows," Mr. Bigelow said, with his arm still around Veronica. "So is Sweet-Ho."
"I surely am," Sweet-Ho said, and she took the stew from the stove and turned the burner off.
"We won't leave till after lunch on Saturday, so you can do her floor in the morning if you want. And we'll be back by suppertime." Mr. Bigelow was looking at Veronica as he talked.
She finally lifted her head up. "Do I have to?" she asked.
He didn't say nothing for a moment. Then he said, "No. But I hope you will."
Veronica pulled away from him and picked up the pile of silverware on the table. "I'm hungry," she said. "Can we eat now?"
Sweet-Ho nodded. "Everything's ready. Rabble, bring the salad, would you?"
"I'll go if you want me to," Veronica said to her father. She went to the dining room with the silverware.
I carried the bowl of salad to the table. It wasn't heavy, but I felt a great powerful weight inside me.
Later that night, in bed, I felt the feeling again. I didn't cry. I never cry. Not once have I cried since the time that Gnomie died, and even then I wasn't crying for me but for her, that she had to leave her flowers behind before they bloomed, and that there was no way to be right-out absolute-positive that there would
be prizewinner delphiniums wherever she was headed.
But the weight came back, inside me, during that time before I went to sleep. And I felt all choky. It was the feeling that things was changing and I couldn't do nothing about it.
11
"Norman might come to help," Veronica told me while we walked to Millie Bellows's house on Saturday morning.
I stopped right where I was and stood still, with my arms full of floor wax, the giant can Sweet-Ho had given us. Veronica was carrying a bag of date-and-nut bars that Sweet-Ho had made for Millie, for her sweet tooth.
"When did you talk to Norman Cox?" I asked. "Or did you write
Similar Books
