well as every Thursday, but then she understood. After the Thursday visits there was always time for her father to take a long nap, while on most Sunday mornings, church was followed by Sunday dinner with the whole family together at the dining room table. This Sunday was different in a way that did not happen often, so a Sunday visit from Old Ike probably wouldn’t happen again for a long time.
Amy smiled with relief and, looking up, caught her father’s eye. He grinned back and winked the way he always did when she helped him out of his chair and onto his bed for his Thursday afternoon nap. The wink said that he knew that she knew, and he also knew that she would never tell. She looked away quickly and went on eating her warmed-up fried chicken and cold potato salad. The next time she looked up, her father was looking at her in a different way. The angry twist was gone from his smile, and his dark eyes looked warm and watery. When he saw her surprise, he looked away, shaking his head.
“You put me in mind of your mother sometimes. The way she was when I first came to Taylor Springs.”
“Me?” Amy said. She leaned to look at her dark face with its frame of curly brown hair in the mirror above the sideboard. “Me? You mean I look like Mama?”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “You didn’t get her blue eyes and blond hair, but the shape of your face and hands is the same, and that dimple near your mouth.”
Amy touched the dimple. “Does Mama have a dimple—” she began, but then she remembered. “Oh yes, I knew she did. I’d just forgotten. I guess she doesn’t smile much—I mean, I guess it doesn’t show as much anymore.” Knowing it wasn’t a good thing to have said, she hurried on. “But I’m not pretty like Mama. I’m not as pretty as Mama wa—is.”
“Sure you are. You’re going to be a real beauty if they don’t slick you down and bundle you up ’til nobody could ever tell.” He laughed, but just from the sound of it, without looking up, Amy knew that the angry look was back in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Not knowing what to say, Amy ate quickly and then hurried to clear off the table and do the dishes.
She meant to ask her father if she could go for a walk. Knowing that he would probably say yes, there was no reason for her not to ask. But when she helped him out of his wheelchair onto his bed, he went immediately to sleep. She knew from experience that he would sleep for a long time without moving or waking up, so there was no one to know if she went or stayed. Not even Old Ike would know because he always took turns drinking from the bottle in the brown paper bag, and he’d most likely be asleep now, too. So there was no one at all to know that she was going, or to wonder where.
Amy put two apples in her coat pocket and got Caesar out of his dusty bed and began to run. She ran out of the yard and down the Old Road and partway up Bradley Lane before she dropped to the ground to catch her breath. She was still sitting there, gasping, when Jason appeared.
“What are we going to do today?” Amy asked as they started off. “Are we going back up to the spring?”
“To the Stone,” Jason said. “Yes, I want to go back to see the Stone again.”
“What is it—the Stone?” Amy asked. “You said you were going to think about it. What do you think it is?”
Jason stopped and looked at Amy, but not as if he were seeing her. His strangely wide-apart eyes seemed to be looking toward her, and on through, to something way beyond. “The Stone is where it all came from,” he said. “Why the Indians came here, and all the other things happened.”
Amy gave him a scornful look. “Pooh,” she said. “I don’t believe that. You’re just making it up because it sounds mysterious and scary. Why would a plain old stone have anything to do with anything?”
“Stones have all kinds of powers,” Jason said. “Other things do too, but the power of stones lasts longer and is
Amy smiled with relief and, looking up, caught her father’s eye. He grinned back and winked the way he always did when she helped him out of his chair and onto his bed for his Thursday afternoon nap. The wink said that he knew that she knew, and he also knew that she would never tell. She looked away quickly and went on eating her warmed-up fried chicken and cold potato salad. The next time she looked up, her father was looking at her in a different way. The angry twist was gone from his smile, and his dark eyes looked warm and watery. When he saw her surprise, he looked away, shaking his head.
“You put me in mind of your mother sometimes. The way she was when I first came to Taylor Springs.”
“Me?” Amy said. She leaned to look at her dark face with its frame of curly brown hair in the mirror above the sideboard. “Me? You mean I look like Mama?”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “You didn’t get her blue eyes and blond hair, but the shape of your face and hands is the same, and that dimple near your mouth.”
Amy touched the dimple. “Does Mama have a dimple—” she began, but then she remembered. “Oh yes, I knew she did. I’d just forgotten. I guess she doesn’t smile much—I mean, I guess it doesn’t show as much anymore.” Knowing it wasn’t a good thing to have said, she hurried on. “But I’m not pretty like Mama. I’m not as pretty as Mama wa—is.”
“Sure you are. You’re going to be a real beauty if they don’t slick you down and bundle you up ’til nobody could ever tell.” He laughed, but just from the sound of it, without looking up, Amy knew that the angry look was back in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Not knowing what to say, Amy ate quickly and then hurried to clear off the table and do the dishes.
She meant to ask her father if she could go for a walk. Knowing that he would probably say yes, there was no reason for her not to ask. But when she helped him out of his wheelchair onto his bed, he went immediately to sleep. She knew from experience that he would sleep for a long time without moving or waking up, so there was no one to know if she went or stayed. Not even Old Ike would know because he always took turns drinking from the bottle in the brown paper bag, and he’d most likely be asleep now, too. So there was no one at all to know that she was going, or to wonder where.
Amy put two apples in her coat pocket and got Caesar out of his dusty bed and began to run. She ran out of the yard and down the Old Road and partway up Bradley Lane before she dropped to the ground to catch her breath. She was still sitting there, gasping, when Jason appeared.
“What are we going to do today?” Amy asked as they started off. “Are we going back up to the spring?”
“To the Stone,” Jason said. “Yes, I want to go back to see the Stone again.”
“What is it—the Stone?” Amy asked. “You said you were going to think about it. What do you think it is?”
Jason stopped and looked at Amy, but not as if he were seeing her. His strangely wide-apart eyes seemed to be looking toward her, and on through, to something way beyond. “The Stone is where it all came from,” he said. “Why the Indians came here, and all the other things happened.”
Amy gave him a scornful look. “Pooh,” she said. “I don’t believe that. You’re just making it up because it sounds mysterious and scary. Why would a plain old stone have anything to do with anything?”
“Stones have all kinds of powers,” Jason said. “Other things do too, but the power of stones lasts longer and is
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