he doesnât work fixed hours. Heâs always home in time for the meetings at the Hall, but on other nights he may be home at four, or not until nine. It depends on the job.
She stops and looks in the window of the unfamiliar Mustang. The seats are black and clean, and the dashboard is uncluttered, but scattered on the passenger seat is an assortment of cassette cases. The only footprints begin at the driverâs side and trail around the house toward the backyard. Solitary footsteps in the snow must be followed, Emily decides. She stretches her legs to match the steps, as she plunks her small boots into each of the larger imprints.
â Fee fi fo fum . . . She lurches from side to side and stomps into the boot marks, which lead to the back porch and disappear into the house. She is a giant. She will crush the worldly people who pick on her, like Tammy, like Josh Hansen from school, like teachers who sigh when she tries to explain that she must miss art class if they are going to draw Santa Claus. Her teacher last year, Miss Robin, was like that â always annoyed when Emily told her what she wasnât allowed to do, what was forbidden for Jehovahâs Witnesses. Itâs hard enough to put up her hand in front of the entire class and say, âIâm supposed to leave the room during Christmas activities; itâs against our religion,â and even worse when the teacher throws up her hands and says, like Miss Robin did, âIs there anything thatâs not against your religion? How about snow? Can you draw a snowman instead? Or is that a sin too?â The other kidsâ laughter surged like a tidal wave and filled the room with their snickers and stares. Though she fought it as hard as she could, hot red shame flooded her face and everyone could see. She bit her lower lip until she tasted metal and salt, no way would she let out the strangled sobs, and so she choked a little, then drove the white crayon into the black construction paper so hard she snapped the crayon in half.
Bam , goes her humungous foot on Miss Robinâs head, and she grinds in her heel. Bam , again, and this one is Josh Hansen and his crooked teeth and ugly mouth calling her Joho loser over and over during every recess, and now he is in a million pieces. Bam , even harder, she smashes Tammy Bales into a pulp and keeps right on going, naming each of her classmates one by one, bam bam, her giant feet do not miss anyone and she crushes them all in a snowy frenzy until she reaches the back porch.
She doesnât even feel her icy feet anymore and nearly forgets that she is following mysterious footprints like a detective.
Tense and alert, Emily opens the back door quietly, and doesnât let it slam shut. There is a stranger in her house, a visitor, someone with a red car. A car sheâs never seen before in the Kingdom Hall parking lot. The elders discourage two-door cars, because they are awkward for groups of people going door to door. They donât say that theyâre forbidden, but no one ever gets one. She wants to find out who has the rebellious car, but she canât let her mom notice the absence of Lenora. Sheâll just have to be silent and hurry past the kitchen. Maybe her mother will just assume that Lenora is with her, already upstairs or in the bathroom, and leave her alone. She decides that she should learn how to make her footsteps sound like two people.
Quickly though, she realizes that none of her methods matter this time. No one could have heard her come in anyway. Loud music blasts from the kitchen â worldly music, along with the sound of her mother singing. Emilyâs muscles stiffen. No, itâs not just her motherâs voice; itâs a duet. Someone else sings along, and itâs definitely not her tuneless father. Even during the songs at the Hall, she can see her fatherâs lips move, but she never hears his voice.
Emily thought that Lenora was the only one
She stops and looks in the window of the unfamiliar Mustang. The seats are black and clean, and the dashboard is uncluttered, but scattered on the passenger seat is an assortment of cassette cases. The only footprints begin at the driverâs side and trail around the house toward the backyard. Solitary footsteps in the snow must be followed, Emily decides. She stretches her legs to match the steps, as she plunks her small boots into each of the larger imprints.
â Fee fi fo fum . . . She lurches from side to side and stomps into the boot marks, which lead to the back porch and disappear into the house. She is a giant. She will crush the worldly people who pick on her, like Tammy, like Josh Hansen from school, like teachers who sigh when she tries to explain that she must miss art class if they are going to draw Santa Claus. Her teacher last year, Miss Robin, was like that â always annoyed when Emily told her what she wasnât allowed to do, what was forbidden for Jehovahâs Witnesses. Itâs hard enough to put up her hand in front of the entire class and say, âIâm supposed to leave the room during Christmas activities; itâs against our religion,â and even worse when the teacher throws up her hands and says, like Miss Robin did, âIs there anything thatâs not against your religion? How about snow? Can you draw a snowman instead? Or is that a sin too?â The other kidsâ laughter surged like a tidal wave and filled the room with their snickers and stares. Though she fought it as hard as she could, hot red shame flooded her face and everyone could see. She bit her lower lip until she tasted metal and salt, no way would she let out the strangled sobs, and so she choked a little, then drove the white crayon into the black construction paper so hard she snapped the crayon in half.
Bam , goes her humungous foot on Miss Robinâs head, and she grinds in her heel. Bam , again, and this one is Josh Hansen and his crooked teeth and ugly mouth calling her Joho loser over and over during every recess, and now he is in a million pieces. Bam , even harder, she smashes Tammy Bales into a pulp and keeps right on going, naming each of her classmates one by one, bam bam, her giant feet do not miss anyone and she crushes them all in a snowy frenzy until she reaches the back porch.
She doesnât even feel her icy feet anymore and nearly forgets that she is following mysterious footprints like a detective.
Tense and alert, Emily opens the back door quietly, and doesnât let it slam shut. There is a stranger in her house, a visitor, someone with a red car. A car sheâs never seen before in the Kingdom Hall parking lot. The elders discourage two-door cars, because they are awkward for groups of people going door to door. They donât say that theyâre forbidden, but no one ever gets one. She wants to find out who has the rebellious car, but she canât let her mom notice the absence of Lenora. Sheâll just have to be silent and hurry past the kitchen. Maybe her mother will just assume that Lenora is with her, already upstairs or in the bathroom, and leave her alone. She decides that she should learn how to make her footsteps sound like two people.
Quickly though, she realizes that none of her methods matter this time. No one could have heard her come in anyway. Loud music blasts from the kitchen â worldly music, along with the sound of her mother singing. Emilyâs muscles stiffen. No, itâs not just her motherâs voice; itâs a duet. Someone else sings along, and itâs definitely not her tuneless father. Even during the songs at the Hall, she can see her fatherâs lips move, but she never hears his voice.
Emily thought that Lenora was the only one
Similar Books
