fingered the book lying on the
little table beside Kate’s big hospital bed. “Read you another chapter? I can
read that book. I read it when you were, um, gone.” Jen talked quickly. “It’s
kinda old-fashioned, but I liked the part when Anne smacked her slate over
Gilbert Blythe’s head.”
Kate wiggled her fingers sideways. Everyone knew that meant
No.
“Okay.” Jen shrugged, chewed her lip, then she ran out, thump
thump thump, forgetting to close the door.
The thumps went all the way down the stairs, then turned to
slaps on the tile by the front door, where you turned to go into the kitchen.
Jen’s voice floated up the stairs again. “Kate still won’t
talk to me. She won’t even let me read.”
“It’s all right. We’re to expect that.” Mom’s voice went
high—almost as high as Jen’s.
It was strange how sounds were different from each room. Kate
had never noticed that Before. She thought of her life as Now, and Before.
Before, she hadn’t heard things like she did Now. How everyone’s voices were
different for each room. How Jen’s voice was so light, and easy to listen
to—like sunlight. Like water and sunlight. But when Mom’s voice was high, it
reminded Kate of crying.
Kate didn’t want to think about crying, so she thought about
words instead, how to make all the sounds she heard into words. Kitchen noises
and somewhere, maybe in the den, the rumbly noises of the TV. She wished she
could have a window open so she could hear birds, and kids playing, and even
cars going by, hiss, hiss, but she couldn’t because Mom didn’t want to risk
germs coming in.
She closed her eyes and slept away the day, until Mom came in
at night. This was the best part of every day, when Mom read to her.
Mom bent and picked up Kate’s favorite book. She sat just out
of Kate’s view. Kate listened to the rustle of pages.
“October was a beautiful month at Green
Gables . . .” Mom read. Her voice was still high, and thin.
“. . . when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as the
sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson . . .”
Kate closed her eye, seeing vivid autumn images in her mind.
“‘Oh, Marilla . . . I’m so glad I live in a
world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from
September to November, wouldn’t it?’” As Mom read Anne’s words, her voice
slowed down, and the icky highness went out, making her voice young again, and
Kate felt the story fold around her mind.
She was no longer Kate, lying in this bed, with only one
working eye, and nothing to do but look. Listen. She was Anne of Green Gables,
at least until the end of the chapter, when Mom laid the book back down, kissed
Kate very softly, and went out to let her sleep.
o0o
“I don’t care. I want to run away.”
“Like where are you going to go? Talk about being a total
geek.”
Little voices came through the ripped fragments of dreams.
“I wish to find my castle. You ought to obey, because I’m a
princess.”
“Talk to the hand!”
Who were those little voices? Kate opened her eye. Her room
was half lit with faint blue light from the streetlamp two houses down. There
wasn’t anything in her room anymore, besides the bed, table, TV, and below it
the shelf containing her favorite dolls. Kate looked at the shelf. It was
empty.
Where were the dolls?
“There aren’t any princesses in this land, so you can’t boss
me.”
“She’s right.”
“Yeah!”
“Eeee-he-he-hee!” Who was that? Could that be her porcelain
horse, Midnight? How was that possible?
“Then I must find my land,” stated the squeaky voice with the
snobby accent.
Princess Polly.
“What-EV-er.”
That had to be Fashion Franci.
The dolls were talking! A cold feeling poured through Kate’s
middle, just like someone had put ice water there.
“Dolls,” she said. Her voice came out crackly, because she
didn’t talk much anymore.
The voices stilled.
Kate waited, and
little table beside Kate’s big hospital bed. “Read you another chapter? I can
read that book. I read it when you were, um, gone.” Jen talked quickly. “It’s
kinda old-fashioned, but I liked the part when Anne smacked her slate over
Gilbert Blythe’s head.”
Kate wiggled her fingers sideways. Everyone knew that meant
No.
“Okay.” Jen shrugged, chewed her lip, then she ran out, thump
thump thump, forgetting to close the door.
The thumps went all the way down the stairs, then turned to
slaps on the tile by the front door, where you turned to go into the kitchen.
Jen’s voice floated up the stairs again. “Kate still won’t
talk to me. She won’t even let me read.”
“It’s all right. We’re to expect that.” Mom’s voice went
high—almost as high as Jen’s.
It was strange how sounds were different from each room. Kate
had never noticed that Before. She thought of her life as Now, and Before.
Before, she hadn’t heard things like she did Now. How everyone’s voices were
different for each room. How Jen’s voice was so light, and easy to listen
to—like sunlight. Like water and sunlight. But when Mom’s voice was high, it
reminded Kate of crying.
Kate didn’t want to think about crying, so she thought about
words instead, how to make all the sounds she heard into words. Kitchen noises
and somewhere, maybe in the den, the rumbly noises of the TV. She wished she
could have a window open so she could hear birds, and kids playing, and even
cars going by, hiss, hiss, but she couldn’t because Mom didn’t want to risk
germs coming in.
She closed her eyes and slept away the day, until Mom came in
at night. This was the best part of every day, when Mom read to her.
Mom bent and picked up Kate’s favorite book. She sat just out
of Kate’s view. Kate listened to the rustle of pages.
“October was a beautiful month at Green
Gables . . .” Mom read. Her voice was still high, and thin.
“. . . when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as the
sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson . . .”
Kate closed her eye, seeing vivid autumn images in her mind.
“‘Oh, Marilla . . . I’m so glad I live in a
world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from
September to November, wouldn’t it?’” As Mom read Anne’s words, her voice
slowed down, and the icky highness went out, making her voice young again, and
Kate felt the story fold around her mind.
She was no longer Kate, lying in this bed, with only one
working eye, and nothing to do but look. Listen. She was Anne of Green Gables,
at least until the end of the chapter, when Mom laid the book back down, kissed
Kate very softly, and went out to let her sleep.
o0o
“I don’t care. I want to run away.”
“Like where are you going to go? Talk about being a total
geek.”
Little voices came through the ripped fragments of dreams.
“I wish to find my castle. You ought to obey, because I’m a
princess.”
“Talk to the hand!”
Who were those little voices? Kate opened her eye. Her room
was half lit with faint blue light from the streetlamp two houses down. There
wasn’t anything in her room anymore, besides the bed, table, TV, and below it
the shelf containing her favorite dolls. Kate looked at the shelf. It was
empty.
Where were the dolls?
“There aren’t any princesses in this land, so you can’t boss
me.”
“She’s right.”
“Yeah!”
“Eeee-he-he-hee!” Who was that? Could that be her porcelain
horse, Midnight? How was that possible?
“Then I must find my land,” stated the squeaky voice with the
snobby accent.
Princess Polly.
“What-EV-er.”
That had to be Fashion Franci.
The dolls were talking! A cold feeling poured through Kate’s
middle, just like someone had put ice water there.
“Dolls,” she said. Her voice came out crackly, because she
didn’t talk much anymore.
The voices stilled.
Kate waited, and
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