“I did,” said Mama.
One of the cats, Lily, brushed against my leg.
“And you brought Seal,” I said. “All the way from Maine.”
Mama leaned down to stroke Lily.
“Lily’s grandmother,” she said, her voice low.
“And then you became my mama,” I said.
Mama looked at me then.
“What did you mean, Cassie? That I wasn’t sick and that my cheeks were rose colored? And it was how you had written it?”
I got my journal.
“Papa said that wishes and hopes and dreams were good things to fill my journal. Maybe, he said, some of them would come true.”
“He said that?”
I read her the part of what I had written:
“‘When she comes home, she brings me a small gift. A perfect gift.
“‘More perfect than the moon.’”
It was quiet in the room.
“I thought if I wrote you weren’t sick then you would come home happy and well,” I said.
“With a gift more perfect than the moon,” whispered Sarah.
Papa leaned down to kiss Mama’s cheek. And suddenly, surprising us all, Mama and Papa both smiled. Not just smiles. They grinned.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
Caleb smiled, too. Grandfather poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Why are you smiling?” I asked Mama.
“Be patient, Cassie,” said Grandfather. “I think they’re about to tell us.”
Now Mama’s face was serious. So serious that I thought she might cry. I could see tears in her eyes.
“What you wrote, Cassie, is true. About a perfect gift,” she said.
“It is?”
I moved over to Mama and she put an arm around me.
“What is the gift?” I asked.
“A baby,” said Mama.
“Baby?” I asked.
Mama took a deep breath and looked at Caleb, then Grandfather, then me. She smiled at Papa.
“Our baby,” she said. “We’re going to have our baby.”
There was a silence all around the room.
“Our baby,” she repeated softly.
Our baby!
I moved away from Mama.
“I didn’t want to tell you all earlier because . . .”
Mama stopped.
“Because she didn’t want you to worry,” said Papa. “She wanted everything to be all right.”
When I spoke my voice did not sound like my voice.
“Everything is not all right,” I said loudly. “And this is not our baby. It is your baby. Yours! And it is not the perfect gift! It isn’t!”
“Cassie,” said Grandfather, reaching out for my arm.
I pushed him away and ran out the door and through the yard. Lottie and Nick, sleeping on the porch, lifted their heads as I ran off. I ducked through the fence and ran across the meadow and to the fields and over the hill until I couldn’t see the house anymore.
I sat behind the big tree on the hill, looking over the slough. The slough was filled with water from the summer rains. A family of ducks swam around the edges. Everything was peaceful and the way it had always been.
But things were not the same. Nothing would ever be the same. My throat hurt as if I might cry. I pulled out my journal and began writing to stop the tears from coming.
* * *
Mama and Papa should have brought me a new journal, but they didn’t.
A baby is not a gift. Not the gift I wanted. A baby is a bother.
New glass marbles are gifts, blue and green and with cloudy swirls.
A new horse, a baby lamb are gifts.
Books are gifts, to read and read and read again.
The new baby will be ugly and mean.
I will make it do all my chores.
* * *
There was a rustle beside me. Papa sat down. Lottie and Nick ran past us down to the water, sending up the ducks. I closed my journal.
“What are you writing about?” Papa asked.
“Gifts.”
“I hope you put a new bridle in there,” he said. “That’s what I’m wanting.”
Lottie and Nick waded into the water.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked.
“No. I’m not mad.”
“Mama’s mad, I bet.”
“No. Mama’s not mad, either.”
“Why not?”
“She loves you,” said Papa.
Lottie came out of the water and when she shook, the droplets caught the light.
“When you were born,” said Papa very softly, “you were wondrous.”
I had never heard Papa use that word before.
“Was I more perfect than the moon?”
“I don’t think anything is perfect,” he said. “Or anyone.”
“Then why did you like me?”
“You smiled right off the bat.”
“I don’t think babies do that,” I said.
“You did that. And you made small snuffling noises. And when I held you, you smelled like something sweet I’d never smelled before. Like spring roses.”
That sounded perfect to me, but I didn’t say so out loud.
“Did Anna and Caleb love me?”
“Yes. When you began to walk, you followed them around wherever they went.”
“Did they hate that?”
“No. They thought you were funny.”
“Well, I am not going to let the new baby follow me anywhere.”
“That’s up to you,” said Papa.
Nick came out of the water then and started to walk up the hill to where we sat.
“I will not speak to the baby. And I will not look at the baby, either,” I said.
“Watch out, Cassie,” said Papa suddenly, taking my hand.
We stood up, but we were not fast enough. Nick shook water all over us. Papa and I laughed and ran back through the fields, dripping water, Lottie and Nick barking and leaping around us.
We jumped over the little brook and ran across the meadow to the house.
Mama’s flowers were still on the kitchen table, dried and wilted. She had forgotten to put them in water.
I threw them away.
No matter what Papa says, I will not love the new baby.
5
Hot summer days came and the slough dried up. The hay had been cut once, but it was growing fast again. The dogs and I wound our way through the hay fields and through the corn. We made a nest in the shade of the corn. Lottie and Nick slept there as I wrote.
* * *
Summer is too hot. I can’t write. I like winter. There is something sharp about winter that makes me think. I like writing all curled up in a corner of the warm house, safe and quiet. Out here in the open there is too much space. My thoughts fly away.
Mama is getting bigger every day. Soon she will float up and up and hover over us like a rain cloud.
* * *
“Cassie! Where are you?”
The dogs lifted their heads and thumped their tails. It was too hot to get up.
My sister Anna came through the corn, her face dusty.
“There you are.”
She sat down next to me, reaching out to pet Lottie and Nick.
“You know, I used to hide out here, too.”
I smiled.
“Grandfather says ‘you know’ all the time, too,” I said.
“So do you. I remember when you didn’t like Grandfather,” said Anna.
“I was scared of him.”
“Not anymore,” said Anna.
“Grandfather knows everything,” I said. “Sometimes that’s scary.”
Anna’s long hair was the color of corn. She had caught it back in a blue ribbon.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Just came to visit. I brought some medicine for Grandfather. And to check on Sarah.”
Anna lived in town now and worked for Dr. Sam. Once I had hidden behind the
Russian olive bushes and had seen her kiss Justin, Dr. Sam’s son. It was a long kiss and I had counted twenty-seven full seconds.
“And to see you, Cassie. And to tell you a secret.”
“I’m tired of secrets,” I said.
“You’re never tired of secrets, Cass, you know.”
Anna and I laughed at “you know.”
“They told you about the baby?”
I nodded.
“It made me think about when you were born,” Anna said.
“Papa said you loved me.”
“Oh, not in the beginning, Cass.”
I was surprised.
“But Papa said so.”
“Well, I didn’t tell Papa that I thought you were ugly and wrinkled and took too much of Sarah’s time. I was about your age, Cass. I was very grown up and I didn’t want any silly baby around.”
I nodded.
“I will not look at or speak to this baby when it comes. I told Papa.”
Anna didn’t say anything.
I looked closely at her.
“What made you love me?”
Anna burst out laughing.
“I couldn’t help it!” she said. “I just couldn’t help it.”
“Tell me,” I said.
Anna shook her head, still laughing.
“I can’t tell you why, Cass. You’ll see.”
No. I won’t see.
The sun moved over us. Lottie and Nick crawled into the shade, panting. Anna and I lay back on the ground. There was a sweet smell of corn and earth all around us.
“What is the secret?” I asked.
Anna smiled.
“I knew you really weren’t tired of secrets.”
She held out her left hand for me to see. On her third finger was a gold ring, a sparkling stone in the middle.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means Justin and I are getting married,” said Anna. “No one else knows yet. I told you first.”
I turned my head and smiled at her and she smiled back.
“I saw you kiss him for a lot of seconds once,” I said.
“How many seconds?” asked Anna.
“Twenty-seven.”
A cloud slipped over the sun and it was cool for a moment.
“Cass?”
“What?”
“I passed that record a long time ago.”
Anna and I laughed. Someone called from the house and we went to tell Caleb and Grandfather and Mama and Papa that Anna was getting married and had kissed Justin for longer than twenty-seven seconds.
* * *
Anna and Justin got married and had eleven children, most of them girls. Mama gave birth to a baby lamb named Beatrice, and everyone lived happily ever after.
* * *
6
We drank lemonade under the big tree. The air was still. The dogs lay under the table. Mama fanned herself, her hair in wisps around her face.
“Someone’s coming,” said Grandfather.
We all turned to look at the cloud of dust rise up on the road. It was a horse and buggy.
“It’s Matthew and Maggie,” said Papa.
The buggy came into the yard and stopped.
Maggie climbed down from the wagon and put her arms around Mama.
“Sarah! You are big and lovely!” Maggie’s voice was soft.
Mama smiled. Maggie had been Mama’s very first friend when Mama came here from Maine. But when the drought came and there was no water, Matthew and Maggie and their children had moved away for two years. Mama and Maggie had written letters to each other every single day when Maggie had gone away.
And once I had seen Mama cry because she missed Maggie.
But now they were back.
Mama poured lemonade for Maggie and Matthew. She passed Matthew the homemade raisin cookies that he loved.
“I’ve missed these cookies, Sarah,” said Matthew.
Mama smiled and brushed the hair back from her face.
“When’s the day, Sarah?” asked Maggie.
“Soon. A few weeks . . . a month? The end of summer. The truth is I’m too old for this. This baby,” said Mama. “I was too old when I came to live here.”
I looked quickly at Mama. What did she mean “too old”?
“No. I’m old,” said Papa.
“No, I’m old,” said Grandfather, making everyone laugh.
“Grandfather wins,” Caleb said.
Maggie put her arms around me.
“And Cassie, you are beautiful!”
No one had ever called me beautiful. They had called me sneaky and elusive and imaginative. Not beautiful.
“You look just like your mama.”
I frowned. I looked at Mama. Big.
“I think I look like Anna,” I said.
“Ah no,” said Maggie. “You have your mama’s smile and her eyes.”
I frowned again.
“Actually, I think Cassie looks like Eleni, the cow,” said Caleb.
There was laughter.
“No,” said Mama. “I look like Eleni.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah. Eleni is a very beautiful cow,” said Grandfather.
“I almost forgot, Cassie! Sarah asked me to get this for you,” said Maggie. She handed me a small, flat, wrapped package. I took off the wrapping. It was a journal. I opened it. It was empty, no words.
I felt my throat tighten up. Mama hadn’t forgotten after all.
“Thank you, Maggie,” I said.
“It was your mama,” said Maggie. “Thank her.”
I looked at Mama.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Mama smiled. She reached out and took my hand.
“You need to keep writing, Cassie. You’re a good writer.”
My face felt hot. Mama hadn’t seen what I’d written about her. She wouldn’t like my writing if she read that.
I took the journal off behind the tree. I opened it. All of a sudden I felt far away. Far away from everyone. Far away from Mama.
I heard their talk about Anna and Justin getting married. I heard their talk about when Matthew would bring his horses for the second haying. Talk of chores and gardens and rain. Their words wound around us like steam from hot tea.
* * *
After Mama has the baby lamb, Beatrice, she goes on long walks with me, leaving Beatrice with Caleb.
“He can take care of her,” she tells me. “All she does is sleep and bleat.
“You are more beautiful than Beatrice,” she tells me. “And you are much smarter.
“And Cassie, you are the finest writer in the entire world.
“I love you best.”
* * *
I looked up, suddenly surprised at what I had written. I closed the journal with a snap.
Something else was at the edges of my mind. Something that scared me. Some-thing I had heard but couldn’t remember. What was it?
The house was dark and quiet when I sat straight up in bed. Lottie and Nick moved a little on the bed, but they didn’t wake. Very slowly I got up. I looked out the window. There was a half-moon. I walked down the hallway to Caleb’s bedroom. I pushed the door open.
Caleb slept in a tangle of blankets. I walked over quietly and sat on his bed. I waited. I didn’t want to shake him. Sometimes Caleb was cross if you woke him. I waited, watching him for a long time. After a while he turned over. A book fell off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thump.
Caleb sat up, startled.
“What?”
“Shhh. A book fell off your bed,” I said softly.
“What are you doing here, Cassie? Go away.”
“I need to ask you something,” I whispered.
“Not now. Tomorrow,” mumbled Caleb.
“Please. Now, Caleb.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Caleb.
I took a deep breath.
“How old is Mama?”
“Oh Cassie. I don’t know. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight. Go back to bed.”
/> “Caleb? Why did Mama say she was too old?”
“I don’t know. Go away.”
“Caleb?”
“What?”
“How old was your mama when she had you? When she . . .”
I stopped. I couldn’t say the word.
Caleb turned over, his back to me. He didn’t say anything. I got up and walked to the door. I walked back to my room and took out my journal. I couldn’t say it but I could write it.
* * *
What if Mama is too old to have this baby? What if this terrible baby makes Mama die like Caleb’s mama died when he was born?
* * *
I closed the journal as if shutting away the words would make them go away. But they didn’t go away. I sat at the window watching for the longest time until the sun came up orange over the east meadow.
7
Mama was cooking pancakes in the big black skillet. The smell of melted butter and syrup filled the kitchen. We drank lemonade under the big tree. The air was still. The dogs lay under the table. Sarah fanned herself, her hair in wisps around her face.
“You look tired, Cassie. Didn’t you sleep well?” she asked me.
“No.”
Mama put her hand on my forehead.
“You don’t have a fever.”
She handed me a cup of juice.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
I didn’t know how to ask her.
“Are you worried about being old?”
Mama burst out laughing. Then she stopped.
“You’re serious, aren’t you, Cass?”
Mama sat at the table.
“No, I don’t worry about that. Why do you ask?”
“When Maggie was here, you said you were too old.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? I guess what I meant was that I’ll have a new child to run after. Cassie, I thought I had the best life when I came here to be a mother to Anna and Caleb and marry your papa. And then I had you! And that seemed just perfect.”
Perfect. That word again.
“But life has its ways, Cassie. This is something that I didn’t expect.”