Read Online A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Donnelly
Tags: United States, General, Historical, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, 20th Century, Love & Romance, Girls & Women, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Adolescence
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they want me,
I thought.
Barnard College wants me—Mattie Gokey from the Uncas Road in Eagle Bay. It says that the dean herself likes my stories and doesn't think they are morbid and dispiriting, and that professors, real professors with long black gowns and all sorts of fancy degrees, will teach me. It says I
am
smart, even if I can't make Pleasant mind and didn't salt the pork right. It says I can be something if I choose. Something more than a know-nothing farm girl with shit on her shoes.
"It says I'm accepted," I finally said. "And that I've got a scholarship. A full scholarship. As long as I pass my exams."
Miss Wilcox let out a whoop and hugged me. Good and hard. She took me by my arms and kissed my cheek, and I saw that her eyes were shiny. I didn't know why it meant so much to her that I'd got myself into college, but I was glad that it did.
"I knew you'd do it, Mattie! I knew that Laura Gill would see your talent. Those stories you sent were excellent! Didn't I tell you they were?" She twirled around in a circle, took a deep draw of her cigarette, and blew it all out. "Can you imagine?" she asked, laughing. "You're going to be a college student. You and Weaver both! This fall! In New York City, no less!"
As soon as she said it, as soon as she talked about my dream like that and brought it out in the light and made it real, I saw only the impossibility of it all. I had a pa who would never let me go. I had no money and no prospect of getting any. And I had made a promise—one that would keep me here even if I had all the money in the world.
When he has to, Pa sells some of his calves for veal. The cows cry so when he takes them that I can't be in the barn. I have to run up to the cornfield, my hands over my ears. If you've ever heard a cow cry for her calf, you know how it feels to have something beautiful and new put into your hands, to wonder and smile at it, and then have it snatched away. That's how I felt then, and my feelings must have been on my face, because Miss Wilcox's smile suddenly faded.
"You're working this summer, aren't you?" she said. "At the Glenmore?"
I shook my head. "My pa said no."
"Well, not to worry. My sister Annabelle will give you room and board in exchange for a bit of housekeeping. She has a town house in Murray Hill and she's all alone in it, so there would be plenty of room for you. Between the scholarship and Annabelle, that's tuition, housing, and meals taken care of. For book money and the trolley and clothing and such, you could always get a job. Something part-time. Typing, perhaps. Or ringing up sales in a department store. Plenty of girls manage it."
Girls who know what they're doing,
I thought. Brisk, confident girls in white blouses and twill skirts who could make heads or tails of a typewriter or a cash register. Not girls in old wash dresses and cracked shoes.
"I suppose I could," I said weakly.
"What about your father? Can he help you at all?"
"No, ma'am."
"Mattie ... you've told him, haven't you?"
"No, ma'am, I haven't."
Miss Wilcox nodded, curt and determined. She stubbed out her cigarette on the underside of her desk and put the ashy end in her purse. Miss Wilcox knew how to not get caught doing things she shouldn't. It was an odd quality in a teacher.
"I'll talk to him, Mattie. I'll tell him if you want me to," she said.
I laughed at that—a flat, joyless laugh—then said, "No, ma'am, I don't. Not unless you know how to duck a peavey."
un • man
"Afternoon, Mattie!" Mr. Eckler called from the bow of his boat. "Got a new one. Brand-new. Just come in. By a Mrs. Wharton.
House of Mirth,
its called. I tucked it in behind the coffee beans, under
W
You'll see it."
"Thank you, Mr. Eckler!" I said, excited at the prospect of a new book. "Did you read it?"
"Yup. Read it whole."
"What's it about?"
"Can't hardly say. Some flighty city girl who can't decide if she wants to fish or cut bait. Don't know why it's called
House of Mirth.
It ain't funny in the
I thought.
Barnard College wants me—Mattie Gokey from the Uncas Road in Eagle Bay. It says that the dean herself likes my stories and doesn't think they are morbid and dispiriting, and that professors, real professors with long black gowns and all sorts of fancy degrees, will teach me. It says I
am
smart, even if I can't make Pleasant mind and didn't salt the pork right. It says I can be something if I choose. Something more than a know-nothing farm girl with shit on her shoes.
"It says I'm accepted," I finally said. "And that I've got a scholarship. A full scholarship. As long as I pass my exams."
Miss Wilcox let out a whoop and hugged me. Good and hard. She took me by my arms and kissed my cheek, and I saw that her eyes were shiny. I didn't know why it meant so much to her that I'd got myself into college, but I was glad that it did.
"I knew you'd do it, Mattie! I knew that Laura Gill would see your talent. Those stories you sent were excellent! Didn't I tell you they were?" She twirled around in a circle, took a deep draw of her cigarette, and blew it all out. "Can you imagine?" she asked, laughing. "You're going to be a college student. You and Weaver both! This fall! In New York City, no less!"
As soon as she said it, as soon as she talked about my dream like that and brought it out in the light and made it real, I saw only the impossibility of it all. I had a pa who would never let me go. I had no money and no prospect of getting any. And I had made a promise—one that would keep me here even if I had all the money in the world.
When he has to, Pa sells some of his calves for veal. The cows cry so when he takes them that I can't be in the barn. I have to run up to the cornfield, my hands over my ears. If you've ever heard a cow cry for her calf, you know how it feels to have something beautiful and new put into your hands, to wonder and smile at it, and then have it snatched away. That's how I felt then, and my feelings must have been on my face, because Miss Wilcox's smile suddenly faded.
"You're working this summer, aren't you?" she said. "At the Glenmore?"
I shook my head. "My pa said no."
"Well, not to worry. My sister Annabelle will give you room and board in exchange for a bit of housekeeping. She has a town house in Murray Hill and she's all alone in it, so there would be plenty of room for you. Between the scholarship and Annabelle, that's tuition, housing, and meals taken care of. For book money and the trolley and clothing and such, you could always get a job. Something part-time. Typing, perhaps. Or ringing up sales in a department store. Plenty of girls manage it."
Girls who know what they're doing,
I thought. Brisk, confident girls in white blouses and twill skirts who could make heads or tails of a typewriter or a cash register. Not girls in old wash dresses and cracked shoes.
"I suppose I could," I said weakly.
"What about your father? Can he help you at all?"
"No, ma'am."
"Mattie ... you've told him, haven't you?"
"No, ma'am, I haven't."
Miss Wilcox nodded, curt and determined. She stubbed out her cigarette on the underside of her desk and put the ashy end in her purse. Miss Wilcox knew how to not get caught doing things she shouldn't. It was an odd quality in a teacher.
"I'll talk to him, Mattie. I'll tell him if you want me to," she said.
I laughed at that—a flat, joyless laugh—then said, "No, ma'am, I don't. Not unless you know how to duck a peavey."
un • man
"Afternoon, Mattie!" Mr. Eckler called from the bow of his boat. "Got a new one. Brand-new. Just come in. By a Mrs. Wharton.
House of Mirth,
its called. I tucked it in behind the coffee beans, under
W
You'll see it."
"Thank you, Mr. Eckler!" I said, excited at the prospect of a new book. "Did you read it?"
"Yup. Read it whole."
"What's it about?"
"Can't hardly say. Some flighty city girl who can't decide if she wants to fish or cut bait. Don't know why it's called
House of Mirth.
It ain't funny in the
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