Read Online After the Ashes by Sara K. Joiner - Free Book Online Page B

conversation and be polite. “
Ja
, Tante, he is.”
    Mrs. Burkart smiled at her son. “I can scarcely believe he is five years old. So much time passes in the blink of an eye.”
    â€œHe’s five?” I asked. “I thought he was closer to three.”
    Brigitta let out a soft laugh. “You can certainly tell you’re an only child, Katrien, or you would know he’s far too big for three.”
    I clenched my teeth.
Ignore her
, I told myself.
    Vader leaned toward Mr. Burkart. “What do you think is happening on Krakatau?”
    I shifted my chair to hear the answer, because this was a conversation I wanted to follow. Unfortunately, the men were seated on the other side of my aunt and Mrs. Burkart, and between the women’s boring talk and the noisy dining room, I couldn’t make out Mr. Burkart’s response.
    I gave up and instead turned my attention to the waiter, who had returned with the soup and was ladling it into our bowls. As he stretched to fill the last bowl, he overreached and tipped forward, splashing Jeroen’s lap with the hot liquid.
    The boy cried out and the waiter immediately apologized and jumped to assist him. Mrs. Burkart gasped and fluttered her hands uselessly, but everyone else sprang from their seats to help. Vader ran for water, Mr. Burkart fanned his napkin in the boy’s direction,and Tante Greet and I offered our handkerchiefs, which Brigitta grabbed and used to dab at her brother’s legs with deft movements.
    While she blotted the hot liquid, she sang a soothing lullaby—one I hadn’t heard since before my mother died when she sang it to me.
    â€œDo you know the mussels man,
    the mussels man, the mussels man?
    Do you know the mussels man
    who lives in Scheveningen?”
    Brigitta’s voice wavered like the twitter of a zebra dove. With all the noise in the dining room, I don’t believe anyone—except little Jeroen and me—heard the song.
    My heart ached with longing. If my mother were still alive, would I feel so out of step with the world? Would she care if I were more like a prickly weed than a beautiful flower? Or would I be entirely different if she were still alive? Would Brigitta and I still be friends? I wiped my eyes before anyone—especially Brigitta—noticed them glistening. I didn’t need her to know she could bring me to tears.
    Vader returned with a pitcher of water, and Brigitta dipped the cloth and continued her ministrations, her actions sure and precise.
    â€œThere now.” She wiped her brother’s face and gave him a soft tap on the nose. “All better.”
    He giggled, and we returned to our cooled soup.
    While we ate, Brigitta glanced in my direction and frowned. I paid her no mind and instead strained once more to hear Vader’s and Mr. Burkart’s discussion over the clinking china and Jeroen’s babble.
    â€œBut the volcano hasn’t erupted in centuries.” Worry filled Vader’s voice. “It’s supposed to be extinct.”
    Mr. Burkart ate a spoonful of soup. “So was Pompeii.”
    â€œAnd we all know how that ended,” Vader said.
    â€œ ‘
Many volcanic islands are sufficiently ancient, as shown by the stupendous degradation which they have suffered
,’ ” I quoted.
    Every head at the table turned in my direction. I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud.
    â€œThank you for that comment, Katrien,” Vader said. Only he didn’t look appreciative. This was probably considered rude behavior.
    Mr. Burkart wiped his mouth with his napkin. “At any rate, I don’t think we have too much to worry about. It is forty kilometers away.”
    I wanted to tell him Mrs. Brinckerhoff’s story, but Tante Greet placed a hand on my knee and whispered, “Please behave,” into my ear.
    What had I done wrong? I was trying to participate in the conversation, wasn’t I? Isn’t that what she