I’ve never known of anyone with that name before.”
I had to swallow twice so I could say it just right. “My father’s first wife named me minutes after I was born, and then Leigh because that was
her
Christian name. Granny said she wanted to give me something
uplifting,
and Heaven is about as uplifting as a name can get.”
“It’s the most beautiful name I have ever heard. Where is your mother now?”
“Dead in a cemetery,” I said bluntly, forgetting to be charming and coquettish, something Fanny never forgot. “She died minutes after I was born, and because she did, my father can’t forgive me for taking her life.”
“Absolutely no talking in this room!” shouted Mr. Prakins. “The next one who speaks will receive fifteen hours’ detention after school!”
Logan’s eyes softened with compassion and sympathy. And the minute Mr. Prakins left the room, Logan again whispered: “I’m sorry it happened that way, but you said it wrong. Your mother isn’t dead in a cemetery—she’s passed into the great beyond, into a better place, into heaven.”
“If there is a heaven or a hell, I’ve been thinking it’s right here on earth.”
“How old are you anyway, one hundred and twenty?”
“You know I’m thirteen!” I flared angrily. “Just feeling two hundred and fifty today.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s better than feeling thirteen, that’s why!”
Logan cleared his throat, glanced at Mr. Prakins, who kept his eyes on us through a glass wall, and risked another whisper. “Would it be all right if I walked you home today? I’ve never talked to anyone as old as two hundred and fifty, and you’ve got my curiosity aroused. I’d sure like to hear what you have to say.”
I nodded, feeling a bit sick as well as exuberant. Now I’d tricked myself into a situation that might disappoint him with only ordinary answers. What did I know about wisdom, old age, or anything else?
Still, he showed up on the edge of the schoolyard, where all the boys walking home with hill girls waited until their choices showed up. And there stood Fanny.
She spun about, flinging her hair over her face, then tossed it back, whipping around to make it fan out in a circle; grinning broadly when she saw Logan, as if she thought he was coming for her. A short distance from Fanny stood Tom and Keith. Tom seemed surprised to find Logan waiting near our trail. Ours was just a faintpath through the underbrush that led to the woods, and eventually to only our cabin nearest the sky. The minute Fanny saw Logan and me heading for our trail she let out a whoop so loud and embarrassing I wanted to drop dead.
“Heaven, what ya doin with that new boy? Ya know ya don’t like boys! Ain’t ya done said a million times yer neva gonna be nothin but a dried-up ole schoolteacher?”
I tried to ignore Fanny, though my face turned beet-red. What kind of sisterly loyalty was she showing anyway? I knew better than to expect tact. I tried to smile at Logan. It was always best to ignore Fanny, if possible.
Logan stared at her with disapproval, as did Tom.
“Fanny, please don’t say one more word,” I said uncomfortably. “Just run along home, and start the wash for a change.”
“I neva have t’walk home with only a brotha,” Fanny said to Logan in a sneering way before she turned on her most brilliant smile. “Boys don’t like Heaven, they always like me. Ya’ll like me, too. Ya wanna hold my hand?”
Logan glanced at me, at Tom, and then said seriously to Fanny, “Thank you, but right now I’m intent on seeing Heaven home, and hearing all that she has to tell me.”
“Ya should hear me sing!”
“Another time, Fanny, I’ll listen to you sing.”
“Our Jane sings …” said Keith faintly.
“She sure does!” exclaimed Tom, seizing Fanny by the arm and pulling her along with him. “Come along, Keith. Our Jane is home waiting for you.” That’s all Keith needed to hear to hurry after Tom, for Our Jane had missed
I had to swallow twice so I could say it just right. “My father’s first wife named me minutes after I was born, and then Leigh because that was
her
Christian name. Granny said she wanted to give me something
uplifting,
and Heaven is about as uplifting as a name can get.”
“It’s the most beautiful name I have ever heard. Where is your mother now?”
“Dead in a cemetery,” I said bluntly, forgetting to be charming and coquettish, something Fanny never forgot. “She died minutes after I was born, and because she did, my father can’t forgive me for taking her life.”
“Absolutely no talking in this room!” shouted Mr. Prakins. “The next one who speaks will receive fifteen hours’ detention after school!”
Logan’s eyes softened with compassion and sympathy. And the minute Mr. Prakins left the room, Logan again whispered: “I’m sorry it happened that way, but you said it wrong. Your mother isn’t dead in a cemetery—she’s passed into the great beyond, into a better place, into heaven.”
“If there is a heaven or a hell, I’ve been thinking it’s right here on earth.”
“How old are you anyway, one hundred and twenty?”
“You know I’m thirteen!” I flared angrily. “Just feeling two hundred and fifty today.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s better than feeling thirteen, that’s why!”
Logan cleared his throat, glanced at Mr. Prakins, who kept his eyes on us through a glass wall, and risked another whisper. “Would it be all right if I walked you home today? I’ve never talked to anyone as old as two hundred and fifty, and you’ve got my curiosity aroused. I’d sure like to hear what you have to say.”
I nodded, feeling a bit sick as well as exuberant. Now I’d tricked myself into a situation that might disappoint him with only ordinary answers. What did I know about wisdom, old age, or anything else?
Still, he showed up on the edge of the schoolyard, where all the boys walking home with hill girls waited until their choices showed up. And there stood Fanny.
She spun about, flinging her hair over her face, then tossed it back, whipping around to make it fan out in a circle; grinning broadly when she saw Logan, as if she thought he was coming for her. A short distance from Fanny stood Tom and Keith. Tom seemed surprised to find Logan waiting near our trail. Ours was just a faintpath through the underbrush that led to the woods, and eventually to only our cabin nearest the sky. The minute Fanny saw Logan and me heading for our trail she let out a whoop so loud and embarrassing I wanted to drop dead.
“Heaven, what ya doin with that new boy? Ya know ya don’t like boys! Ain’t ya done said a million times yer neva gonna be nothin but a dried-up ole schoolteacher?”
I tried to ignore Fanny, though my face turned beet-red. What kind of sisterly loyalty was she showing anyway? I knew better than to expect tact. I tried to smile at Logan. It was always best to ignore Fanny, if possible.
Logan stared at her with disapproval, as did Tom.
“Fanny, please don’t say one more word,” I said uncomfortably. “Just run along home, and start the wash for a change.”
“I neva have t’walk home with only a brotha,” Fanny said to Logan in a sneering way before she turned on her most brilliant smile. “Boys don’t like Heaven, they always like me. Ya’ll like me, too. Ya wanna hold my hand?”
Logan glanced at me, at Tom, and then said seriously to Fanny, “Thank you, but right now I’m intent on seeing Heaven home, and hearing all that she has to tell me.”
“Ya should hear me sing!”
“Another time, Fanny, I’ll listen to you sing.”
“Our Jane sings …” said Keith faintly.
“She sure does!” exclaimed Tom, seizing Fanny by the arm and pulling her along with him. “Come along, Keith. Our Jane is home waiting for you.” That’s all Keith needed to hear to hurry after Tom, for Our Jane had missed
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