Read Online Missing Sisters -SA by Gregory Maguire - Free Book Online
Authors: Gregory Maguire
Tags: Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, Social Science, Historical, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Orphans, Twins, Siblings, Adoption, Handicapped, Sisters, People With Disabilities, Orphans & Foster Homes, Special Needs
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window on the stairs. Naomi looked more embarrassed than anything else.
She’d sent back a couple of letters to say she missed everyone. “Even Alice!” she’d added in a PS. “Can ya believe it?” She’d told of a life of great luxury. Her own bedroom. A new school. Freedom to call up friends on the telephone. Most enviable of all, her own alarm clock with a transistor radio in it. “Pop music is fab,” she’d reported. “Ya should hear it! Ya’d love it.”
“Her grammar is deteriorating,” clucked Sister Francis de Sales. “You girls would do best not to envy poor Naomi too much. There’s no equaling the kind of advantages you have, believe me.”
On the whole, the girls did believe her. Naomi Matthews was the kind of girl things happened to, that was all. She’d probably grow up to have a cooking show on TV or something professional like that. But there could be deep sorrow in the future, ready to snare her when she got too happy. Especially if she forgot she’d started out in a girls’ home like the rest of them.
The girls left behind were patient. They could wait for fate or the devil to trip Naomi up. The more joy she had in youth, the worse it would be for her later. They pitied her, really.
At the opening barbecue, Alice was astounded to be lassoed with a pair of sunburned arms, to have her face burnished by an ebullient crisp structure of hair. The permanent wave was a novelty, but the color could only be Naomi Matthews. And there she was, acting like a long-lost best friend. “Alice Colossus!” she was shouting. “What’re you doing here!”
“You know,” said Alice, mumbling more than usual in her surprise. “The girls of Sacred Heart get to go to Camp Saint Theresa. You did, too.”
“My parents thought I’d love to do something from my old life,” Naomi babbled on, “and I said, well, why not Camp Saint Theresa? I hoped somebody I knew would be here! Are you around for more than one session?”
“No,” said Alice.
“Me either,” said Naomi. “What a gyp. It’s not as if they don’t have the money. They just love me so much they can’t bear for me to be gone for more than two weeks.”
“Oh,” said Alice. “How’s the lady? The lady acting like a mother, but she don’t do it so good?”
“My mom,” said Naomi severely. “She’s fine. She’s a little—uh. Well, she’s not exactly Donna Reed. I mean, she cries a lot. She’s okay. How’s Sister Vincent de Paul? She back yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Anyone else here from home? I mean from the home?”
“Ruth Peters and some of her dormitory friends are in the junior camp.” And just then Ruth Peters had run up, having sighted Naomi from across a couple of picnic tables. She burbled like a water cooler. With a shriek of joy she climbed into Naomi’s lap and began to suck her thumb for all it was worth. Ruth hadn’t liked Naomi much, but she was already homesick and glad to see another familiar face. After a couple of minutes she switched to Alice’s lap.
“Well,” said Naomi, “better go back to my table. See you around, Alice.”
“No—don’t go!” protested Ruth, who was capable of having a screaming fit at the slightest separation from anyone she knew.
“Only over there,” said Naomi. “Honestly. She hasn’t changed a bit, has she?” She winked at Alice. Alice felt faintly affronted by the wink. It had only been six months. How much was a now-five-year-old supposed to change in six months? Yet Naomi seemed to have become a certified teenager. Even her breasts seemed more confident.
Naomi had figured out who was who and latched on to a squadron of slightly older girls, who sneaked lipstick on at night though it wasn’t allowed. Alice made the mistake, only once, of trying to hang around with them during a free period. They’d arched their eyebrows the first time she spoke and exchanged glances with Naomi. Alice had wandered away then, down to the lakefront, to
She’d sent back a couple of letters to say she missed everyone. “Even Alice!” she’d added in a PS. “Can ya believe it?” She’d told of a life of great luxury. Her own bedroom. A new school. Freedom to call up friends on the telephone. Most enviable of all, her own alarm clock with a transistor radio in it. “Pop music is fab,” she’d reported. “Ya should hear it! Ya’d love it.”
“Her grammar is deteriorating,” clucked Sister Francis de Sales. “You girls would do best not to envy poor Naomi too much. There’s no equaling the kind of advantages you have, believe me.”
On the whole, the girls did believe her. Naomi Matthews was the kind of girl things happened to, that was all. She’d probably grow up to have a cooking show on TV or something professional like that. But there could be deep sorrow in the future, ready to snare her when she got too happy. Especially if she forgot she’d started out in a girls’ home like the rest of them.
The girls left behind were patient. They could wait for fate or the devil to trip Naomi up. The more joy she had in youth, the worse it would be for her later. They pitied her, really.
At the opening barbecue, Alice was astounded to be lassoed with a pair of sunburned arms, to have her face burnished by an ebullient crisp structure of hair. The permanent wave was a novelty, but the color could only be Naomi Matthews. And there she was, acting like a long-lost best friend. “Alice Colossus!” she was shouting. “What’re you doing here!”
“You know,” said Alice, mumbling more than usual in her surprise. “The girls of Sacred Heart get to go to Camp Saint Theresa. You did, too.”
“My parents thought I’d love to do something from my old life,” Naomi babbled on, “and I said, well, why not Camp Saint Theresa? I hoped somebody I knew would be here! Are you around for more than one session?”
“No,” said Alice.
“Me either,” said Naomi. “What a gyp. It’s not as if they don’t have the money. They just love me so much they can’t bear for me to be gone for more than two weeks.”
“Oh,” said Alice. “How’s the lady? The lady acting like a mother, but she don’t do it so good?”
“My mom,” said Naomi severely. “She’s fine. She’s a little—uh. Well, she’s not exactly Donna Reed. I mean, she cries a lot. She’s okay. How’s Sister Vincent de Paul? She back yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Anyone else here from home? I mean from the home?”
“Ruth Peters and some of her dormitory friends are in the junior camp.” And just then Ruth Peters had run up, having sighted Naomi from across a couple of picnic tables. She burbled like a water cooler. With a shriek of joy she climbed into Naomi’s lap and began to suck her thumb for all it was worth. Ruth hadn’t liked Naomi much, but she was already homesick and glad to see another familiar face. After a couple of minutes she switched to Alice’s lap.
“Well,” said Naomi, “better go back to my table. See you around, Alice.”
“No—don’t go!” protested Ruth, who was capable of having a screaming fit at the slightest separation from anyone she knew.
“Only over there,” said Naomi. “Honestly. She hasn’t changed a bit, has she?” She winked at Alice. Alice felt faintly affronted by the wink. It had only been six months. How much was a now-five-year-old supposed to change in six months? Yet Naomi seemed to have become a certified teenager. Even her breasts seemed more confident.
Naomi had figured out who was who and latched on to a squadron of slightly older girls, who sneaked lipstick on at night though it wasn’t allowed. Alice made the mistake, only once, of trying to hang around with them during a free period. They’d arched their eyebrows the first time she spoke and exchanged glances with Naomi. Alice had wandered away then, down to the lakefront, to
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