Read Online Queen Sophie Hartley by Stephanie Greene - Free Book Online Page B

Little Lamb
and then curtsying. She was halfway through her final curtsy when she heard footsteps on the stairs. John made a dash for his bed, and Sophie fell over sideways.
    It was Nora.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she said. She stepped coldly over Sophie’s body as if it were nothing more than a lumpy sack of potatoes, went over to her dresser, and picked up her hairbrush.
    â€œResting,” said Sophie.
    â€œWell, go rest downstairs,” Nora said. She began brushing her hair. “I need to rehearse.”
    Sophie could have argued that it was
her
time in the bedroom and that Nora had no right to tell her to leave. But she was feeling generous because of how well her curtsying was going. Besides, she thought Nora’s face looked very pale.
    â€œI’ll watch you if you want,” she offered as she sat up. “I can tell you what you’re doing wrong.”
    â€œAs if you’d know,” said Nora.
    â€œBut I could—”
    â€œI don’t want your help.” Nora put down her hairbrush and turned around. “You don’t know anything, Sophie. Just go away and leave me alone. And you can take your babyish animals with you.” She snatched Sophie’s sheep off the floor and tossed it out into the hall. “I’m sick of them.”
    It was one thing for Nora to be mean to her, but to take it out on an innocent sheep? Sophie ran into the hall and picked up the sheep, cradling it in her arms as if it were
taking its last breath. When their bedroom door slammed shut behind her, she whirled around.
    â€œI do, too, know something, Nora!” she yelled, pounding on the door a few times for good measure. “I’m better at being bad at ballet than you are, so there!”
    Her storming down the stairs was anything but queenly.
    Â 
    â€œ...and then she threw Curly against the wall.”
    â€œWho’s Curly?” said Mrs. Hartley.
    â€œMy sheep.”
    â€œOh, Sophie.” Mrs. Hartley’s face was red from the steam that shot up from the iron when she set it down. There was a warm, friendly smell of steam and clean clothes in the kitchen. “Try to be nice to her,” her mother said. “It’s only for two more days.”
    â€œI
was
trying to be nice,” said Sophie. “She was still mean.”
    â€œIt’s because she’s worried,” her mother said.
    â€œThen why doesn’t she act worried?”
    â€œPride,” said Mrs. Hartley. “Many times, people are too proud to show how they really feel, so they act mean.”
    â€œThat’s no excuse,” said Sophie. She thought about Dr. Holt. “They act mean when they’re sick, too.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œAnd homesick,” she said, thinking about Heather. “They want people to be nice to them, but then they take advantage of them. That’s what
you
always say,” she said defensively, seeing the expression on her mother’s face.
    â€œYou’re right, I do,” said Mrs. Hartley. “My goodness. You’re becoming a regular philosopher.”
    â€œAnd Nora’s not a prima ballerina,” Sophie said. “She’s a prima donna.”
    It made her feel very proud the way her mother suddenly plunked the iron on its base and stared at her through a rush of steam. “Wherever did you learn that expression?” she asked. “Are you
sure
you’re the real Sophie Hartley?”
    â€œDr. Holt told me,” said Sophie. “She knows lots of interesting things.”
    â€œLike what?” said Mrs. Hartley.
    â€œOh, history and things,” Sophie said vaguely. She wished she could tell her mother about curtsying and meeting a queen and everything, but she couldn’t.
    Not yet.
    â€œSo she’s not just a grouchy old lady anymore,” said her mother.
    â€œShe still is, but I’m working on her.”
    â€œNow that,” her mother said, “is something