Read Online Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) by Carol Antoinette Peacock - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carol Antoinette Peacock
Ads: Link
writing is better, Wen.â
âBut I miss her too, Auntie Lan Lan. Canât you tell her to come back? I want to talk to her!â
âShe cannot, Wen. Try to understand. It is too much for her. I have to hang up now, the babies are waiting. Be sure to be a good girl, Wen. Good-bye.â
Wen heard the line go dead. She kept the phone in her hand, hoping it would ring again and Auntie Lan Lan would say,
Sheâs here again. Shu Ling can talk after all.
But the phone stayed silent. Wen imagined Shu Ling in her cot back at the orphanage.
Then, feeling as sad and as still as Shu Ling, she walked down the hall and climbed into her own bed, tucking her body into a curve, just the way Shu Ling did.
nine
âDear Shu Ling . . .â
On notebook paper, Wen slanted her calligraphy pen to form curving Chinese characters. She reminded herself to start her letter simply, the way she had when sheâd taught Shu Ling how to read and write.
One day in the fall after Wen had come to the orphanage, Auntie Lan Lan rang the gong and lined up the six-year-old boys and girls in the courtyard. If Director Feng tapped their heads, they would go to school in the classroom on the second floor. But the kids whose heads he didnât tap would stay back and help with the babies.
Director Feng walked up and down the row of six-year-olds.
Pick me,
Wen begged silently.
Pick me!
She felt a pat on her head. Sheâd been picked!
âI wish you could go to school too,â Wen told Shu Ling that afternoon.
âThere would be no point. Director Feng says Iâm âdefective,â
mei mei
,â Shu Ling said.
âStupid word.â Wen seethed. âStupid.â
Wen had stormed over to Director Fengâs office, raised her arm, and knocked. Director Feng came to the door and glared. âWhy canât Shu Ling go to school?â Wen asked, wishing her voice sounded bigger and braver.
Director Feng told Wen that it was not her place to question him. Children with disabilities like Shu Ling had no future, and he couldnât waste money educating them. He reminded her that children who questioned their elders did not get chosen for adoption. He slammed his door shut.
Wen started school in the dark classroom upstairs while Shu Ling fed the babies, pulled weeds, and scrubbed the bathroom floors. Each afternoon, when school was over, Wen taught Shu Ling what sheâd learned that day. On their hill, Wen used a stick to scratch Chinese characters in the dust. In a few months, Wen and Shu Ling were reading simple words together. They began writing secret notes for each other, hidden in the rim of a tire. Sometimes Shu Ling gave her drawings. Once, Shu Ling had left a picture of yellow chrysanthemums; another time, a sketch of a baby sleeping, the sun filtering across her gaunt cheeks. Wen folded the pictures under her mattress and considered them treasures.
Now Wen had so much to tell Shu Ling.
Â
Dear Shu Ling,
Â
I am sorry that my phone call made you so sad. Maybe we should write letters instead.
How are you? I miss you so much. How is everybody there? How are the babies doing? Who do you play with on the hill now? At recess, the girls all sit in groups together. They donât pay much attention to me.
We wonât have to write letters for too long, because I have a plan for getting you a family. My own family! Sometimes I get a little scared of them. They can still seem like strange Americans. Plus sometimes they speak English so fast I have no idea what theyâre saying.
But I have a plan. Iâm going to be really good, not greedy, until I see a sign that my family has decided to keep me. Once I know that, Iâll ask them to adopt you! I even have another bed, right under mine. Give me a month or so. Then it will be your lucky day too!
Please write back.
Â
Love from your mei mei,
Wen
P.S. The other day we went to McDonaldâs. Do you remember when the
âBut I miss her too, Auntie Lan Lan. Canât you tell her to come back? I want to talk to her!â
âShe cannot, Wen. Try to understand. It is too much for her. I have to hang up now, the babies are waiting. Be sure to be a good girl, Wen. Good-bye.â
Wen heard the line go dead. She kept the phone in her hand, hoping it would ring again and Auntie Lan Lan would say,
Sheâs here again. Shu Ling can talk after all.
But the phone stayed silent. Wen imagined Shu Ling in her cot back at the orphanage.
Then, feeling as sad and as still as Shu Ling, she walked down the hall and climbed into her own bed, tucking her body into a curve, just the way Shu Ling did.
nine
âDear Shu Ling . . .â
On notebook paper, Wen slanted her calligraphy pen to form curving Chinese characters. She reminded herself to start her letter simply, the way she had when sheâd taught Shu Ling how to read and write.
One day in the fall after Wen had come to the orphanage, Auntie Lan Lan rang the gong and lined up the six-year-old boys and girls in the courtyard. If Director Feng tapped their heads, they would go to school in the classroom on the second floor. But the kids whose heads he didnât tap would stay back and help with the babies.
Director Feng walked up and down the row of six-year-olds.
Pick me,
Wen begged silently.
Pick me!
She felt a pat on her head. Sheâd been picked!
âI wish you could go to school too,â Wen told Shu Ling that afternoon.
âThere would be no point. Director Feng says Iâm âdefective,â
mei mei
,â Shu Ling said.
âStupid word.â Wen seethed. âStupid.â
Wen had stormed over to Director Fengâs office, raised her arm, and knocked. Director Feng came to the door and glared. âWhy canât Shu Ling go to school?â Wen asked, wishing her voice sounded bigger and braver.
Director Feng told Wen that it was not her place to question him. Children with disabilities like Shu Ling had no future, and he couldnât waste money educating them. He reminded her that children who questioned their elders did not get chosen for adoption. He slammed his door shut.
Wen started school in the dark classroom upstairs while Shu Ling fed the babies, pulled weeds, and scrubbed the bathroom floors. Each afternoon, when school was over, Wen taught Shu Ling what sheâd learned that day. On their hill, Wen used a stick to scratch Chinese characters in the dust. In a few months, Wen and Shu Ling were reading simple words together. They began writing secret notes for each other, hidden in the rim of a tire. Sometimes Shu Ling gave her drawings. Once, Shu Ling had left a picture of yellow chrysanthemums; another time, a sketch of a baby sleeping, the sun filtering across her gaunt cheeks. Wen folded the pictures under her mattress and considered them treasures.
Now Wen had so much to tell Shu Ling.
Â
Dear Shu Ling,
Â
I am sorry that my phone call made you so sad. Maybe we should write letters instead.
How are you? I miss you so much. How is everybody there? How are the babies doing? Who do you play with on the hill now? At recess, the girls all sit in groups together. They donât pay much attention to me.
We wonât have to write letters for too long, because I have a plan for getting you a family. My own family! Sometimes I get a little scared of them. They can still seem like strange Americans. Plus sometimes they speak English so fast I have no idea what theyâre saying.
But I have a plan. Iâm going to be really good, not greedy, until I see a sign that my family has decided to keep me. Once I know that, Iâll ask them to adopt you! I even have another bed, right under mine. Give me a month or so. Then it will be your lucky day too!
Please write back.
Â
Love from your mei mei,
Wen
P.S. The other day we went to McDonaldâs. Do you remember when the
Similar Books
