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Authors: Tracy Chevalier
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back of our house. As I slipped past them, a lady called to me, “Find anything?”
Without thinking I opened my hand. She gasped and caught up the ammo to show the others, who stopped to admire it. “I’ll give you half a crown for it, girl.” The lady handed the ammo to one of the men and opened a purse. I wanted to say it weren’t for sale, that it was mine to help me remember Pa by, but she’d already put the coin in my hand and turned away. I stared at the money and thought, “Here is a week’s bread. It’ll keep us from the workhouse.” Pa would’ve wanted that.
I hurried home, squeezing that coin tight. It was proof that we could still make a business out of the curies.
MAM NO LONGER COMPLAINED about our hunting. She didn’t have time to: By the time she recovered from the shock of Pa’s death, the baby were born, which she called Richard after Pa. Like all the past babies, this one were a cryer. He was never very well, and nor was Mam; she was cold and tired, with baby not sleeping well and feeding badly.
It were baby’s crying—that and the debt—that sent Joe out into the bitter cold he hated, one day a few months after Pa’s death. We needed fossils. I wanted to go out too, even with the cold, but I was stuck indoors, jiggling baby about to stop his crying. He was such a squally little thing it was hard to like him. The only thing that shut him up was when I held him tight and jiggled him and sang “Don’t Let Me Die an Old Maid” over and over.
I was just singing the last lines for the sixth time—“Come old or come young, come foolish or witty/Don’t let me die an old maid, but take me for pity”—when Joe come in, banging the door back so I jumped. A bank of cold air hit me and started baby crying again. “Look what you done!” I shouted. “He was just quieting and you gone and woke him.”
Joe shut the door and turned back to me. That’s when I saw that he was excited. Usually nothing stirs my brother—he has a face like a rock, with little expression or change. Now, though, his brown eyes were lit like the sun shone through them, his cheeks were red, his mouth was open. He snatched his cap off and rumpled his hair so that it stood straight up.
“What is it, Joe?” I said. “Oh, hush, baby, hush!” I put baby over my shoulder. “What is it?”
“I found something.”
“What? Show me.” I looked to see what he was holding.
“You have to come out. It’s in the cliff. It’s big.”
“Where?”
“The end of Church Cliffs.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. Something—different. Long jaw, lots of teeth.” Joe looked almost scared.
“It’s a crocodile,” I declared. “It must be.”
“Come and see.”
“Can’t—what would I do with baby?”
“Bring him with.”
“Can’t do that—it’s too cold.”
“What about leaving him next door?”
I shook my head. “They done too much for us already—we can’t ask them again, not for something like this.” Our neighbors in Cockmoile Square were wary of curies. They envied us the little money we made from them, while also asking why anyone would want to part with even a penny for a bit of stone. I knew we had to ask for their help only when we really needed them.
“Take him a minute.” I handed baby to Joe and went to look at Mam in the next room. She was flat out asleep, looking so peaceful for a change that I hadn’t the heart to lay screaming baby next to her. So we took him with us, wrapped in as many shawls as would stay on the little thing.
As we picked our way along the beach—slower than usual, for I was clutching baby and couldn’t use my hands for balance over the stones—Joe described how he was looking for curies in the new rubble that had come down during the storms. He told me he weren’t searching the cliffs themselves, but when he stood up after scrabbling round in the loose rocks, a row of teeth embedded in a seam of the cliff face caught his
Without thinking I opened my hand. She gasped and caught up the ammo to show the others, who stopped to admire it. “I’ll give you half a crown for it, girl.” The lady handed the ammo to one of the men and opened a purse. I wanted to say it weren’t for sale, that it was mine to help me remember Pa by, but she’d already put the coin in my hand and turned away. I stared at the money and thought, “Here is a week’s bread. It’ll keep us from the workhouse.” Pa would’ve wanted that.
I hurried home, squeezing that coin tight. It was proof that we could still make a business out of the curies.
MAM NO LONGER COMPLAINED about our hunting. She didn’t have time to: By the time she recovered from the shock of Pa’s death, the baby were born, which she called Richard after Pa. Like all the past babies, this one were a cryer. He was never very well, and nor was Mam; she was cold and tired, with baby not sleeping well and feeding badly.
It were baby’s crying—that and the debt—that sent Joe out into the bitter cold he hated, one day a few months after Pa’s death. We needed fossils. I wanted to go out too, even with the cold, but I was stuck indoors, jiggling baby about to stop his crying. He was such a squally little thing it was hard to like him. The only thing that shut him up was when I held him tight and jiggled him and sang “Don’t Let Me Die an Old Maid” over and over.
I was just singing the last lines for the sixth time—“Come old or come young, come foolish or witty/Don’t let me die an old maid, but take me for pity”—when Joe come in, banging the door back so I jumped. A bank of cold air hit me and started baby crying again. “Look what you done!” I shouted. “He was just quieting and you gone and woke him.”
Joe shut the door and turned back to me. That’s when I saw that he was excited. Usually nothing stirs my brother—he has a face like a rock, with little expression or change. Now, though, his brown eyes were lit like the sun shone through them, his cheeks were red, his mouth was open. He snatched his cap off and rumpled his hair so that it stood straight up.
“What is it, Joe?” I said. “Oh, hush, baby, hush!” I put baby over my shoulder. “What is it?”
“I found something.”
“What? Show me.” I looked to see what he was holding.
“You have to come out. It’s in the cliff. It’s big.”
“Where?”
“The end of Church Cliffs.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. Something—different. Long jaw, lots of teeth.” Joe looked almost scared.
“It’s a crocodile,” I declared. “It must be.”
“Come and see.”
“Can’t—what would I do with baby?”
“Bring him with.”
“Can’t do that—it’s too cold.”
“What about leaving him next door?”
I shook my head. “They done too much for us already—we can’t ask them again, not for something like this.” Our neighbors in Cockmoile Square were wary of curies. They envied us the little money we made from them, while also asking why anyone would want to part with even a penny for a bit of stone. I knew we had to ask for their help only when we really needed them.
“Take him a minute.” I handed baby to Joe and went to look at Mam in the next room. She was flat out asleep, looking so peaceful for a change that I hadn’t the heart to lay screaming baby next to her. So we took him with us, wrapped in as many shawls as would stay on the little thing.
As we picked our way along the beach—slower than usual, for I was clutching baby and couldn’t use my hands for balance over the stones—Joe described how he was looking for curies in the new rubble that had come down during the storms. He told me he weren’t searching the cliffs themselves, but when he stood up after scrabbling round in the loose rocks, a row of teeth embedded in a seam of the cliff face caught his
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