Read Online The Grave of God's Daughter by Brett Ellen Block - Free Book Online
Authors: Brett Ellen Block
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Bildungsromans, Sagas, Domestic Fiction, Mothers and daughters, Allegheny River Valley (Pa. And N.Y.), Allegheny Mountains Region - History, Allegheny Mountains Region, Iron and Steel Workers, Polish American Families
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to tears, and it would turn out to be the first of only two occasions in my entire life that I would ever witness such an occurrence.
My mother walked us to school at a brisk clip and left us on the steps of the schoolhouse without a word.
“I think she’s lying,” Martin declared.
“Lying about what?”
“I think she is going to the Silver Slipper. She just doesn’t want us to know.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because. She’s like that.”
Part of me wanted to believe that my brother, in his seven-year-old wisdom, was actually right, that somehow, because of his age and innocence, he had the ability to sense whatever truth my mother was attempting to conceal. Perhaps my mother was on her way to the Silver Slipper as we spoke. Perhaps she would march into the tavern and drag my father out of the bar or make a sceneuntil he was too embarrassed to stay. We would never know. Maybe it was better that way.
I considered telling Martin what had happened the night before in the washroom so he’d understand why I hadn’t taken his side that morning, but I was too ashamed to do so. That shame had lodged itself in my stomach and lay there like a brick. In the aftermath of my disgrace, I had forgotten what awaited me that afternoon. It was my first day as Mr. Goceljak’s delivery boy. That sudden realization cleared the shame from my mind and made way for a pang of dread that was as potent as pain.
“What’s wrong?” Martin asked. “You look like you forgot something.”
“I did.”
W HEN THE SCHOOL DAY was done, I hurried to Martin’s classroom and waited outside for him. The instant he came out, I grabbed his hand and began hauling him down the corridor.
“Where are we going now ?” he asked. “Back to the butcher’s shop?”
I hushed him, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. “I told you that’s supposed to be a secret. And no, you’re not coming today.”
“Then where am I supposed to go? Home? I’m too little to be left alone on my own.”
“That’s why you’re not going home.”
I led Martin to the school’s library, and once he realizedwhere I was taking him, he ceased complaining. The library remained open for an hour and a half after school, but it was uncommon for children to go there. Most went home or out to play. Given the opportunity, Martin would have stayed there all night if he could have.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Sister Teresa isn’t going to let me stay here without you around.”
“She will if I say Mama asked me to ask her.”
“But she didn’t ask you to ask her.”
“But Sister Teresa doesn’t know that. And you’re not going to tell her. Right?”
Martin hemmed his lips, uncomfortable.
“Just look at all of those books, Marty. Hundreds of them. Just waiting to be read.”
The school’s library was a narrow room with two study tables in the center, and it was lined from floor to ceiling with books, some teetering from the tops of shelves. For Martin, it was a paradise.
The library door was open and he leaned in, tempted. “All right. But I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You won’t. Not if you don’t say anything.”
Sister Teresa was the oldest of the nuns still working at the school. Due to a bad hip and her ever-worsening senility, Sister Teresa was relegated to the library, where her main job was to check out books, a task that only involved pressing a rubber stamp to the back page of each selection. The real labor of retrieving and reshelving the books was left to the other nuns who came in early in the morning and straightened up. As I entered the library, I prepared myself for what I was about to do—I was going to lie again. Given that I’d already lied to Mr. Goceljak about being able to ridethe bicycle, it consoled me to think that this lie was necessary, but only slightly.
Sister Teresa’s eyes were closed. She was napping. “Sister Teresa,” I said. She gave no response. “Sister Teresa,” I tried
My mother walked us to school at a brisk clip and left us on the steps of the schoolhouse without a word.
“I think she’s lying,” Martin declared.
“Lying about what?”
“I think she is going to the Silver Slipper. She just doesn’t want us to know.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because. She’s like that.”
Part of me wanted to believe that my brother, in his seven-year-old wisdom, was actually right, that somehow, because of his age and innocence, he had the ability to sense whatever truth my mother was attempting to conceal. Perhaps my mother was on her way to the Silver Slipper as we spoke. Perhaps she would march into the tavern and drag my father out of the bar or make a sceneuntil he was too embarrassed to stay. We would never know. Maybe it was better that way.
I considered telling Martin what had happened the night before in the washroom so he’d understand why I hadn’t taken his side that morning, but I was too ashamed to do so. That shame had lodged itself in my stomach and lay there like a brick. In the aftermath of my disgrace, I had forgotten what awaited me that afternoon. It was my first day as Mr. Goceljak’s delivery boy. That sudden realization cleared the shame from my mind and made way for a pang of dread that was as potent as pain.
“What’s wrong?” Martin asked. “You look like you forgot something.”
“I did.”
W HEN THE SCHOOL DAY was done, I hurried to Martin’s classroom and waited outside for him. The instant he came out, I grabbed his hand and began hauling him down the corridor.
“Where are we going now ?” he asked. “Back to the butcher’s shop?”
I hushed him, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. “I told you that’s supposed to be a secret. And no, you’re not coming today.”
“Then where am I supposed to go? Home? I’m too little to be left alone on my own.”
“That’s why you’re not going home.”
I led Martin to the school’s library, and once he realizedwhere I was taking him, he ceased complaining. The library remained open for an hour and a half after school, but it was uncommon for children to go there. Most went home or out to play. Given the opportunity, Martin would have stayed there all night if he could have.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Sister Teresa isn’t going to let me stay here without you around.”
“She will if I say Mama asked me to ask her.”
“But she didn’t ask you to ask her.”
“But Sister Teresa doesn’t know that. And you’re not going to tell her. Right?”
Martin hemmed his lips, uncomfortable.
“Just look at all of those books, Marty. Hundreds of them. Just waiting to be read.”
The school’s library was a narrow room with two study tables in the center, and it was lined from floor to ceiling with books, some teetering from the tops of shelves. For Martin, it was a paradise.
The library door was open and he leaned in, tempted. “All right. But I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You won’t. Not if you don’t say anything.”
Sister Teresa was the oldest of the nuns still working at the school. Due to a bad hip and her ever-worsening senility, Sister Teresa was relegated to the library, where her main job was to check out books, a task that only involved pressing a rubber stamp to the back page of each selection. The real labor of retrieving and reshelving the books was left to the other nuns who came in early in the morning and straightened up. As I entered the library, I prepared myself for what I was about to do—I was going to lie again. Given that I’d already lied to Mr. Goceljak about being able to ridethe bicycle, it consoled me to think that this lie was necessary, but only slightly.
Sister Teresa’s eyes were closed. She was napping. “Sister Teresa,” I said. She gave no response. “Sister Teresa,” I tried
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