sniffled. Dad came to a dead halt. Thomas and I bumped into them.
“We can turn around right now, Mary Hindley. It’s not too late. They’ll give me my job back in a second at the mill—you know that. Are you sure this is what you want?”
I held my breath.
Mum reached up and passed her hand across Dad’s forehead like she was feeling for a fever. “You are the kindest man alive, Paddy. I thank you for asking that question.”
Thomas rolled his eyes.
“Move along, mates.” The voice behind us was friendly but impatient.
Goodbyes are many things all mixed up together, I thought as we took our place on deck.
The ship’s horn sounded. Throngs of people waved and a cheer went up from those left behind. Libby was now just a little dot of red and black, like a ladybug, I thought as she got smaller and smaller and smaller.
The grinding and moaning of the ship was deafening. We headed with purpose for open waters. Thomas’s hand covered mine. At first I thought it was some sort of accident. But no.
“Wave, John Hindley, wave goodbye to the shores of our homeland, and I’ll wave goodbye to my heart.”
“Oh brother!” Oh lovesick brother.
I was all ready to pretend to blow kisses back to Rebecca, but Thomas moved his hand just then. He placed a protective arm around my shoulder.
I held my teasing back and we stood on deck a very long time, as did most folks, stood there until the last speck of land turned a pale grey and seemed to melt finally, blurring into the line between the sky and the sea. England disappeared as easily as a cloud rubbed out by wind.
— THE BONE CLOSET —
“’Bout time,” Nana snapped from behind the door, as if she’d been lying in wait for me the whole time. She had a purple plastic flyswatter in her hand. I half expected her to start swatting me in the back of the legs with it when I brushed past her to go upstairs. I wanted to wash the skull and get a better look at it.
“Suppose you’re hungry now. Well, we better get something straight right off about meals—”
“What?” I said, trying to keep my voice as neutral as I could.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” she said.
“I did,” I said, then pulled the skull out from under my shirt and thrust it in her face. I was hoping to freak her out. She barely blinked. Then she turned so fast she squeaked. I’m certain I could smell rubber burning from her boots.
“Bring it into the kitchen first,” she said. “Then I’ll put it with the others.”
The others?
I followed her into the kitchen.
“Just put it on the table,” she ordered.
She cleared a spot by shoving aside what looked to me like my breakfast. I suppose it would have been my punishment for running off. She would have made me eat a bowl full of cold porridge.
She filled the sink up with warm sudsy water and then motioned to me to bring it over.
“It’s yours. You have to clean it.” She handed me an old toothbrush. “Be gentle.”
I scrubbed at least ten minutes. As the dirt dislodged from the cavities and pockmarks, the skull became more recognizably human.
“Okay, that’ll do,” she said and held out a terrycloth towel. I watched as she dried every nook and cranny, and even used a Q-tip on the smaller spaces she couldn’t get at with the twisted corner of the towel. She handed the skull back to me. But it was the strangest thing. It no longer felt like a skull. It felt like a head. It was warmer for one thing. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Nana clasped the key that hung from a rope around her neck and pulled it over her head. Or tried to. She was wearing an oversized man’s plaid shirt and the key got tangled up in her collar. After tugging for a bit, she finally croaked from beneath the folds of the shirt, “Help me with this, would ya?”
Rather trusting, I thought, letting me help her with a rope around her neck.
When she had the key in her hand and her shirt back in place, she pointed to the skull and
“We can turn around right now, Mary Hindley. It’s not too late. They’ll give me my job back in a second at the mill—you know that. Are you sure this is what you want?”
I held my breath.
Mum reached up and passed her hand across Dad’s forehead like she was feeling for a fever. “You are the kindest man alive, Paddy. I thank you for asking that question.”
Thomas rolled his eyes.
“Move along, mates.” The voice behind us was friendly but impatient.
Goodbyes are many things all mixed up together, I thought as we took our place on deck.
The ship’s horn sounded. Throngs of people waved and a cheer went up from those left behind. Libby was now just a little dot of red and black, like a ladybug, I thought as she got smaller and smaller and smaller.
The grinding and moaning of the ship was deafening. We headed with purpose for open waters. Thomas’s hand covered mine. At first I thought it was some sort of accident. But no.
“Wave, John Hindley, wave goodbye to the shores of our homeland, and I’ll wave goodbye to my heart.”
“Oh brother!” Oh lovesick brother.
I was all ready to pretend to blow kisses back to Rebecca, but Thomas moved his hand just then. He placed a protective arm around my shoulder.
I held my teasing back and we stood on deck a very long time, as did most folks, stood there until the last speck of land turned a pale grey and seemed to melt finally, blurring into the line between the sky and the sea. England disappeared as easily as a cloud rubbed out by wind.
— THE BONE CLOSET —
“’Bout time,” Nana snapped from behind the door, as if she’d been lying in wait for me the whole time. She had a purple plastic flyswatter in her hand. I half expected her to start swatting me in the back of the legs with it when I brushed past her to go upstairs. I wanted to wash the skull and get a better look at it.
“Suppose you’re hungry now. Well, we better get something straight right off about meals—”
“What?” I said, trying to keep my voice as neutral as I could.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” she said.
“I did,” I said, then pulled the skull out from under my shirt and thrust it in her face. I was hoping to freak her out. She barely blinked. Then she turned so fast she squeaked. I’m certain I could smell rubber burning from her boots.
“Bring it into the kitchen first,” she said. “Then I’ll put it with the others.”
The others?
I followed her into the kitchen.
“Just put it on the table,” she ordered.
She cleared a spot by shoving aside what looked to me like my breakfast. I suppose it would have been my punishment for running off. She would have made me eat a bowl full of cold porridge.
She filled the sink up with warm sudsy water and then motioned to me to bring it over.
“It’s yours. You have to clean it.” She handed me an old toothbrush. “Be gentle.”
I scrubbed at least ten minutes. As the dirt dislodged from the cavities and pockmarks, the skull became more recognizably human.
“Okay, that’ll do,” she said and held out a terrycloth towel. I watched as she dried every nook and cranny, and even used a Q-tip on the smaller spaces she couldn’t get at with the twisted corner of the towel. She handed the skull back to me. But it was the strangest thing. It no longer felt like a skull. It felt like a head. It was warmer for one thing. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Nana clasped the key that hung from a rope around her neck and pulled it over her head. Or tried to. She was wearing an oversized man’s plaid shirt and the key got tangled up in her collar. After tugging for a bit, she finally croaked from beneath the folds of the shirt, “Help me with this, would ya?”
Rather trusting, I thought, letting me help her with a rope around her neck.
When she had the key in her hand and her shirt back in place, she pointed to the skull and
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