upturned through the ice on the bay and that Will did not want to farm even though he loved the land. Susan talked about being an orphan, too, and coming to work for Will’s mother. “I’m twelve now. Been here three years.” Rose could hardly believe Susan was the same age that she was. “I got to do a woman’s work,” said Susan.
It didn’t seem like more than a few moments before the sun was low over the bay and the trees were making long shadows against the ground. Cows were lowing in the distance and, before long, the Morrissays’ had joined the mournful chorus. Reluctantly Susan got up. “There goes Pearly,” she sighed, “and my half-day’s done with.”
“What are we going to do about you, Rose?” asked Will. “Where is she going to stay?” he demanded of Susan. “I guess mebbe she could stay in the barn for one night.”
Susan agreed. “We’ll just have to figure out something else after tomorrow. But first thing in the morning you’ll have to be getting back to where you come from—or finding a place that’ll take you on as a hired girl. I’m coming, Pearly!”—as the cow bellowed to be milked, and off went Susan, skirts flying, to bring her in.
Will did not get up at once. Now and then be glanced over at Rose. “Them things you said is awful funny,” he said finally. “No mind. I guess I might as well show you the barn.”
“Don’t we have to pick up the things?”
“Yep.”
They gathered up the cloth and the empty plates and bowls and carried them to the house. At the kitchen door Will took her share from Rose. “I best go in alone,” he said.
From inside his mother called plaintively, “Is that you, Will?”
Through the screen door Rose could see a woman approaching. She was tall with a long, gaunt face, large sunken eyes and gray-blond hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. Suddenly Rose was frightened. It was the look of the woman, so drab, so obviously wretched in a world that was so beautiful. She leapedback. Without thinking where she was going she ran to the root cellar, pulled open the doors, and scurried down the steps.
Seconds later, feeling foolish, she went back up the steps—and out into the cold autumn evening of the Henrys’ back yard.
Will
R ose was heartsick. It was like being back in prison, finding herself in the Henrys’ cold autumn back yard. Frantically she ran back into the root cellar and out again, once, twice, a dozen times. It was always the same. In a rage of disappointment she made her way through the bushes and into the house where Jimmy (or Brian) said, “Our mother’s been looking all over for you. Where did you go?”
“Shut up!” said Rose. She had never said that to anyone. She said it again: “shut up.” She gave the cat a shove with her foot and stamped upstairs.
“It’s time for dinner,” Brian (or Jimmy) called after her in hurt tones, and she realized with a start that it was the same evening it had been when she had found the root cellar and gone into Will’s and Susan’s world. She could hardly bear it. She sat down to dinner in silenceand a confusion of bitter thoughts.
Monday she started school. The school bus came at quarter to eight and stopped along the road to pick up noisy, curious children who kept turning to stare at her where she sat in the last seat. The school smelled of chalk and old running shoes. She was sure the teacher’s “We’re glad to have you with us, Rose. I hope you’ll be happy here,” was insincere. She did not want anything to do with the children in her class, and she hated the playground where everyone pushed and shoved and chased each other. Several girls came and spoke to her. She drew her head down into the high neck of her sweater like a turtle and answered “yes,” “no,” or “I don’t know” to all their questions. She was afraid of them, even Alice, the gentle albino girl with the thick glasses.
A couple of weeks went by. At school, Alice and Margery, who
It didn’t seem like more than a few moments before the sun was low over the bay and the trees were making long shadows against the ground. Cows were lowing in the distance and, before long, the Morrissays’ had joined the mournful chorus. Reluctantly Susan got up. “There goes Pearly,” she sighed, “and my half-day’s done with.”
“What are we going to do about you, Rose?” asked Will. “Where is she going to stay?” he demanded of Susan. “I guess mebbe she could stay in the barn for one night.”
Susan agreed. “We’ll just have to figure out something else after tomorrow. But first thing in the morning you’ll have to be getting back to where you come from—or finding a place that’ll take you on as a hired girl. I’m coming, Pearly!”—as the cow bellowed to be milked, and off went Susan, skirts flying, to bring her in.
Will did not get up at once. Now and then be glanced over at Rose. “Them things you said is awful funny,” he said finally. “No mind. I guess I might as well show you the barn.”
“Don’t we have to pick up the things?”
“Yep.”
They gathered up the cloth and the empty plates and bowls and carried them to the house. At the kitchen door Will took her share from Rose. “I best go in alone,” he said.
From inside his mother called plaintively, “Is that you, Will?”
Through the screen door Rose could see a woman approaching. She was tall with a long, gaunt face, large sunken eyes and gray-blond hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. Suddenly Rose was frightened. It was the look of the woman, so drab, so obviously wretched in a world that was so beautiful. She leapedback. Without thinking where she was going she ran to the root cellar, pulled open the doors, and scurried down the steps.
Seconds later, feeling foolish, she went back up the steps—and out into the cold autumn evening of the Henrys’ back yard.
Will
R ose was heartsick. It was like being back in prison, finding herself in the Henrys’ cold autumn back yard. Frantically she ran back into the root cellar and out again, once, twice, a dozen times. It was always the same. In a rage of disappointment she made her way through the bushes and into the house where Jimmy (or Brian) said, “Our mother’s been looking all over for you. Where did you go?”
“Shut up!” said Rose. She had never said that to anyone. She said it again: “shut up.” She gave the cat a shove with her foot and stamped upstairs.
“It’s time for dinner,” Brian (or Jimmy) called after her in hurt tones, and she realized with a start that it was the same evening it had been when she had found the root cellar and gone into Will’s and Susan’s world. She could hardly bear it. She sat down to dinner in silenceand a confusion of bitter thoughts.
Monday she started school. The school bus came at quarter to eight and stopped along the road to pick up noisy, curious children who kept turning to stare at her where she sat in the last seat. The school smelled of chalk and old running shoes. She was sure the teacher’s “We’re glad to have you with us, Rose. I hope you’ll be happy here,” was insincere. She did not want anything to do with the children in her class, and she hated the playground where everyone pushed and shoved and chased each other. Several girls came and spoke to her. She drew her head down into the high neck of her sweater like a turtle and answered “yes,” “no,” or “I don’t know” to all their questions. She was afraid of them, even Alice, the gentle albino girl with the thick glasses.
A couple of weeks went by. At school, Alice and Margery, who
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