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Authors: Louise Shaffer
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realized she got as much as Lottie did out of those nights. Knowing she would have to answer Lottie’s questions, she became a much better student than she ever would have been. Her ability to absorb information quickly would last for the rest of her life. But back in those days, it was all about Lottie. The memories of those nights in the old barn, huddled in her coat against the chill of winter, working by the light of the oil lamp, were some of her happiest.
M AGGIE SET HER LITTLE KITCHEN TIMER for thirty-five minutes and took the thing back into the living room to wait. Laverne, whose arthritis had been bothering her, had to scramble to follow. Maggie sat in her chair, and the dog settled next to her on the floor, muttering canine curses under her breath. “I know,” Maggie said sympathetically. “Getting old is just plain nasty.” She leaned back in the chair, her head finding the dent she’d made in the upholstery over the years.
W HEN HAD IT STARTED TO CHANGE for her? It was hard to remember so far back. Maybe it was when she saw Lottie walking home with three girls from her school. Maggie was in her room watching them from the window as they stopped at the end of the driveway to talk. It only took two or three minutes before they went on their way and Lottie ran up the drive to the cabin. But it was the first time Maggie realized that Lottie was making new friends. And what was worse, they were her own kind, as Mama would say. Suddenly Maggie was angry, in a scary kind of way she had never been before. Thoughts of getting even raced through her brain. She would refuse to talk to Lottie. She would not go to the barn that night; let Lottie wait and wonder what had happened. But when night came she couldn’t stay away from the barn, and once she was there she couldn’t stay mad at Lottie.
Or maybe it started when Lottie was crying over some hurt Maggie had now forgotten. But she could remember how she had wanted to put her arms around Lottie and hug her tight. But for reasons she couldn’t put into words, she didn’t.
Sometimes it seemed to her that she had always known she was different. Certainly by the time the girls in her school were giggling at boys and trotting out their early attempts at flirting, she knew she was. She understood their feelings, the giddiness, and the misty half-formed urges that drove them. But also she knew, by some deep instinct, that there would never be a boy who would inspire those feelings in her. If it had been important to her to fit in, she might have been horrified. But her life happened in the barn, after the rest of the world was asleep and she was alone with Lottie.
Loving Lottie was such a habit that it felt like the most natural thing in the world when she realized her feelings had changed to the kind that made other girls blush when they talked about boys. She watched the shadows on Lottie’s face as the oil lamp flickered, watched Lottie close her eyes to concentrate on a tricky math problem, and she was full of achy longings she could not describe. She waited for something wonderful to happen, something bigger than she had ever known before. Sometimes she drifted as she waited; sometimes she felt she would explode with all the things she was waiting for.
They had always stayed to talk after they were through studying, but Maggie found she had less and less to say. And Lottie seemed to be pulling into herself too. Now there was pain in being with Lottie; there was a distance between them that she wanted to smash through, but she was afraid. Because, for the first time in all the years she and Lottie had known each other, she wasn’t sure how Lottie felt.
A boy named James who went to Lottie’s school had walked her home twice after the Saturday-afternoon movies. Maggie had looked up at the colored section of the balcony and watched him maneuver so that he was next to Lottie when they got to the stairs. The second time he
M AGGIE SET HER LITTLE KITCHEN TIMER for thirty-five minutes and took the thing back into the living room to wait. Laverne, whose arthritis had been bothering her, had to scramble to follow. Maggie sat in her chair, and the dog settled next to her on the floor, muttering canine curses under her breath. “I know,” Maggie said sympathetically. “Getting old is just plain nasty.” She leaned back in the chair, her head finding the dent she’d made in the upholstery over the years.
W HEN HAD IT STARTED TO CHANGE for her? It was hard to remember so far back. Maybe it was when she saw Lottie walking home with three girls from her school. Maggie was in her room watching them from the window as they stopped at the end of the driveway to talk. It only took two or three minutes before they went on their way and Lottie ran up the drive to the cabin. But it was the first time Maggie realized that Lottie was making new friends. And what was worse, they were her own kind, as Mama would say. Suddenly Maggie was angry, in a scary kind of way she had never been before. Thoughts of getting even raced through her brain. She would refuse to talk to Lottie. She would not go to the barn that night; let Lottie wait and wonder what had happened. But when night came she couldn’t stay away from the barn, and once she was there she couldn’t stay mad at Lottie.
Or maybe it started when Lottie was crying over some hurt Maggie had now forgotten. But she could remember how she had wanted to put her arms around Lottie and hug her tight. But for reasons she couldn’t put into words, she didn’t.
Sometimes it seemed to her that she had always known she was different. Certainly by the time the girls in her school were giggling at boys and trotting out their early attempts at flirting, she knew she was. She understood their feelings, the giddiness, and the misty half-formed urges that drove them. But also she knew, by some deep instinct, that there would never be a boy who would inspire those feelings in her. If it had been important to her to fit in, she might have been horrified. But her life happened in the barn, after the rest of the world was asleep and she was alone with Lottie.
Loving Lottie was such a habit that it felt like the most natural thing in the world when she realized her feelings had changed to the kind that made other girls blush when they talked about boys. She watched the shadows on Lottie’s face as the oil lamp flickered, watched Lottie close her eyes to concentrate on a tricky math problem, and she was full of achy longings she could not describe. She waited for something wonderful to happen, something bigger than she had ever known before. Sometimes she drifted as she waited; sometimes she felt she would explode with all the things she was waiting for.
They had always stayed to talk after they were through studying, but Maggie found she had less and less to say. And Lottie seemed to be pulling into herself too. Now there was pain in being with Lottie; there was a distance between them that she wanted to smash through, but she was afraid. Because, for the first time in all the years she and Lottie had known each other, she wasn’t sure how Lottie felt.
A boy named James who went to Lottie’s school had walked her home twice after the Saturday-afternoon movies. Maggie had looked up at the colored section of the balcony and watched him maneuver so that he was next to Lottie when they got to the stairs. The second time he
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