Read Online Was by Geoff Ryman - Free Book Online Page B

to wear a soft white shirt and shorts. Frances hopped down the stairs. She went gerump, like a frog.
    “Daddy,” she said at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m a frog, Daddy.”
    “Good Lord, Ethel. Do you see? There’s a frog in the living room.”
    Ethel Gumm was following her daughter down the steps.
    “Well, it must be feeling good because it’s just had a nice cool swim,” said Frances’s mother. She smiled at her child and then walked on, toward the kitchen.
    “A wet little frog,” said Jinny, and began to thump a bit harder on the piano.
    Nobody can be louder than me, thought Frances.
    “Gerump!” she shouted, hopping. “Gerump! Gerump!”
    “Frances,” said Jinny, a warning rising in her voice, “I’m trying to practice.”
    “Let’s see how high the frog can jump,” her daddy said. He bent over and picked her up.
    “Bounce,” he said and let her feet touch the ground and swooped her up again. “Bouncy . . . bouncy . . . bouncy!”
    Each bounce was higher. Frances was bounced across the hallway, out of the living room and into the dining room. Her father picked her up, as high as he could, all the way up to the ceiling.
    “It’s a flying frog!” he exclaimed.
    “Don’t!” giggled Francis. “No.”
    Janie came in, carrying plates. She looked tired, circles under her eyes, tired and unhappy, and she took no notice of either of them.
    “I’m flying, Janie!” called Frances. Janie turned and gave her a flicker of a worn, dim smile and then went back into the kitchen. Grandmother Milne came out, carrying a vegetable dish. “Don’t make the child giddy before dinner,” Grandma said.
    Frances was lowered to the floor. Sssssh, Daddy went with his finger on his lips to show they should both be quiet.
    Ssssssh, went Frances back.
    “Are you going to show me your ballet steps?” he whispered.
    Frances nodded yes. She pushed her daddy back toward the wall, to get him out of the way. Then she held her arms out straight and ran, not quite on tiptoe but very quickly, scuttling across the dining room floor.
    “Very good,” said her father.
    Sssssssh, said Frances, finger on lips.
    He pretended to go “Ooops!” and covered his mouth with his hand.
    Sssssh, Frances reminded him again.
    Sssssh, he said back. She did her ballet steps, running back across the room again.
    The kitchen door swung open. “Supper’s on the table,” said Grandmother Milne. Frances could only see her long brown skirt, under the table.
    “Daddy, be quiet,” said Frances, now that it was all right to talk again. She marched to her chair and climbed up onto it, hoisting a leg across it, and then rolling over. She did not sit on the chair but, rather, knelt. The table was at her chest height, and the knife and fork were huge, but Frances was proud of her ability to eat with them by herself. She made a point of being very adult at the table. Jinny came in carrying a pitcher of water, then Janie, Grandma, and Mama next to her. Daddy sat at the end of the table away from Mama, away from everybody, it seemed.
    “All right, Frances,” said her mother.
    “For what we are about to receive,” said Frances, eyes closed with devotion, “may the good Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.”
    The food was served mostly in silence. Grandma Milne spoke twice. “Frank. This is yours,” she said, holding out a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes, stretching toward him. She looked only at his hand as he took it, to make sure none of the food was spilled. “Virginia,” she asked, “are you hungry?”
    “No, Grandma,” said Virginia.
    “It’s the heat,” said her mother. “Jinny, you must try to eat something.” She nodded to Grandmother, and a heaping plateful was served. Frances was next. She ate well. She always ate well. Chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes.
    “Don’t stir it so, Frances,” said her mother.
    Frances had forgotten how to eat mashed potatoes. She knew you were supposed to pile them on your fork,