Although Carlie was eating again, she had not forgiven Aunt Maude. She stayed away from Aunt Maude, and Aunt Maude noticed it. I saw her look longingly at Carlie the way a hungry person peers in the window of a grocer’s. I knew I hadn’t been kind to her. Maybe I wouldn’t be a disappointment to Papa anymore if I tried to love her the way she wanted. But I didn’t know how to begin with the loving. When I tried, Aunt Maude always managed to say something that shut my love up inside me again, like the afternoon she showed us a picture of herself and our mother when they were our age. “Caroline looks so much like Isabel when she was young,” she said. “My little sister was always the beauty in the family. I’m afraid I was more like you, Verna.” I shuddered, horrified at the thought that in any way I was like Aunt Maude.
At any rate, Aunt Maude didn’t seem to care what I felt. The one she wanted to love her was Carlie. To win Carlie’s favor, Aunt Maude spent what little money she had on gifts for my sister: a small parasol, a doll whose eyes opened and shut. When Carlie said she wanted a petticoat with ruffles, Aunt Maude spent hours shirring and hemming, only to have Carlie complain that the ruffles scratched her legs. The more Aunt Maude reached for Carlie, the farther away Carlie ran. It was Eleanor my sister wanted to be with, but Eleanor, afraid of Aunt Maude’s anger and jealousy, made it a point to be busy with her tasks.
One afternoon I was playing dolls with Carlie, making a tea party in the backyard from dandelion water and cookies we stole from the pantry, but I was much too old for that kind of thing, and I was bored.
“Let’s find Dr. Thurston,” I suggested. Dr. Thurston walked among his trees after dinner every day. I liked to get him to tell me what country each tree came from, and then I would go home and make up stories about the foreign lands.
“His stories are boring,” Carlie said. “Why can’t we go to Green Lake and get more polliwogs?”
“No, Carlie,” I said. “Papa warned us against going there. Anyhow, Green Lake isn’t any fun without Eleanor.”
I didn’t think it was fair that I had to spend every day taking care of my little sister and doing all the stupid things she wanted to do, so I left Carlie with her dolls and tea parties and escaped to the asylum grounds to hunt out Dr. Thurston. He seemed glad to see me and showed me a twisty willow tree from Japan.
“In Japan people will sometimes keep a tree small by trimming its roots and branches,” he said. “I’ve seen a willow that was three hundred years old and only a foot high.”
When I got home, I began writing a story of a girl who lived in a forest of those little trees. There were tiny animals too, and the girl had to be careful where she stepped. Because she was so big, her shadow made acres and acres of shade, and on hot days all the little animals followed her around to escape the sun. I was writing about how hard it was for her to get enough to eat when all she had were potatoes the size of peas and peas so small you couldn’t see them. I was lost in the story when I heard Aunt Maude call to me.
“It’s time to clean up for supper. Where is Carlie?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. My conscience stung me when I realized I hadn’t thought to look for her.
“You are supposed to be keeping an eye on your little sister, Verna.”
That was true, and I felt guilty. “I’ll find her,” I said. I searched the usual places. She wasn’t in the secret cave she had made under the back steps or in the yard, hidden in the bushes, waiting for rabbits to come and nibble the parsley in the garden. I was going next door to the Schmidts’, where Mrs. Schmidt often gave us a hard candy to suck on and one for our pockets, when Aunt Maude called to me.
She was in the kitchen with Eleanor, frightened looks on both their faces. Aunt Maude pointed to the trash basket. A little pile of canned peaches lay there. “Carlie has emptied out a canning jar,” she said. We all guessed what Carlie was after.
“She’s gone to get polliwogs.” I was the one who said it. Eleanor threw off her apron and started for the door. I was right behind her.
In a voice that sounded as if it were having a hard time getting out, Aunt Maude said, “I’ll get your father.”
All I could think of was the mud that sucked at you like hands pulling you down. You had to walk through the mud to get to where the polliwogs were. Eleanor with her strong, long legs had no trouble, but she had always warned us against wading there.
The two of us ran in the direction of the lake, Eleanor far ahead of me. The path was wooded and curved one way and then another, so you didn’t see the lake until you came right upon it. I ran until I was out of breath, and the pain in my side was like a knife slicing into me. I was mad at Aunt Maude for throwing away the polliwogs, but I was just as mad at myself for leaving Carlie alone. I promised God everything I could think of, if only He would keep my sister safe. I would play dolls with her. I would never answer Aunt Maude back. I would give up desserts. I would give my coat with the fur collar to some poor child.
Eleanor was far ahead of me. I heard Carlie’s cries before I saw the lake. Eleanor was wading into the water. All I could see of Carlie was her head and shoulders. Eleanor plucked her out of the mud and carried her onto the shore, Carlie clutching Eleanor about the neck. When Eleanor tried to put her down, Carlie clung to her and wouldn’t let go. It was only when Papa arrived, running and out of breath, that Carlie allowed herself to be untwined from Eleanor. In a second she was in Papa’s arms. Papa stood there hugging Carlie as if holding her were the only thing that kept the world together.
“I lost the jar in the mud trying to get the polliwogs,” Carlie said, her voice muffled against Papa’s chest. “Aunt Maude will scold me.”
“She won’t scold you, Carlie, but you were very wrong to go to the lake by yourself. You must promise me never to do such a thing again.”
Carlie’s head nodded up and down. Papa turned to Eleanor. “Thank the Lord you got here in time. We are once again indebted to you.”
We made a little parade walking back to our house: Eleanor, me, and Papa carrying Carlie. Word had gotten out that Carlie was missing, and a crowd had gathered around our house: neighbors and gardeners and employees who had been at the asylum when Aunt Maude came for Papa. There was a cheer when we appeared with Carlie. Aunt Maude ran toward us.
“Thank heavens. This is the last straw. Look what has come of that woman dragging those children to the lake.”
Eleanor looked stricken, like Aunt Maude’s words were a slap, as if she believed Aunt Maude that it really was all her fault and she was responsible for every bad thing that ever happened in the whole wide world.
When Papa saw the expression on Eleanor’s face, he put Carlie down. “Maude, Eleanor saved Caroline’s life. We have much to thank her for. Eleanor, would you kindly take the child inside and get her cleaned up? Verna, you can give Eleanor a hand. Maude, I want to have a word with you.”
The people stood together talking for a few minutes, and then, as we went inside, they left. Carlie was pleased with all the attention she had received and submitted happily to the bath Eleanor gave her, but Eleanor had no words at all. She wouldn’t answer Carlie’s questions. She was all closed up, like the morning glories that grew on the porch railing and shut themselves up every night so that they looked wilted and dead.
Even from upstairs we could hear the shrillness of Aunt Maude’s voice, but not what she was saying. It was only later, when Aunt Maude did not appear for supper, that Papa explained. “Girls, your aunt Maude is packing her things. She is going to her home. I am sure we will miss her, but we can’t expect her to continue to sacrifice her liberty to care for us.”
Papa’s solemn tone kept Carlie silent for once. I was quiet too, for fear of saying something that would keep Aunt Maude from leaving. Eleanor’s hands were shaking when she came in from the kitchen with slices of blackberry pie for us. I had thought that Eleanor would be happy at the news of Aunt Maude leaving, but she didn’t look happy. She looked defeated, as if she had been running a long race and had lost.
I pushed my slice of blackberry pie away. Papa stared at me. “What’s the matter, Verna? Carlie is safe. There is nothing to worry about, and you were a great help today.”
“I promised,” I said.
“Promised? Promised who?”
“God. I said I’d give up desserts if God let Carlie be all right.”
Papa put down his fork and stared at me. He put his hand over mine. “Verna, that’s not the way God works. You can’t bribe Him.”
I hadn’t actually thought of it as a bribe, but after Papa explained, I felt foolish. How could you bribe someone who had the whole world? I dug into my pie.
“But you were right to ask Him,” Papa said, smiling. “It was the asking that counted, not the bribe.”
I remember exactly what happened next. Carlie finished her pie and got up to look in the mirror over the sideboard to see if her tongue was purple. Papa took out his pocket watch to check the time we had finished supper. He liked to know how long everything took; time is the only thing Papa is selfish about. I was looking out the open dining room window at a chipmunk sitting up chattering to itself. Eleanor came in to clear the table. She was watchful and cautious, as if the plates were dangerous and might fly off the table and attack her.
Aunt Maude made such a bustle as she marched into the room, we all stopped what we were doing and looked at her. “I suppose I may spend the night?” she said. “You won’t turn me out.”
Papa sprang up and flung his napkin onto the table. “Maude, that was uncalled for. I have told you how much I have valued your care of Verna and Carlie. I only thought since your house was available to you, you might be more comfortable there. I’m afraid the children are a little too much for you.”
“Too much for me, but not too much for her.” She glared at Eleanor. “I’m surprised you have not considered what people will say after I leave.”
Eleanor made a noise, a sort of whimper, like a rabbit cornered by a fox. Carlie ran over and grabbed Eleanor’s hand as if we were going to play some game and she had chosen sides.
Papa said, “There will be no occasion for evil gossip, Maude. I have explained to Eleanor that it would be inappropriate for her to stay on here. She understands that.” He turned to Eleanor. “Get your things, Eleanor, and I’ll take you back to the farm right now. I see no reason why you should have to stay here and submit to such unwarranted attacks.”
Eleanor seemed confused. She looked around helplessly. Papa said, “Verna, get Eleanor’s things for her.”
Eleanor didn’t even say good-bye to us but followed Papa to the buggy as if she were a naughty child who was being sent to her room. Once he had settled Eleanor in the buggy, Papa came back into the house and into the front hall, where Aunt Maude was. His words snapped like a whip. “Maude,” Papa said, “you should be ashamed of yourself. I only hope your cruel and thoughtless words have not undone the help the asylum has given Eleanor.” Aunt Maude had a shocked look on her face, as if one step more and she would fall into a great pit that had opened right at her feet. Papa turned on his heel and walked out of the house.
Carlie and I sat on the steps of the front porch watching as the buggy carried Eleanor away.
“What if she doesn’t come back?” Carlie said. She was hanging on to me, afraid I would disappear as well.
“She will,” I said, but I wasn’t so sure. Eleanor hadn’t gone away as if she were coming back. I thought about what it would be like for Eleanor to return home, blaming herself. I wished Papa had seen what Eleanor’s father was like. He wouldn’t be sending her back. I didn’t understand why Papa cared about what busybodies said. I didn’t understand why Eleanor couldn’t stay with us. At last Aunt Maude was going, but Eleanor was leaving as well. It wasn’t fair.
We both heard the sound at the same time. At first we were afraid to go inside, but after a minute I made myself get up and walk through the door. Carlie followed me, hanging on to my skirt. Aunt Maude was in the parlor, sitting on a chair, her hands covering her face, her suitcases scattered about the floor. She was crying in great gulps. Carlie scrambled onto Aunt Maude’s lap and threw her arms around her. A minute before, when we were on the porch, I had hated Aunt Maude. Now, seeing how miserable she was, I tried very hard to forgive her, but my forgiveness was thin and grudging and cold as ice water.