Thirty-Six

Sarah had tried keeping a diary when she was twelve. The girls in the books she read wrote in their diaries every day. It seemed a romantic thing to do. She started with good intentions on January 1, 1890. On January 2nd she read what she had written the day before and found it so boring that she ripped out the page. What she wrote that day would probably be no better. It wasn’t, and her diary became a sketch pad.

Things were different now. She wanted to record the story her mother had told her. The young Russian violinist with only a scrap of blanket to warm him, dying alone in a rented room, a heartbroken bride, a young man marrying his brother’s sweetheart, a young mother hating her unwanted baby…

She had been that unwanted baby. That knowledge was so sharp that it drew blood every time she thought about it. Her rage at her mother had died away in the face of the possibility that she might die. But she knew that she had acted stiff and cool in the hospital. She could not summon any sympathetic feelings. The hurt her mother had caused both her father and herself had clouded their lives for too many years. Perhaps writing about the pain might help wash it away. She propped a pillow behind her back and wrote until the pencil dropped from her fingers.

§

They were sitting on the fire escape during recess when Bianca asked Sarah if something was wrong.

“You seem…not yourself.”

“My mother’s not doing as well as we’d hoped,” Sarah said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Funny, I was going to ask you if anything was bothering you.”

Bianca averted her eyes. Her fingers plucked nervously at her skirt. “I’m going to have to quit art lessons.”

“Bianca! No!”

“Well, I can’t do anything about it. My mother’s doctor said she has to stay in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. I have to come home every day after school and help.”

“But you’re just beginning to get really good!”

“I’m the only one who can cook. Viola would poison us. It’s the fare money too. We’ll need every penny.”

“Maybe Miss Addams can get the Academy to let you take the rest of your scholarship classes next year.”

“Next year?” Bianca looked so hopeless that Sarah ached for her.

Bianca stood up. “I can’t concentrate. I might as well take my little brother to the playground and get him out of my mother’s hair.”

“You will talk to Miss Addams, won’t you? Promise?”

Bianca’s barrette had slipped and her hair was straggling into her eyes. “Things in my family keep getting harder. Art classes are the last thing there’s going to be time or money for.”

Sarah shifted her school bag to her other arm. “I’m going to the park with you.”

“You hate to skip school. I’ll be all right.”

Sarah cocked her head to one side. She seemed to be talking to someone. “Okay,” she said. “I just asked Miss Addams. She said I should go with you. Do you want to argue with Miss Addams?”

Bianca smiled. “You win.”