“I always thought you were kind of pretty for an idiot,” said Sammy, knocking the smile right off my face. This boy was fresh, maybe thinking he could take advantage, with me being so innocent. I glanced at the row of women waiting on line, all straining their ears to hear what I’d say.
“Whoa,” I said. “My mama is a tough one and she won’t like me talking to boys.”
“She better get used to it,” said Sammy. My grin crept back and nearly cracked my jawbone.
“Do you mind me asking,” he said, “what it feels like?”
“What what feels like?”
“Being inside a miracle? Having actual contact with the spirit world? I’ve been thinking about you all night since my mother arrived home with the news. I think it’s the most amazing thing I ever heard of!”
“Oh,” I said. He’d been thinking about me? All night? He thought I was amazing? Or, at least, part of something amazing?
“Well,” I said. “It’s all so … so … overwhelming. I’m still trying to orient myself. I’ll be happy to talk more the next time I see you.”
“You’ll be going to school now, won’t you?” He might as well have poured ice down the neck of my blouse.
“School?” Oh, no! School!
“You know what school is?” he asked. “How much do you know about anything?”
“Not much,” I said, taking the easy way out. “But I intend to be a fast learner. Why don’t you tell me about school?”
“School is the place where kids have to go all day. They lock us in and drill us about numbers and the capital cities of places you’re never going to go and dead people writing in books. And you sit at a hard little desk with scratch marks all over it made by the penknives of all the prisoners before you. And the teachers have special training with leather straps and hickory canes so they can whiz them through the air and make your heart jump and your palms sweat even if it’s not you who forgot to memorize a poem about bluebells swaying in the breeze.”
“Well,” I said. “You make it sound awfully nice, but I don’t think I’ll be able to join you.”
“That’s what you think,” said Sammy. “Wait till you meet Mrs. Newman and see if you’re not begging to come to school.”
“Mrs. Newman?”
“She’s a truant officer with the nose of a shark on the scent of fresh blood. Her husband—”
“Mr. Newman?”
“Well, we call him Old Horse, actually, thanks to his teeth being the size and color of—”
“I get it,” I said. “I’ve seen a horse.”
“He’s the janitor at Peach Hill Secondary and he’s got this little dungeon down there in the cellar where Mrs. Newman puts the children who are trying to shirk school.”
“She’ll have to find me first,” I boasted, heart galloping. We’d been talking for at least ten minutes and I hadn’t stammered yet!
“Oh, shoot,” said Sammy. The bells of St. Alphonse Church clanged across the square. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He pushed off on the scooter as if the hounds of hell were chomping at his heels. The bell rang nine times. Sammy was late for school.
And I was left with a crowd of eyes looking my way. Did it show? Could they tell I was wild for that boy?
“Good morning,” I said.
“It’s you, isn’t it,” said an old woman wearing a violet headscarf. “You’ve been healed.”
I nodded.
“Your mother did that?”
“So it seems,” I said.
“Can she cure my arthritis?” The woman held up hands like the claws of a crow, twisted over each other, bumpy and frail.
Oh, dear. I flinched. This was my fault. Real pain was something I didn’t like to think about. But I’d turned Mama into a healer and here was a line of women with swollen joints and sore necks and aches in unmentionable regions. They were maybe truly sick and should be consulting a doctor. We were about to exploit physical anguish instead of just foolishness and greed. Mama was suddenly a new hope, perhaps a last hope, for all these people and doubtless many more.
“I just want my pain to stop.”
No! I wanted to shout, No! Go away! Taking money from someone who needed real medicine didn’t seem right. But I swallowed. Loyalty. Loyalty to Mama.
I clasped my hands with a fervent sigh. “I pray that my mama can cure you as she has cured me! Perhaps I am a sign of many healings to come. But”—I lowered my voice—“as undeserving as I am, I may be the single chosen one. Perhaps only her great love for me and her years of prayer have made this happen.”
The woman clutched at me with fingers like wintry twigs.
“I’ll take the chance,” she said. “I know that yesterday you were a babbling, cockeyed fool, falling down like a drunkard and making a scene. I’m a believer, hearing you now.” She patted her handbag. “I’ve brought my savings,” she said. “I’ll give you whatever it takes.”
Just what Mama wants to hear, I thought. Another sucker. And another brick in our dream house.
I pulled my sleeve from the old woman’s talons and put my palms flat against her silky cheeks. “I’ll add my touch to hers,” I said. “May you be restored.”
“She touched me!” cried the woman, lifting her hands toward the sky. Uh-oh. I imagined her neighbors on line pressing forward in a herd.
“I have to go!” I slipped back inside and leaned against the door, breathing slowly. The sound of cracking china rang out from the kitchen.
“Oh, Peg!” Mama’s voice was as sharp as a slap. “First the teapot and now the creamer!”
“It’s not broken, ma’am, only a chip.”
I could hear Mama’s tongue clicking all the way down the hallway.
“Mama!” I called. “There is such a line outside you won’t believe!” I bounded into the kitchen.
“What did you say, Annie, dear?”
That “dear” prickles my neck, the way it comes in handy in front of people but hides away when we’re alone.
“There are people out front, Mama, lined up for Madame Caterina. Word of my—of your—healing is all over town. Did you tell anyone, Peg?” I gave her a poke.
“Well, I might have mentioned a time or two to a person or two last night that I’d seen a miracle before my very own eyes on the kitchen floor amongst the tea leaves I’d stirred with my very own hands.”
Mama got the glinty eye that came along with any of her new ideas. “Good for you, Peg,” she said. “Spread the word.”
Peg smirked, pleased to have pleased Mama. “My father said my tea has sent him into fits for years,” she said. “But anyone else I mentioned it to, they’re all as thrilled as little children with the circus coming. Everybody wants to see you for themselves.”
“Annie!” said Mama. “Peg is absolutely right!” She clasped her hands. “And what happens when the circus is coming?”
We stared blankly.
“A parade,” agreed Peg.
“A parade?” I was not thinking at Mama’s pace today.
“You, darling!” said Mama. “You must spend the day on parade!”
I squinted at her.
“Walk around the square, have a sundae at the café, shop at the shops, show Peach Hill how you’ve changed. Show them all how clever and healthy you are. Here, take a few dollars.” She stuffed money into my hand, showing me how seriously she meant this. “It’s an investment,” she added. “Go on, get out there.” She nudged me out the door: a walking advertisement for Madame Caterina.
Peach Hill seemed like a different place now that I was allowed to have my wits with me. I liked the buzz of tittle-tattle following my every step. I pretended I was somebody famous, Mary Pickford or Buster Keaton. I could hear the ladies whispering, felt them rub up against me as if I were a good-luck amulet. They used to cringe if I came too close, and avert their eyes from the dribble on my lip, but today they made excuses to talk to me.
“Hello, dearie. What a joy to see you all fixed up!”
Old Miss Simmons:
More chins than born with.
Real pearls in that choker.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Fine day, isn’t it? You tell your mother I’ll be around tomorrow with my sister, who gets hives.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Whatever next? A miracle in Peach Hill. I always knew you were a special child.”
“Hello, Mrs. Ford.” You never had a good thing to say about me, you old liar, except to show pity.
I spent every penny Mama had given me, knowing it was a rare opportunity. I bought a tin of talcum powder from the chemist—“June Rose”—and a paintbox, and a new book called Black Beauty. I lingered outside the window of Laraby Jewelry & Pawn Shop, always curious to see new wares.
But what was that? Sitting there in full view on a blue velvet tray was Mrs. Poole’s bracelet, the one we’d passed about at the séance only last Friday. I would have known it anywhere, with that plum of a ruby. What was it doing here? Had Mr. Poole sold it for some reason?
I tried to treat myself to lunch at Bing’s Café, but Bing’s wife, Sadie, was quick to tell me, “On the house, darling, if you touch my sore knee.”
“Happy to, ma’am. Delicious iced tea.”
I hadn’t decided whether to tell Mama about the bracelet at Laraby’s when I burst in the front door, late in the afternoon, carelessly slamming it behind me. Mama hates a slam, especially when she’s working. This time, it brought her out of the front room with a scary smile pasted on her mouth.
“Why, Annie, dear,” she said. “You’re home.”
Dear? Who was with her? Not a customer, or the parlor door would have stayed shut.
“Come in, dear,” said Mama. “There’s someone here inquiring after your health.”
I peered into the room. It was a woman, wearing a serge suit the color of lilacs. Her hair, faded yellow, was drawn back into a bun. Her hat sat on her knees with pansies popping up all over it.
“This is Mrs. Newman,” said Mama. I recognized the note of poison in her voice. “She is insisting that you attend school, as of tomorrow morning.”
“It’s the law,” said Mrs. Newman. “Not a personal whim.”
My stomach began to churn. This was Mrs. Newman? This perfectly pleasant-looking woman with the silly hat was the shark Sammy had spoken about?
She wanted me to go to school?
Mrs. Newman was looking at me.
“I am overjoyed to have my child recovered,” said my mother, stroking my cheek. “But she has only been well for a matter of hours. How can you imagine she is ready to attend school? She is not yet a normal girl.”
Mrs. Newman’s right eyebrow rose to a suspicious peak.
“She is not educated,” Mama went on. “She has always been near me. Already the town bullies have plagued her. I fear she may have trouble if placed in a classroom with these same cruel children.”
“Indeed, Mrs.—?”
“Madame,” said Mama.
“Indeed, madame. It is my job to obey the law that states that all children under the age of sixteen must attend school. Your daughter is apparently healthy and able. Her lack of learning is not a drawback but a challenge. However, you make an important point, that she is somewhat behind her peers in learning the fundamentals. She will be placed in the first grade under the instruction of Miss Carruthers and will—”
“But I need her at home!” Mama snapped. “She is a great help to me, and—”
“That is of no account. It is precisely to avoid the exploitation of children that the law was devised. The law states that all—”
“Oh, pish the law,” said Mama.
“Excuse me,” I said, so politely that even Mama stopped in surprise. “Mrs. Newman. I’ve been ill, or slow-witted, or, some say, idiotic. I’m not certain what you mean by school, exactly, but if it’s a place where I’m to learn my letters and make some friends, why, it sounds wonderful!”
Mama snorted. I would not look at her. Mrs. Newman’s eyes narrowed to blue slits; she didn’t know she was handing me a ticket to freedom and adventure.
“I will accompany you to school in the morning,” she said. Her gaze slid over my clothing. “You will need to look tidy and clean. Dark skirts are preferable, with a crisp blouse or trim sweater.”
Mama actually snickered. “Crisp” and “trim” were not adjectives that applied to us.
“I don’t have anything like that, ma’am.”
“Do your best. I will be here at half past eight.”