by Keziah Frost
“No! I can’t wait. Queen’s gone. I gotta go. But text me right away if Queen shows up at your house, okay?”
“She’s gone?” Jenny’s excitement crackled on the line. “That’s awful! You must be so worried!” With a hint of hysteria, she suggested, “Let’s pray together right now that Jesus will bring her back to you, safe and sound.”
“Sorry, gotta go find her. Thanks, Jenny.” Jenny had an annoying habit of trying to convert Hope to her own brand of Christianity, never willing to believe that Hope’s church was in good standing with God.
Hope recalled Queen telling her that she had a habit of running away to the library. She checked the time on her phone. It was 7:23 on a week night. The library was just a block and a half away; but she would have had to cross the railroad tracks to get there. Hope’s anxiety doubled.
Should she call the library, or just run over? Should she call the police first, to get them started searching in case Queen wasn’t at the library? She had the Wish Fairy’s emergency number; should she call Child and Family Services? Police first. In fact, the Police Department was just across the street from the Gibbons Corner Public Library.
She drove, her eyes scanning the sidewalks for the tiny, braided child.
At the Police Department, Officer Curry, business-like, took down Hope’s hurried account.
“We’ll have all the officers out looking for her immediately,” he said, and Hope could have hugged him. She wasn’t alone. Someone would help her with this responsibility that she was clearly screwing up.
As she turned to run across to the library, Officer Curry offered encouragement.
“The good thing is, she’ll be easy to spot.”
Hope turned.
“A black child in Gibbons Corner, is that what you mean?”
“Well, yeah,” said Officer Curry. “She might be the only one.”
-53-
Hope stopped at the circulation desk. Roseanne, a fixture at the library for decades, was there.
“Roseanne! I have an African American foster child, a girl, nine years old, and I think she’s in the library. Did you see her by any chance?”
“Well hey, Hope,” said Roseanne, “yes, maybe I did see your young lady. I was shelving books in the teenage section, and she came up and settled herself in one of those red bean bag chairs, and just started reading to herself. Nine years old, did you say? Tiny thing for nine, isn’t she?”
“Oh, thank you, Roseanne,” and Hope wheeled around to run up the flight to the teenage section. Before she got to the stairs, she felt something warm touch her hand. Hope looked down to find Queen placing her small hand in hers.
As they walked to the car, Hope felt the adrenaline surge fading away and noticed that she was breathing again. Before starting the engine, she phoned the police so they could stop searching. She hung up to find Queen arching an eyebrow at her.
“You called the police on me?”
“Queen. You can never do this again. If you want to go to the library, you will always need my permission. Every time. And I will always have to take you, because I won’t allow you to cross the tracks by yourself. It’s dangerous for a nine-year-old.”
Instead of arguing, as Hope expected, Queen sighed.
Hope stole a glance at the little girl and saw that she looked tired and stressed.
“I was so worried, Queen, because I care about you.” Hope reached for Queen’s hand, but Queen pulled her hands into her sleeves, like a turtle’s head retreating into its shell. Apparently she had done all the hand-holding she intended to do for one day.
The car ride home was as quiet as it was brief.
Jenny and Angelina were standing on their lawn when Hope pulled into her driveway. They came running over. Jenny’s eyes were alight with godly zeal.
“I knew Jesus would bring her back to you, Hope! Angelina and I prayed for Jesus to bring her back, and He did. The Lord is faithful! Thank you, Jesus!”
Angelina stood punching her mother in the thigh.
“I wanna go home now. I wanna watch a movie. Mommy mommy mommy…”
Throughout the child’s abuse, Jenny valiantly continued her holy exclamations, bent on using the moment to evangelize her neighbor.
“It’s been a long day, Jenny. Thanks for your prayers,” said Hope. Holding Queen’s hand, she turned toward her house. As she and Queen walked away, they heard Angelina whine.
“Mommy, are they both going to Hell?”
There was a furious “shush.”
“But you said--.”
“Shush!”
“Well, are they? Are they?”
Queen waited discreetly until they were in the house with the door shut, before she informed Hope of her own opinion of Angelina.
“That girl has entitlement bad. Ooh! You should just hear the way she talks to her mother. That child is spoy-ulled. Some mothers these days don’t know how to do limits.”
-54-
Norbert knew that his reading had annoyed Carlotta to no end.
Carlotta had drawn the Six of Diamonds, which told of opportunities for learning and growing. Immediately after it, however, she had drawn the Ten of Spades, showing a figurative wall. Norbert had told her that her old ways would no longer serve her, and she needed to open her mind and heart to new ways.
Carlotta, clearly feeling that Norbert was being presumptuous, had quipped, “Thank you so much, Norbert. Is that all?”
“No, there is something else. You have a blind spot.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“There is a source of great love and satisfaction, very, very close to you, and you are missing it.”
Carlotta had looked pensive for a moment, and then irritated.
“Thank you, Norbert, for the entertainment. I’m so glad I found time today to support you in your fortune-telling trick.”
She was irked. Norbert knew he had given her something to think about.
-55-
Carlotta heard Hope’s discouragement on the phone.
“I don’t remember anything so scary in my life, Aunty. When she was gone, and I didn’t know where, I felt so helpless. And stupid.”
“Oh, no, dear. You handled it very well.”
“Really? Because I feel like a total failure, every day. I hate feeling so incompetent. And whenever I do, I think of you, how you kept telling me that I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was too naïve. You were absolutely right.”
“No, Hope! I’m not always right about everything, you know.” Carlotta wondered if she had ever said such a thing before, and wondered why she was saying it now.
“She crossed the tracks, do you realize? If something ever happened to her while she was in my care, I could never live with myself. She was walking around town without an adult, and in the meantime, I was relaxing in my chair, listening to music. I wasn’t even able to keep her safe at home. Maybe I’m not qualified to do this.”
“Hope, stop. You are doing it as well as anyone could. It’s not that bad. She got mad at you and went to the library. You figured out where she was, and went and got her. Please. Don’t make a tragic opera out of it.”
“Well, when you say it like that,” said Hope.
“It’s all new to you, that’s all.” Carlotta noticed herself shifting in her stance. This whole foster-child-thing was becoming an interesting project, and if there was one thing Carlotta loved, it was an interesting project.
“She shuts down sometimes, Aunty. Did your kids ever do that? Like, stop talking, or like, burst out really angry sometimes?”
“Oh, who remembers?” said Carlotta with a light laugh.
She could feel Hope’s resolve weakening. If Carlotta pushed her at this point, just a little, she felt she could convince her that she was failing this child, and was not fit for the task. Carlotta knew that Hope was experiencing normal doubts. After all, what mother didn’t feel like giving up at times? What mother didn’t feel, quite often, in fact, that she
just wasn’t cut out to be a mom?
Carlotta had vague recollections of long-ago children’s temper tantrums, of her own tears of defeat, and of her perplexed searches for the library books that would tell her the secrets of perfect motherhood—those secrets that other women seemed to come by so naturally. A new mother is a fragile and vulnerable creature.
Carlotta needed to double back.
“Don’t be discouraged, dear. Didn’t I already say I would help you? The little girl and I will really get to know each other. And I want you to call me whenever you’re feeling stressed about this. It’s a good thing that you are doing, Hope. Good for you. And good for the little—uh, Queen, too. Stay the course.”
“So, I’m not going to be an idiot as a mother, right?”
Carlotta found her throat growing tight with unaccustomed emotion, “Do not give up on this child.” Carlotta could see Queen in her mind’s eye, and felt a flash of loyalty toward this be-spectacled and dignified small person, although she didn’t understand why.
“And, Hope, stop wavering. It’s sounds as if you don’t know your own mind. You’ve made a decision; it’s a good one. Now: forward! March!”
In the silence that followed, Carlotta sensed she might have hurt Hope’s tender feelings.
“I don’t mean to sound harsh.”
“What? No. I was just thinking that I never expected you to say, ‘don’t give up on this child.’”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, then.” Carlotta cleared her throat. “Wishy washy never won the war, my dear. Make up your mind. In, or out.”
“Oh, I’m in. You’re right. I shouldn’t need anyone to encourage me.”
“Encouragement –within reason– is fine. All mothers need it. But at the end of the day, are you committed to making this work, or are you just seeing how it plays out?”
“Committed.”
“Good! I hoped you would say that.”
There was a pause.
“I didn’t tell you about the jewelry.”
“What jewelry?”
“The necklaces and bracelets that you and Summer are always buying me for my birthday and Christmas?”
“What about them?”
“Queen took a big bunch of them and sold them to the little girl across the street for three dollars.”
Carlotta visualized this entrepreneurial transaction. This was a resourceful child. She had no idea of the value of things, of course. But still, this was a girl with ideas of her own. And then, surprising even herself, Carlotta began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, until a tear ran down her powdered cheek.
-56-
An excerpt from Queen’s notebook:
Snooping.
I am what you call a Snoop cause I need to be Cause people don’t tell you Everything you need to know about them they are liers & they don’t tell you whats going to Happen but I know what I need to know cause I check droors cabinets & cell phones. & don’t forget the glove compartment. Clews are Everywhere just Look!
It had been some time since Carlotta had entertained a nine-year-old. She’d bought a large box of crayons and a coloring book, and was prepared to take Queen to the park by the lake. But Queen was happy to stay home on this, the first day they would spend together, while Hope worked at the café. Queen roamed the house, running her finger across the spines of the lowest of the hundreds of books in the floor-to-ceiling book cases in Carlotta’s living room, study and den. She seemed very impressed with the gold lettering on the books, saying, “Ooh. Hardcovers. Pretty ones.” Whenever she hit a familiar title, she called out, “Hey! I know this one!” Carlotta let the child take her time, wandering the house with Toutou merrily following at her heels. Carlotta heard her footsteps overhead as the child poked her head into the bedrooms and all the corners of the house. In the meantime, Carlotta baked a batch of sugar cookies and brewed a pot of apple cinnamon tea.
What a storybook “grandaunt” I am, thought Carlotta, serving warm, fresh-baked cookies to my grandniece.
She would need to tell Queen that homemade cookies were just a once-in-a-while treat. It did not do to spoil children. The child would need firm ground rules, as every child did, and she would need to understand that Carlotta required polite and respectful behavior at all times.
The one good thing about children was that they were easy to control. On the negative side, children in general were inconvenient, messy, noisy, and slow on the uptake. They wore out their welcome quickly. The best way to deal with them was to settle them in front of the television, and wait for them to grow up and become good conversationalists.
Carlotta brought the still-warm cookies to the dining room. Queen and Toutou appeared at the table, Queen seated expectantly with her hands resting on the lacey cloth, and the little dog seated with equal expectation at her feet.
“Toutou seems to have fallen in love with you,” flattered Carlotta.
“That’s because I’m giving her graham crackers,” said Queen, holding up the plastic bag of crumbs that had been resting on her lap.
“You’ve been trailing graham crackers all over my house?”
“Nah. Toutou gobbled them all up.”
“But Toutou is on a special diet. She can’t have graham crackers. Please don’t give her anything ever again without asking me.”
Queen studied Carlotta before answering.
“Toutou loves graham crackers.”
It was Carlotta’s turn to study Queen. The child’s chin was lifted and her regard was direct.
“Be that as it may. No graham crackers for my dog.”
“‘Be that as it may,’” repeated Queen, softly, and then added in a stronger tone, “Be that as it may, I was only being nice.”
In Carlotta’s day, this would have been considered “answering back,” and would have been met with strong discouragement, maybe even corporal punishment. Times had changed. People explained things to children now. Over-explained, in Carlotta’s opinion.
Simply state what behavior is needed.
“Your continuing to discuss it is rude. I am your elder. When I correct you, you do not need to justify yourself. Simply say, ‘I understand,’ or ‘Thank you for telling me.’”
The little girl sat with a very straight back and her eyes went wide.
“Be that as it may, don’t correct me, please. You can correct mistakes. You cannot correct people. I am a person.”
What an exasperating little girl.
Her attitude was completely unacceptable in any child. However, truth to be told, Carlotta was getting a tremendous kick out of her.
Queen added with emphasis, “I am using my words.”
What a peculiar thing to say.
The two adversaries sat in stony silence, eating cookies. The skinny child had an extraordinary appetite.
Two copies of The Tale of Despereaux lay on the table. One was the child’s; the other must have been Carlotta’s copy, which she had left on her night stand. Queen must have been walking around in her bedroom, to spot it.
“Since you are so fond of Despereaux,” said Carlotta, moving onto literary ground, “I picked up my own copy at Butler’s Books. I’m not a fan of mice and rats; however, the book seems to have psychological depth.”
Queen’s expression became softer.
Carlotta tried to bring the discussion down to Queen’s age level.
“Who is your favorite character?”
“Despereaux!” said Queen, with feeling.
“And why is that?” asked Carlotta.
“Because I like him the best,” said Queen. She appeared surprised to have to state the obvious for Carlotta.
“But why is he your favorite? What do you like about him?”
“He’s brave.” Queen reflected, pushing cookie crumbs into a pile on her plate. “Did you read the part where he was born with his eyes open, and he should have had them closed?”
“Yes, dear. That’s in the very beginn
ing.”
“Everything is wrong about him, but he’s still the best one in the whole book.” Queen lifted the plate and licked the pile of crumbs off, and Carlotta put a hand to her mouth, to prevent herself from delivering an etiquette lesson.
Queen continued, “His ears are the wrong size, he’s the wrong size. He doesn’t want to do what mice do. He wants to listen to music.” Queen said shyly, “I love that.”
Carlotta dropped her hand and regarded Queen intently.
“Go on. What else? What else about Despereaux?”
“No one wants him. I thought he would try to be like the other mice, to fit in. But he never does. He can’t. Not even to make his mother love him, he just can’t. He knows who he is. He’s really perfect, I think.”
Carlotta’s breath slowed as she listened to Queen’s analysis. She didn’t want to miss a word.
“And the other characters, what about them?”
“Well, there’s Miggery Sow!” Queen gave a short laugh, and Carlotta started, realizing that this was the first time she had heard the child laugh.
Queen went on, “I love that name, Miggery Sow. But that girl is stoo-pid. She thinks she can be a princess. She’s so stupid, she’ll believe anyone. But if you’re born low like her, you can’t be a princess. Never. But the real princess isn’t that great herself, anyway. It’s not such a big deal to be a princess. It’s better to be yourself. That’s what Despereaux does. That’s why he’s the best one in the book, and so the book is about him.”
Carlotta sat back in her chair, and experienced one of those rare instances in her life when she didn’t know what to say. This little girl was a diamond in the rough. Carlotta determined at once to take over Queen’s intellectual development.
Her first impression had been that Queen was a dim-witted child—probably due to Hope’s description of what to expect before the girl arrived. She was pleased now to see that there was far more to Queen than she would have suspected. She felt an unaccustomed curiosity about this little girl. In Queen, Carlotta intuited a fierce independence, a refreshing originality, and a superior intellect, in short: a kindred spirit.