Under The Wishing Star

by Farr, Diane

  She longed to go to him, to comfort him, but sensed that she must not. She stood her ground, therefore, still clutching the little parcel. “She may improve,” Natalie offered. “As she grows, her eyes may change.”

  Malcolm seemed to be struggling to speak, willing himself to control his voice. “What,” he croaked. “How…”

  “How did I guess?” She took an instinctive step forward, then forced herself to halt. “It came upon me gradually. I knew that something was wrong, but it took me some time to fit the pieces of evidence together. She bends over her work so closely…I thought, for a long time, it was just another manifestation of her tendency to shut the world out.” She took a deep breath, then expelled it in a sigh. “But now I think I had it backwards. The main reason why Sarah lives in her own little world so much of the time, is that she does not see this one clearly. You have seen her drawings—and, today, her watercolors. The details are rendered with great care, but the background is indistinct. The background of each of her paintings is nothing but a wash of color.”

  “Yes.” His voice was almost inaudible.

  “I believe that is how she sees the world. Once, I took her down to the creek to show her the tadpoles. I had the oddest feeling that she was humoring me…as if she believed we were playing one of our imagination games. Now I realize that she could not see the creatures in the water. No wonder she thought I was playing a game.” She was clutching the package too tightly. She set it carefully down on a low table, running one finger absently along the string. “And finally, one day, I noticed something odd about her greeting, when she welcomed me into the nursery. I was wearing a new dress. She noticed me standing in the doorway, but her little face brightened considerably when I spoke.” She cleared her throat, which had suddenly developed a lump. “Before she heard my voice, she knew only that she had a visitor. It was my voice, not my face, that identified me to her.”

  Malcolm raised one hand to cover his eyes. “The fall,” he said, his voice tight with sorrow.

  “Yes,” said Natalie gently. “She has always been a little clumsy, has she not? And fearful of falling. After you told me about her mother, I thought…”

  “So did I.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “I thought some corner of her mind remembered the way her mother had died. I thought that was why she clung to me when we walked anywhere. I thought that was why she was so afraid of falling.”

  “It still may be, you know. At least, part of it.”

  His head swiveled back to look at her. His expression was bitter. “But she did not see the stone stairway in the village. And that, in fact, is why she fell.”

  “It would seem so,” agreed Natalie softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “What a sad excuse for a father I am,” he said. His voice was harsh with self-loathing. “I should have guessed. I should have known.”

  “Stop it.” She flew to him and put her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “You must not blame yourself.”

  “She is my responsibility,” he whispered, distraught. “God placed her in my care. I do my best, but—”

  “Stop, stop! You are a wonderful father. Sarah adores you.” Natalie, thinking of her own father, almost choked at the irony, the injustice, of Malcolm—of all men!—thinking he was a bad parent. “I cannot bear to hear you blame yourself. Had I received half the attention from my father that Sarah receives from you—”

  “I love her so much. How could I have missed it? There were so many clues—”

  “No, no, it was never obvious—”

  “There were many clues,” he repeated bitterly. “You don’t know. I’ve been standing here, remembering…” His throat worked for a moment. Then he managed to say, “Do you know, that Thorpe woman used to punish her? She would insist that Sarah sit up straight. Sit up straight!” He mimicked her. “Posture, Sarah, posture.”

  Natalie, understanding what this must have meant, was horrified. “But Sarah could not see her work if she sat up straight.”

  “Right. And Mrs. Thorpe knew what Sarah was capable of, so she punished her when her skills seemed to desert her. Harshly. She must have believed Sarah was pretending, being deliberately obtuse…oh, my poor little girl.”

  “Ssh, ssh.” Natalie, beside herself with grief for him, kissed his mouth to hush him. “It’s all over, now. It’s all behind us.”

  He hugged her tightly. “Thank you,” he said, in a low tone. “Thank you for seeing what I did not.” He managed a rather wan smile. “Between the two of us, we may yet rear her safely.”

  Relieved, Natalie smiled back. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

  They unwrapped the parcel then, and sent for Sarah. Mrs. Bigalow brought her down to the hall, where the last light of evening slanted through the tall windows. Malcolm pulled Sarah’s nurse aside and, in a carefully lowered voice, told her what was about to occur. Meanwhile, Natalie crouched down to Sarah’s eye level.

  “Sarah dear,” she began, “do you remember the kind gentleman we visited in London?”

  Sarah nodded. “He thought you were my mama.”

  “That’s right.” She could not help feeling touched, it struck her as so quaint that that, out of all the wonders of her visit to the optician, had made the greatest impression on Sarah. “But do you remember all the pieces of glass you looked through? Some of them let you see better.”

  “I remember.” Sarah smiled. “One made everything weensy.” She held her fingers in a circle before her eyes and screwed up her features to demonstrate.

  Natalie tried again. “But some of them made far away things look clearer, didn’t they?”

  Sarah cocked her head, birdlike. “Yes.” She seemed puzzled.

  Natalie’s voice took on a congratulatory tone. “Well, the kind gentleman has made you a pair of spectacles. Fancy that! You will be able to look through those bits of glass always.”

  Natalie held out the little spectacles as she spoke. All three adults fell silent, watching. They seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for the child’s reaction.

  Sarah’s eyes grew round with curiosity. She took them gingerly from Natalie’s hand and inspected them, holding them very close to her face. “Will they fit me, do you think?” Her voice sounded perfectly matter-of-fact. She seemed completely unaware that her world was about to change.

  “Oh, I believe they will.” Natalie placed the spectacles on Sarah’s face and hooked the arms over Sarah’s ears, carefully bending the wires into shape and checking to make sure the lenses were level as they sat on Sarah’s tiny nose. Sarah closed her eyes during this procedure, as if nervous of having such a device attached to her face. She looked adorable in them, like a miniature owl.

  “There, then,” said Natalie at last, straightening. “What do you think?”

  Sarah slowly opened her eyes. Fear immediately darkened her pupils. She gasped, flinching backward, and her gaze flicked to her father’s face. Her small jaw dropped. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “She’s crying,” exclaimed Malcolm. He stooped and picked Sarah up in his arms. “What’s wrong, duckie? What is it?”

  Sarah stared at his jaw. Her small hand cupped his face. “Papa, I can see your whiskers,” she sobbed.

  Malcolm’s eyes met Natalie’s, seeking enlightenment. Natalie gave a helpless little shrug. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it was not this. She hastened to soothe the little girl. “Sarah, sweetheart, do they pinch you?” She stroked the child’s hair. “Do the spectacles hurt?”

  “No,” Sarah wailed. Her wet eyes focused on Natalie’s face. She gulped and cringed. “You’re too close,” she cried, evidently trying to explain. “You’re big.”

  “Mrs. Bigalow, you wear spectacles,” said Malcolm, a note of desperation in his voice. “What is happening here?”

  Nurse gave a sympathetic cluck. “Poor dear, it’s startling her. That’s all.”

  The voice drew Sarah’s eyes to Nurse, who was standing a few feet away, and she cried harder.


  “Well,” said Natalie helplessly, “Something is wrong. Shall we take them off?”

  “No!” Sarah wriggled frantically in Malcolm’s arms. “Papa, put me down.”

  Malcolm and Natalie exchanged glances again. Malcolm shrugged. “Very well,” he said, and placed his daughter on the floor.

  She stood absolutely still, evidently afraid to move. Her tears stopped. She sniffed a time or two, recovering, but did not cry again. Moving cautiously, as if she had just been injured but wasn’t sure how or where, she lifted one foot and set it down slightly ahead of the other. One step. Then she swayed as if dizzy and clutched at her father’s coat.

  “I’m here, Sarah.” He took her hand in his.

  “The floor is too close,” she whispered. “Papa. I can see everything.”

  It was apparently disconcerting for Sarah to have so much information about her surroundings. To a child who associated details with proximity, being able to see the edge of a carpet, or a floorboard, or an individual step, meant she must be falling.

  “I want to go out of doors,” said Sarah, in an urgent whisper. Natalie had the strangest impression: that Sarah thought if she spoke out loud, she might wake up. And she evidently wanted to see as much of the world as she could before the dream ended.

  With Malcolm holding one of Sarah’s hands and Natalie the other, the threesome left Nurse wiping away a tear in the hall behind them. They walked slowly, slowly, out the door and onto the front step.

  Sarah paused, looking down the drive. Her eyes were enormous as she took it all in: grass and trees and gravel and sky. She must have forgotten to breathe at first; after a few seconds of silence her chest heaved, and a tiny sigh escaped her.

  What was Sarah thinking? Natalie wondered. What did she make of it all? She was sure Malcolm was wondering the same thing. But neither of them spoke. It would have been a sacrilege, somehow, to intrude on this moment.

  “May I walk out on the grass?” She seemed subdued and spoke very quietly, but she was no longer whispering.

  “Certainly you may.” This time Malcolm was whispering, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.

  Still hand in hand, they all walked down the shallow steps and out onto the lawn. Sarah stared down at her feet. “Grass,” she breathed, as if the word were new to her. Then she looked up at the purpling sky. Surprise flitted across her features. “Look, Papa,” she said, pointing upward. Her face was filled with wonder. “There are little holes in the night.”

  Sarah had never seen the stars.

  They stayed out on the lawn and watched the stars come out. At Sarah’s request, Malcolm held her up so she could be closer to the sky. Natalie leaned against him on the other side, resting her head on his shoulder. With one arm around his wife and one around his child, Malcolm talked about the stars as they appeared, first one by one, then blooming like great drifts of wild daisies over their heads. When Sarah’s neck grew tired, she lay back against her father, silent and attentive as he told her stories of the twins and the bear and the dipper, all the tales he could recall of the great, unending dance of the stars.

  “I do not see them dancing,” Sarah remarked.

  “No, for it’s a slow dance. Too slow to watch with our eyes. But the stars do change places as the months move on.”

  “I think,” said Sarah sleepily, “that they dance up above the sky. Like angels. I think they are wearing glass slippers. Their shoes have little wee heels, little sharp heels, and they punch holes in the floor as they dance.”

  Natalie smiled. It was a pretty thought. “So the sky must be the floor of heaven, and we are looking up from beneath.”

  Sarah yawned. “Yes.”

  Malcolm’s eyes met Natalie’s. Emotion flashed and sparked between them. “And heaven is filled with light,” he said softly. “I see.” He shook his head in slow amazement. “My daughter is a poet. When Sarah looks at the stars, she sees divine radiance pouring through tiny rips in the firmament.”

  Sarah’s sleepy voice sounded again. “Do you think Mama is up in heaven, Papa? Can she peek through the holes and see me?”

  “I don’t know, duckie. Perhaps she can.”

  “I hope so.” She yawned again. “I hope she can see me right now. I think she would like to see us so happy.”

  Natalie felt tears welling up. “I’m sure she would like you to be happy, sweetheart.”

  Silence fell again. Then Sarah, barely awake now, murmured sorrowfully, “It was a very bad bird.”

  Natalie looked at Malcolm. He mouthed, “Dreaming.” But Natalie didn’t think so. She leaned forward and peeked around Malcolm to see Sarah’s face. Her eyes were closed now, but she seemed awake.

  “What bird was that, poppet?” asked Natalie. She reached across and gently tried to remove Sarah’s spectacles, to make her more comfortable for sleep—but changed her mind when Sarah put up a hand and clung to them, keeping them on.

  “The bird,” Sarah repeated, opening her eyes. She sat up. “Papa, you know about the bird.”

  Malcolm was clearly at a loss. “Do I?”

  The silvery light of moon and stars was strong enough to read Sarah’s expression. It was puzzled, and a little anxious. “Am I not to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what? You may say anything you like.” When she still did not speak, Malcolm gently prompted her. “Tell us about the bird.”

  Visible tension ran through Sarah’s small form. “It was the bird,” she whispered. “You remember that day. Mama did not want to leave us. Not really. The bird scared her.”

  A shock went through Natalie’s veins like a dash of cold water. Sarah was remembering her mother’s death. She had been there, and at two or three years of age she had been old enough to comprehend—what?

  Had there been a ledge? Of course there had been, if Catherine was threatening to jump from it. Had birds been nesting beneath it? Malcolm’s words came back to her: I married Catherine in the spring ... It was the anniversary of our wedding day. Springtime.

  Nesting.

  A nesting bird would fly out at anyone who came too close to the nest.

  Natalie placed a trembling hand on Sarah’s little arm. “Did a bird fly out, darling? Did a bird fly out very suddenly?”

  Sarah nodded, her face very grave. “Swish.” She raised her arm and demonstrated, making a fast, swooping motion. Her face crumpled. “Mama screamed.” She buried her face in her father’s coat, shuddering.

  Malcolm looked thunderstruck. He patted Sarah’s back with automatic, soothing, circular movements. “Ssh, duckie. Ssh. It’s all right now. Never mind.” His dazed eyes sought Natalie’s again.

  Natalie hugged him as tightly as she could, waves of joy and sorrow pounding her. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling, too. “Then the coroner was right,” she said. Her voice quavered a bit. “Don’t you see, Malcolm? The coroner was right. She didn’t jump. She fell. It was an accident. It was no one’s fault.” The emphasis was for his benefit; with Sarah there, she could not say aloud what she was thinking. You, my love, were not to blame. Whatever you said, whatever you did, it doesn’t matter now. It never did.

  Malcolm took a deep breath. She saw the very moment when the weight rolled off his soul. He looked as if he could not quite believe it, but Natalie knew that his initial incredulity would gradually fade as the truth hit home. Thank you, God. She hugged him again, burrowing her face into his sleeve.

  “I’m sleepy, Papa.”

  Malcolm kissed the top of Sarah’s head. “Shall I carry you in?”

  “Yes, please.” She snuggled back into his arms, laying her head down and closing her eyes. Malcolm removed the spectacles and this time she allowed it. He folded the little miracle of gold and glass and slipped it carefully into his breast pocket.

  Natalie smiled up at him. “Your arms must be tired.”

  “Not very.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “I think nothing could tire me tonight.”

  She saw a flash of silver light out of
the corner of her eye. She turned, looking back at the sky. Malcolm glanced up at the same moment, apparently seeing what she had seen. Wonder stirred in her heart. “Oh,” she breathed. “How beautiful.”

  “A shooting star,” said Malcolm. Quiet pleasure rumbled in his voice. He looked back at Natalie. “Make a wish.”

  She stared upward, overwhelmed. The sky spread its canopy over her, the blackness spangled with silver light like hope triumphing over every mystery, twinkling even more brightly where the dark was deepest. Summer was ending and autumn would soon be here; the breeze carried the fragrance of hay and the warmth in the air was fading into chill. Beside her was Malcolm, her husband. Her love. And he held in his arms a child who was almost as dear to her as he was. Derek was coming home. Her mother was alive. Sarah could see the stars. Miracle upon miracle had showered down upon her, filling her heart to bursting.

  Natalie shook her head. “I can’t.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her, amused. “You can’t make a wish?”

  She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I have nothing to wish for.” She sighed with happiness. “Absolutely nothing. You make a wish.”

  His eyes met hers, filled with understanding. “Natalie Whittaker Chase,” he said softly, “If one more blessing rains down on me, I think my heart will crack from the weight of joy.”

  She nodded. “Dangerous stuff,” she said, with mock solemnity. “Joy.”

  “Let’s leave the wish for someone who needs it.”

  She smiled. “Will it stay, do you think? Hovering invisibly in the sky…waiting for someone worthy to come along and take it?” She rather liked the idea.

  “I don’t know, my love. All I know is, for either of us to make a wish would be…” He cocked his head as if thinking. “Greedy,” he pronounced at last.

  “Pure gluttony,” Natalie agreed, slipping her arm through his. And they turned to carry their sleeping daughter back to the lamplit house.

  We hope you have enjoyed UNDER THE WISHING STAR. For more books by this author, please visit http://www.dianefarrbooks.com. A bonus excerpt of UNDER A LUCKY STAR follows: