"Maybe I'll ask her to get me some for my birthday," she said.
"I think that's a fine idea," he said.
She smiled, giving him a warm feeling in his chest. Then he remembered a conversation he'd had with his father the night before.
"Did I tell you my father wants to send me to Rutgers College?" he said.
"Truly?"
"Yes. It's in New Brunswick. It's quite a ways away."
"But you won't have to go until you graduate from high school, will you?"
A touch of anxiety filled her heart. Johnny was her closest friend. He'd always been right next door.
"He's thinking I might benefit from a private school. But I'm trying to change his mind."
"I hope you do," she said.
"Would it matter to you?" he asked.
She stopped walking and turned to him.
"Of course, it would. How can you ask that?"
"Because sometimes you seem mad at me for no reason."
"I said I was sorry, Johnny."
"It's not just today, Hannah."
She began walking again with him beside her.
"My feelings are all jumbled," said Hannah. "I don't mean to..."
"It's all right. I shouldn't have said anything."
"You're my friend. I want you to talk to me."
She stopped again and looked at his face.
"Are you afraid of me?" she asked.
The look on her face was heartbreaking
"No, of course not. I just keep saying things that upset you, so I'm trying to figure out what to say that won't."
"But that sounds like you're afraid to upset me."
"No, I'm not afraid, it's just..."
"Nothing. Never mind. I just don't want to lose your friendship."
He put his hand on her arm.
"That won't happen. Not ever."
She smiled. He had said what she wanted to hear more than anything else. She wished she could hug him, but they were on the street where the neighbors might see them.
"Me, too," she said.
They lived in a neighborhood on Maple Street, where the city planners had created a single road with houses on each side of the road, divided by a quarter acre of land on each side of the house, and generous front and back yards. Hannah's parents had chosen the Queen Anne style home. It had two stories, a large porch, Dutch gables, wooden shingles, and bay windows on the top and bottom floors. Hannah's bedroom was on the corner, and she had a bay window in front and a regular window on the side facing Johnny's house. His window was across the yard from hers, and they would often call to each other until one of their parents came to their room and closed the window.
Johnny's house was a more modest two story Colonial with a porch and little else to distinguish it from the others on the block. His father, a druggist who owned the town's only apothecary, earned a good living, but chose to save his money rather than squander it on a big home. He wanted to send his son to college, and his priority over everything was Johnny's education.
Malcolm Liberty wanted his son to be a doctor, and Johnny was not averse to the idea, but the thought of leaving Hannah before it was absolutely necessary was weighing on Johnny's mind. He told his father he would work hard and do well in the local high school, but Malcolm was determined to increase Johnny's chances for success by enrolling him in a prep school near New Brunswick.
They stopped in front of Hannah's house and Johnny waited while she walked to her front porch. She turned and waved, and watched him as he walked to his house, then waved to him one more time before going into her house.
Becky was setting the table when she came in. She could see their sturdy housekeeper counting out the utensils for dinner and smiled when Becky looked up. She was not old, claiming to be in her thirties, with straight brown hair that she wore in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a plain blouse and skirt under her apron and she had a kind face. She always smiled when she saw Hannah.
"Dinner's within the hour," Becky said.
"Where's mama?" Hannah asked.
"She's upstairs. I haven't seen her for a while."
Hannah looked up the stairs. It was dark, and she knew that meant the door to her mother's "room" was closed; otherwise the upstairs hall would be bright with the late afternoon sunlight. Her mother's room was the spare room Marian had fixed up for her own use. She would close the door and wouldn't answer unless there was an emergency.
Hannah sighed.
"What's wrong?" Becky said. "Tell me."
Hannah walked over to the table and sat next to where Becky was sorting spoons.
"I wasn't very nice to Johnny today. I think I hurt his feelings."
"Well, he'll get over it. Men usually do."
"But he's a boy, Becky. Do they get over things too?"
"How old is Johnny now?"
"He's fourteen."
"Then he's old enough. Now, go wash your hands. I won't let you eat until you do."
"I washed them off in the ocean."
"Exactly why you have to wash them now. Do you know what goes on in the ocean?"
Hannah rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen where she washed her hands in the big, double porcelain sink. The large kitchen also had the latest gas stove and ice box. Three times a week, the iceman would come from Red Bank, drive by, and Becky would put a sign in the front window indicating how much ice they needed. He would then deliver it to the back door and put it in the icebox for her. Sometimes he would flirt with Becky, and she would call him fresh.
Hannah sat in her seat at the table and watched as Becky put the finishing touches on the table. She began playing with her fork, and Becky narrowed her eyes.
"You're too old to be playing with your fork," she said.
Hannah put it down and frowned.
"Wipe that frown off your face, young lady."
Then Hannah grinned.
"Very funny," Becky said with a smile.
They heard Marian's footsteps coming down the stairs and looked toward the hallway. She appeared at the dining room entrance and smiled when she saw Hannah.
"You look so red!" she said when she saw Hannah's sunburned face.
"I can't feel it," Hannah replied.
"You will," Becky said as she put the silverware chest into the credenza.
"We'll put some vinegar on it before you go to bed," Marian said. "Now, tell me about your day."
"Johnny and I made a sand castle. The sun kept drying out the sand, so he had to go to the ocean a lot."
"Was it a good castle?"
"It was all right."
"I'm sure it was wonderful," Marian said. "I'd love to see one sometime. Maybe I'll come with you to the beach next Saturday."
"You'd really come?"
"Yes, I would. I want to see one of your castles."
Hannah bit her lower lip. She thought about the modeling clay Johnny had mentioned.
"Mama," she said. "Johnny said there is something called modeling clay that I could make castles out of."
"I've heard of that," Becky said. "It gets your hands all gummy."
"Did he say where you can buy it?" Marian asked.
"No, but we could ask at the dry goods."
"I'll take you there Monday morning," Becky said, glancing at Marian. "I need a few things for the kitchen."
"I'll go to," Marian said.
"You don't have to, Mama," Hannah said.
Both she and Becky knew how Marian felt about going to the store.
"No, I want to go with you. I'll be fine."
"Well, I think it's a grand idea," Becky said. "Maybe we can get a soda at Liberty Drugs."
"Oh, can I get chocolate?" Hannah asked.
"That sounds good," Marian replied. "I think that's what I'll have, too."
"Me, too," Becky said.
Hannah felt so happy. She loved to see her mother smiling and couldn't wait until Monday morning. She could already taste the chocolate ice cream soda.
Cha
pter 4
On Sundays Marian, Becky, and Hannah would walk to the old church on Oak Street. The church, which began as Presbyterian a hundred years before, had been abandoned by the denomination twenty years ago when the parent church in East Brunswick chose not to send a new minister to the small beach town. In the absence of an organized denomination, some townspeople decided to find a minister of their own and called the church The First Church of New Beach.
The man they chose to pastor them, the honorable Reverend Armstrong, had graduated from the divinity school at Yale in 1870 and had some radical ideas about the preaching of the gospel. He instituted a church choir and allowed women to speak from the altar. While some of the citizens of New Beach found his ways too "new" and chose to go to the denominational churches in Red Bank, a small, devoted group always came to the little church on Sundays.
Hannah loved the church. Reverend Armstrong had used his own money to install four stained-glass windows in the nave and as he preached, Hannah would study the intricacy of the designs. She would sit right next to the depiction of Jesus baptizing John the Baptist and run her finger over the edge of Jesus' foot.
If Becky noticed Reverent Armstrong looking their way, she would gently elbow Hannah to bring her attention back to his sermon. But Reverend Armstrong was grateful someone appreciated the fine workmanship that went into creating the windows and loved seeing Hannah's finger climbing up the glass.
The words being spoken didn't affect Hannah as much as the scenes portrayed on those windows. Besides John the Baptist's baptism, Reverend Adams had chosen Christ in the Garden, Jesus healing the blind man, and Mary at the foot of the cross. The redness of the blood on Jesus' forehead as he agonized over his fate, the blue the artist used to create the sky, and the green leaves on the trees all fascinated Hannah.
She had seen these windows every Sunday for as long as she could remember, but lately they drew her in as never before. She wanted to know how to create something that beautiful, something that would move people and make them cry, laugh, think, and ponder the mysteries of life.
Today, she was sitting in the pew behind Johnny Liberty and looking at the Mary window.
Johnny's right, she thought. I want to make something that will last.
She tapped him on the shoulder and he put his head back without turning around.
"What?" he whispered.
"I'm going to the dry goods tomorrow for clay," she whispered back.
"Good," he said quietly, and his mother elbowed him.
"And what do you think, Hannah?" Reverend Adams said.
Hannah heard her name and looked up. She could feel the eyes of the congregation on her and her heart began to pound in her chest. She looked at Reverend Adams, an attractive man in his early forties whose hair had grayed prematurely, and who always had a twinkle in his blue eyes. He walked away from the altar and stood by her pew. Becky and Marian sat between Reverend Adams and Hannah.
"I don't know," Hannah said softly.
"What do you see when you look at that window, Hannah?" he asked.
Her mouth was dry and she tried to think. How could she express feelings in words? How could she describe the way the colors made her heart soar, or how amazing it felt to see the look of anguish on Mary's face that the artist had fashioned from bits of glass?
"I see colors," she said.
"And?" Reverend Adams said.
"And Mary's face."
Reverend Adams looked at the window. He understood Hannah's dilemma.
"How do the colors make you feel?" he asked.
"Like I'm there. Like I can hear her cry."
"Excellent answer, Hannah."
He walked back to the altar and continued his sermon. Hannah tried to pay attention, but her embarrassment at having been caught unawares had not subsided. When the service was over, she stayed close to Marian as they walked past Reverend Adams. Nevertheless, he put his hand on Hannah's shoulder so she wouldn't pass him too quickly.
"I didn't talk to you to embarrass you," he said.
Hannah simply nodded.
"I wanted to know what you see when you look at those windows. You answered well. You should feel those things."
She didn't know what to say. She sort of understood that he wasn't angry with her, but not certain. She smiled and he smiled back, and then went onto the next parishioner in line.
"I love those windows, too," Marian remarked as they walked toward home. "Sometimes I get distracted by them when the sermon goes on a little too long."
"I have to fight to keep myself awake sometimes," Becky said.
They laughed then, and Hannah began to feel better.
"When we get you some clay," Marian said, "maybe we can get you some paper to draw on. I'd like to see what you do with color."
Hannah's face glowed with excitement. She smiled and stopped to hug Marian, squeezed her tightly, and looked into her mother's face.
"Thank you, Mama," she said. "Thank you."
Chapter 5
When Hannah woke up Monday morning, the wind was howling and rain pelted her window. Her bed was right next to it so she could see the sky first thing every morning. She loved seeing the white clouds against the blue sky, but today the clouds were gray and black, and she got up and backed away from the window.
"It's bad out there," Becky remarked from Hannah's bedroom door. "I don't think we'll be going to the dry goods today."
"Aw, Becky, is it really that bad?"
"It's raining hard and the wind would knock a little thing like you right over, or take you away."
Becky had laundry in her hand, but since she couldn't hang it out in this weather, she was going to collect it for another day and put it in the washroom. She gathered Hannah's dirty clothes from her hamper and then left Hannah alone.
Hannah looked out the window again, hoping to see a glimpse of blue between the angry clouds. She sighed when she couldn't find a sliver of light, and went to the bathroom to wash before getting dressed for the day.
By the time she descended the stairs for breakfast, Marian had already eaten and was in the parlor reading last week's newspaper.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she said when she saw Hannah. "I'm sorry we can't go to the store today."
"It's all right, Mama."
Hannah walked over to Marian and sat on the chair opposite her mother's near the fireplace.
"Can we go tomorrow?" she asked.
"I don't see why not. Unless this storm continues.
"Is it a hurricane?"
"If feels like one."
Marian looked out the window.
"We'd better stay away from the windows just in case."
"But my bed is right next to the window," Hannah said.
"Maybe Becky, you, and I can move it away. Go eat your breakfast now and we'll do it as soon as you're done eating."
Hannah ran to her place at the table where Becky had left a plate of toast, butter, and raspberry jam. She covered her toast in the softened butter and slathered a quarter-inch of jam on top. She ate quickly before Becky could see how much jam she'd put on the bread, for Becky would have chastised her for eating too much.
The butter and jam tasted marvelous and Hannah enjoyed every bite. She had just put the last bite in her mouth when Becky entered the dining room.
"It was good, Becky," she said.
Becky smiled and ran her hand over the back of Hannah's head, smoothing her curls.
"It's from the raspberries we picked last summer. We have to get to that farm again before this summer is over and gone, or we won't have any jam next year."
Hannah took her plate into the kitchen and put it in the sink. Becky was kneading bread, and Hannah watched her punch it and roll it over and over, then put it in a bowl and cover it with a towel.
"Will you teach me how to make bread?" she asked.
"Sure. I was planning to get you started on learning it anyway."
"When can we do it?"
"Next time I
make it I'll call you."
"But when will that be?"
"When I make it, you'll know."
Becky went to the sink and washed her hands while Hannah frowned.
"I just like to know when things are gonna happen."
"Then you'll most likely be disappointed all the time."
"What does that mean?"
"Questions, questions. Don't you have something to do? I saw your room this morning. I think it could use a good dusting."
Then Hannah remembered what Marian had said about moving her bed.
"Mama said we should move my bed away from the window. She said you and me and she could move it."
"She did, did she? Then let's go do it now."
Hannah ran to the parlor and stood at the entrance.
"Mama, we're ready," she said.
They went up the stairs and together, they entered Hannah's room. Becky and Marian each took an end of the bed and slowly moved it toward the center of the room, and Hannah climbed over it and pushed. They made sure it was a good six feet away then stopped.
"That wasn't as heavy as I thought it would be," Marian said.
"Was heavy enough," Becky said. "And look at the dust that was under there. You have a job to do, Miss Hannah."
"But it's next to the window," Hannah protested.
"Then do it now while you have the chance," Becky said.
"But if the window breaks, the rain will clean the dust."
Marian laughed, and Becky tried to suppress a smile.
"Do as she says, Hannah," Marian said.
"All right. But it seems silly to clean something that might clean itself."
The women went back downstairs while Hannah ran an old dust cloth over the floor under the window. The wind blew a tree branch against her window and scared Hannah, who jumped up and backed away. Then it hit the window again, causing a slight crack in the glass.
"Mama," she yelled. She looked around for something to cover the window, and spied the lid on her old toy box. She lifted it up and leaned it against the wall. It just covered the bottom portion of the window.
Marian appeared at the door and saw what Hannah was doing, then she saw the crack in the glass.
"Get away from there, Hannah," she said.
Hannah's Dream Page 2