“That place is sort of scary, right?”
“Yeah. It creeps her out because there are lots of spiders in the forest. She gets there and is suddenly confused. It’s dark and so creepy. Can you imagine being alone in the forest at night with big spiders?”
“Noooo!”
“Well, she has to run to get out of there fast.”
“Maddie, is all of this in hidden chapters?”
“Yes! How else would I know? She’s running and falls over a stump that is all thick and grassy from moss. This slows her down, so she looks around her. The forest is quiet, and then all of a sudden”—I swallow big and breathe. If Danny wasn’t sitting next to me, I know I’d cry. I do my best to keep a steady voice, but it quivers—“she hears a voice that she has missed every day of her life. It’s Grandma’s voice calling out to her.”
“Do you mean Grandma O’Leary?”
I nod.
“So she also has a Grandma O’Leary?”
“Danny, even though this is about a different Mary than me, this part seems like it might really have happened. I heard Grandma O’Leary speaking to me in my dreams.”
“Dreams aren’t real.”
“That’s what you think, but I heard her talking to me, and this is what she said. She said, ‘We all change form.’ Just like Yram and the dragonfly. She said that’s why I couldn’t see her; she has changed form. But she’s still alive.”
“Oh.”
“Mary was upset. When her grandmother spoke to her, she listened. Her grandmother reminded her that she really was smart, that she was especially good at telling stories.”
“Like you.”
“Thank you, Danny. That’s called a com-plane-ment. Then Grandma’s voice was replaced by Gwendolyn’s, and all at once, Mary was staring at the beautiful web of Gwendolyn’s and saw Gwendolyn crouched in the corner. Gwendolyn sort of scolded her, saying, ‘Mary, you have all you need to break the spell. You need to believe in yourself and turn away from the fear that the hope snatchers have created.’ Mary understood this but still said, ‘Please, let me see Yram, and then I know I can break the spell.’ Gwendolyn then told her where she would find the fairy. ‘Yram likes to hang out at the bramble bushes where the elf children sometimes play hide-and-seek.’”
“Elf children?”
“Yes, that’s who Teacher Elly usually teaches—elves.”
“So, kind of like where we saw the large dragonfly?”
“That’s right. And that’s why I figured it was a fairy in disguise. They like bramble bushes like that.
“So Mary goes there, secretly hoping that Yram will use fairy magic and wipe out the dust from her eyes and make it possible to read again. She waits around, and then crawls into a little space pretending to be playing hide-and-seek. All of a sudden, she looks up in the sky and sees something small and colorful that’s moving fast and drawing a picture in the sky. An elf from Teacher Elly’s class comes running over and points to it. She reads it because Mary never was good at reading cursive, and this is in cursive. It says ‘Help.’ Mary is shocked. She’s the one who wants help, and even though Ethan had told her Yram needs her help, she didn’t really believe it.”
“Oh, I know. It’s like when she asked Ethan to help her get the sticky web. It was so he’d get practice running.”
“Danny, you’re smart. It is sort of the same thing.” He grins, and I reach over and pat his back. “Then Yram drops something from the air that at first looks like a small parachute. As it comes closer to the ground, Mary can tell it’s a huge leaf. An oak tree leaf. It comes toward her, but one of the elf kids grabs it before she can and an acorn falls off it. Mary quickly puts the acorn in her pocket, thinking it must be special since it came from Yram. The little elf girl is nice. She looks at Mary and says, ‘I think you should keep this leaf. Yram meant for you to have it. Look at the pretty picture she drew on it.’ When Mary takes a close look, she doesn’t see a picture, she sees letters!”
“Cool! Could she read it?”
“No, because it was a word with lots of letters and syllables.”
“Like congratulations.”
“Right. And maybe it was congratulations, because Mary wouldn’t have known. But she did get the idea that Yram meant for her to go back to school and, even if it seems much too hard, to keep working on her reading skills. It was easier to do this knowing that she was helping Yram. And she wanted to read the special word on the leaf.”
I pause, and then add, “Mary loves Yram.”
~CHAPTER 43~
1967
MISS STANLEY’S last words come like an unwelcome pat on the back. I had been watching the clock and knew there was only going to be enough time for a quick good-bye; but when the time came, it came much too fast. Everyone gets up and leaves as if it’s an ordinary good-bye instead of a forever good-bye. I stay in my chair waiting.
“Madelyn,” she says softly. Most of all, I’ll miss her voice—it’s so much nicer than Mrs. Zinc’s. “I know someday you’ll make a wonderful nun if that’s what you choose to be. In fact, I can even imagine you as a saint. Your heart is pure.”
I gasp. I don’t know what a pure heart means, but I never dreamed Miss Stanley would think that I could someday be a saint. I have to take a deep breath before I answer.
“It’s the real reason I want to be a nun. If I can be a saint, I’ll make sure everyone’s prayers are answered.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“Including yours, Miss Stanley. You look sad about leaving, and I don’t believe it’s a vacation.” My heart beats fast. I hope she doesn’t think I’m being fresh.
“A vacation is a break. I need to take a break from my job here at the church. But you’re right, it’s sad for me to leave.”
“But why? I know you’re going to have a baby, but lots of people do, and they don’t go away.” I thought she’d be surprised that I know this, but she isn’t.
“Madelyn, the church teaches that it’s a sin to have a baby before you get married. I made a mistake, so some people think it’s best that I take a break to think about it.”
A mistake . . . that’s not as bad as a sin, but I know it’s really a sin, just like Rob said. I can’t think of her as someone who sins.
“Saint Rita still answers your prayers.”
“Of course she does. And yours too.”
“Miss Stanley, I wish you could just go to confession and then keep being our teacher.”
She smiles at me in a way that I wish I could keep forever, and then she opens her arms and I fall into them. I’ve never hugged a teacher, but she’s special, and will no longer be my teacher. I try not to notice her big, solid stomach.
I’m finding all kinds of new words in my book. I write them down: garden, upset, sudden, understand. Now that I know about syllables, I’m good at reading big words. I start to write another big one that I figured out, when I hear Uncle Joe’s truck. I look up. I usually greet him on Saturdays, but I’m still mad at him.
Then I remember. I have something to say to him that’s not about me. I place The Fairy Angel’s Gift under my pillow, dash through the kitchen, and out the front door, where I see his truck roll to a stop. I change my mind and pretend I came out to the bramble pile where I saw a fairy. I hear his door open, sticks and gravel breaking under his thick boots as he makes his way toward the kitchen door. I want to hug him even though I’m mad at him for lying to me. I’m surprised my brothers haven’t grabbed him by now. This thought makes me run toward him. And stop.
“Sister Bard!” he calls. I feel sad right away. He says my name like it’s a treat to see me, but I’ve been holding back. I don’t say a single thing. “How are you? Have you had a good day?”
I can’t begin to answer. I read big words. I hugged Miss Stanley, who thinks I’ll make a good saint. I stand staring at him and then remember what I want to say.
“Uncle Joe, you’re right about Bobby Wallace.”
“The boss’s son. He’s
your classmate?”
“Yes. And he said you’re cool. I told him that you’re really strong. He’s my friend now.”
“That’s good to hear. He seems like a nice enough kid. I’m glad you’re getting along. How’s school going?” I know what he really wants to know.
“It’s going good. I can read big words like congratulations.”
“Well, Sister Bard, what I have to say about that is, congratulations!” He laughs and walks away toward the house. I don’t see what’s so funny about this. I wish he hadn’t laughed.
I wander into the garage and know right away it’s not a place I belong, but I’m always curious. All three of my brothers are standing around talking excitedly about the metal frame with a lawn mower engine stuck in the back and a couple of pedals. I take a closer look and notice a steering wheel, but I don’t see what the big deal is. But then, I don’t understand why Jack and Danny watch The Three Stooges every day when we get home. I understand why Rob reads. I turn away to go look for a special web or maybe just hang out by the rope swing or catch a few frogs. When I leave, Danny follows.
“Have you found more hidden chapters?”
I have, but I’m not sure what. I keep walking. He’s like a shadow, and I end up at the rope swing. I turn toward him.
“Yes, I have.”
“Tell me.”
I smile slightly and plop down with a view of the lake in front.
“After seeing Yram and getting the leaf, Mary took her reading lessons much more seriously. She also thought about the acorn in her pocket and remembered something her father had said about acorns, about how they’re little seeds that can grow into really big trees. Did you know that Danny?”
“I think so. You mean if you bury an acorn like Mom plants cucumber seeds, it’ll grow into a tree?”
“That’s right. Mary’s father had told her that acorns are special because it means something small can change and grow really big.” I’m looking at all kinds of big things: the lake, trees, and the sky stretching across the lake. I wonder if they all started out small. I turn to Danny, and he’s poking around with things that are small: a pill bug in the dirt, a small twig he places in front of it to see what it does. But I know he’s listening.
“She wasn’t sure why Yram had dropped the acorn, and maybe it just happened to be attached to the leaf. But for sure the leaf was on purpose because it had a word on it with letters that only she could see. Mary decides to skip her recess to get even more help with reading because she really wants to help Ethan and break the spell. But she also wants to get her reading skills back. Teacher Elly taught her that reading big words is like reading small words. Here, let me show you.”
I get up, grab a sturdy stick, and with the palm of my hand, I smooth out the dirt and write the word Mrs. Ellen taught me the other day. Fan-tas-tic. Except I write the syllables in a column so that they look like a list of different words.
“Danny, can you read this?” I point to fan.
“Of course, it’s a baby word that I learned a long time ago.” He’s just like all my brothers—good at reading.
“Now read each of the words that aren’t really words but syllables, and then do it fast.”
“Fantastic!” he yells out.
“That’s right. And it is a big word with three syllables.”
“Teacher Elly is a smart teacher.”
“Yes, she is. But still, for someone who has forgotten how to sound out letters, it’s hard. Because Mary is especially interested in reading long words, Teacher Elly teaches her a secret sound that you can never figure out on your own, but it shows up in lots of big words.”
“What’s that?”
“Listen to the last part of congratulations.” I pause and then scratch out in the dirt t-e-u-n. It looks funny; maybe it’s because of writing in dirt. I know the sound but can’t quite remember the letters, but Danny won’t know. “These letters together make the shun sound. You can’t sound it out, you just need to know that. And lots of big words have it. Listen: creation, invitation, nation.”
“Vacation!” he yells. “So now I can read those words too.”
“Probably.”
“What happens next in the story?”
I pause and wait until I’m sure Danny is listening closely. “The word on the leaf is much longer than she has ever remembered reading. While her teacher shows example big words on the board, she notices small words in the word on her leaf and starts sounding them out the way she was taught. First she sounds out trans, and then she notices a small word she knew, form, then letter a, and the last group Teacher Elly had been teaching, the letters that say, shun. Like in congratulations.”
“So, what’s the word?”
“Trans-for-ma-tion. It has four syllables.”
“What in the world does that mean? Is it a real word?”
“Mrs. Ellen says—”
“Who’s Mrs. Ellen?”
“I meant Teacher Elly. She said it means to change form or change the nature of things. This is a word that’s usually said by people who go to college. So this makes Mary feel like a very good reader, and now she knows she can break the spell, because she too was under a spell, thinking she couldn’t read anymore, and now she knows she can. She jumps up in joy when she figures out the word. And she runs to the bramble bush area thinking Yram will meet her, and she will yell out, ‘Yram, I’ve figured out the word on your leaf! I did it!’”
“But that doesn’t happen?”
“No. Instead, she meets Ethan, and he has advice for her.”
“What’s his advice? I bet he’s happy for her.”
“Oh yes, he is. He says, ‘Congratulations!’ Then she says, ‘Where is Yram?’ and he says, ‘She’s still waiting for you to break the spell.’ And then she remembers. She broke her own spell, the one the hope snatchers cast on her, but not the one that has Alice and the Forever-After land where Ethan lives. But because she just read the longest word ever, a college-level word, she is full of hope, and that’s the opposite of what the hope snatchers want.” I pause, look at Danny, and he claps. I smile at him and then continue. “Here’s Ethan’s advice, he reminds her of—”
“What?”
“Danny, I just remembered. I haven’t told you how the story ends when Mrs. Zinc read it to us. You need to know this to understand how the hidden chapters end.”
“But when will you?”
I stand up and stretch. We both hear Mom’s voice calling down to us from the back of the house; it’s dinnertime. I turn to Danny and say, “Maybe later.” And we race up to the house.
After figuring out a difficult word all on my own—situation: the situation between Ethan and his parents—I close my eyes and notice my stomach twisting. If I don’t return The Fairy Angel’s Gift tomorrow, Paulette will tell Mrs. Zinc that I know where the book is. I slide Yram under my pillow and prepare to visit my rooms. I’m feeling a sickness build up inside me, more than the usual twisting that happens when I need to settle something inside a messy room. I can’t tell if the sickness is real or not, but I think it is. I go to my bedroom door and call out, “Mom.”
“What is it, Madelyn?”
“Can you come?” I scurry back into bed.
“I just tucked you in. What is it?”
“I think I have a fever. I feel really sick.”
Mom’s hand presses against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Where does it hurt?”
“All over. Especially my stomach.”
“What you need is a good night’s rest. Is there something bothering you?”
“I don’t think so.” I keep my fingers crossed, hoping this makes it not a sin.
“Say some prayers to Saint John. He’ll help you feel better.”
“Who’s Saint John?”
“He’s the patron saint of sickness. When I feel a cold coming on, I’ll say a few extra prayers to Saint John, and usually, I’m feeling better by morning.”
“Mom, do you ever pray to Sai
nt Rita?”
“Saint Rita . . . there’re so many wonderful saints. I can’t say I have.”
“She’s the saint that Miss Stanley prays to all the time to help her with the organ music.” I reach over to my nightstand where my Bible sits and pull out my favorite holy card. A pang of sadness rises up—Miss Stanley had given this to me. “Look.” I hold up a card with a shiny face framed by a white habit, the face that looks like Miss Stanley’s. I can tell that Saint Rita also has peanut butter–colored hair under her habit. “I’m going to really miss her.”
“She’s lovely, Madelyn. It says ‘Patron saint of lost causes.’ I’m sure she’ll hear your prayers.”
I’m not so sure anymore. I’m still a Sparrow. I don’t want Mom to think less of Saint Rita because, after all, she answers Miss Stanley’s prayers. I decide not to pester Saint John because I know he can’t help me feel better about having to return The Fairy Angel’s Gift.
~CHAPTER 44~
2005
I LEAVE the SIT meeting feeling calm. We came to an easy consensus. Theo, the first grader in question, was not a candidate for repeating first grade and would not need a special education evaluation. Upon listening to his single-parent mother share the stress of trying to feed and house the two of them on a minimum-wage job, a shift in understanding united us all to dig in and come up with ways to further support Theo’s schooling: summer school, the Big Brothers program, and homework club in the fall.
Outside the conference room, I notice Wilma Jenkins pass the office; she catches sight of me and gives a look that’s all too familiar.
Whenever I dare to venture into the staff lounge, a place I go only in desperation to snag a teacher and solve a scheduling problem, I’m assailed by “the look.” I smile back, aware that it’s not me they’re seeing; they’re seeing the child they intend to bring up to me—Jason, Sara, Ava. I’ve become a physical prompt, reminding them of the students they are troubled by. I see it now in Wilma’s eyes.
A mixture of guilt and leftover resentment churns into a nasty concoction as I lay eyes upon Wilma. She had misled Chase’s family—it wasn’t ADHD that propelled him into all kinds of creative antics to avoid reading. They had come prepared to hear about his deficits with paying attention, not with learning to read and write.
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