Child of the Mountains by Marilyn Sue Shank

Author:Marilyn Sue Shank [Shank, Marilyn Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-375-98929-2
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2012-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

18

It’s about telling Mr. Hinkle.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1953

I washed Mr. Hinkle’s handkerchief in the sink last night and laid it across my bedpost to dry. This morning, I tucked it inside my bobby sock so as to keep it close to me.

When I got to school, some of the other kids was a-helping Mr. Hinkle decorate a Christmas tree he had put up in the classroom. “Come and join us, Lydia,” he called to me.

I picked up one of the paper chains and rubbed my fingers over it. I smelled the pine and recollected the last tree that Gran had fixed up for us. I didn’t feel all sad, though. I kept thinking how much Gran loved us, to do that when she felt so poorly. “This is for you, Gran,” I whispered as I added my chain to the tree.

Then I heard Gran’s voice, real deep inside, say, “Rise and shine, grandchild of mine.” I started up thinking of her tickling finger and couldn’t help but smile. I sang “Joy to the World” with the rest of them kids.

Mr. Hinkle finally got us all settled into some work. I felt as restless as the tip of a cow’s tail, thinking about having to stay after school. Would he ask me about my dream again? The knot in my stomach growed bigger and bigger as the hands on the clock crawled closer to three-fifteen.

Then the rest of the kids left and I was alone with Mr. Hinkle. “Lydia, here is your newspaper,” he said. “There are lots of want ads in today’s edition.” He laid the newspaper on the corner of his desk. Then he picked up a stack of our math papers and commenced to grade them. He didn’t so much as look at me.

I felt right perplexed. I got out a piece of paper and a pencil. Then I picked up the newspaper and walked back to my desk. I tried real hard to read them want ads, really and truly I did. But them words was all blurry. Instead of seeing the words, it was like I was looking through a window and seeing my mama trapped in a jail cell on the other side.

The knot inside my stomach kept growing until finally it pushed the words out of my mouth. “It’s my fault Mama’s in jail,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

Mr. Hinkle looked up. “Did you say something, Lydia?”

I pushed the words out again, a little louder this time. “It’s my fault Mama’s in jail.”

Mr. Hinkle got up and pulled his desk chair up close to me. “Lydia, are you ready to tell me about your dream for your mother now?”

I nodded.

“I know what I read in the newspaper and what others have told me,” Mr. Hinkle said. “But I have an idea that there’s much more to the story of what happened to your family. I want to know the truth, Lydia. Will you tell me?”

At first, talking about it was hard. But as I started telling Mr.

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