Speak Low by Melanie Harlow

Author:Melanie Harlow [Harlow, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781493563340
Amazon: 1493563343
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2013-10-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, I woke with puffy eyes, a sore throat, and Mary Grace’s stuffed bear tucked underneath my arm. Her small hand was resting on my shoulder.

Love and gratitude washed over me. I tried to move without waking her, but her round blue eyes opened as I sat up.

“Hi,” I said. “Thanks for letting me have your bear last night.” I held him out to her.

“You’re welcome.” She took the bear and hugged it close. “You were sad about something. Was it the storm?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No.”

“Was it because of Mother? Because I cry about that sometimes too, and I don’t even remember her.”

“No, it wasn’t that either.” I tugged on one of the rags in her hair. “You look like her, you know that?”

“Yes. But I like hearing it.”

I lay down again, propping my head on my hand. “She had red hair and blue eyes, just like we do.”

She squeezed her bear. “It makes me feel close to her, even if I didn’t get the chance to love her.”

If I’d had tears left, I might have shed them. “Oh, honey, you can still love her.”

“Don’t you have to know a person to love them?”

I continued stroking her hair, and it reminded me of Joey taking the rags from mine last night. “I guess you do, poppet, but loving your family isn’t the same as loving someone else.”

She was quiet for a minute. “How do you know if you love someone?”

“Well…” I tried to think of a good way to explain it, but I couldn’t. “I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s different for everybody.”

“I always know if I love someone, because I miss them when they go away,” she said. “It makes my heart hurt.”

My hand stopped moving. “I think that’s a good way to tell, Mary Grace. As good a way as any I’ve heard.”

#

After mass, my sisters and I went to the cemetery, and I couldn’t help looking over at the spot where I’d seen Joey last Sunday. But he wasn’t there. Disappointment made my feet heavy as we trudged through the wet grass to our mother’s grave.

“Where’s Daddy?” Mary Grace asked. “How come he didn’t come with us?”

“He never comes with us,” answered Molly.

“Yes, he does. Sometimes,” Mary Grace defended. “And sometimes he comes alone, he told me.”

“Does he?” Molly looked at me as we walked.

“I’ve seen him here once,” I admitted. “But he’s been busy this week with the new location and moving out of the garage.” Why I felt the need to make excuses for the man, I didn’t know.

“Daddy says we’ll have more money now that he’s got the new place,” Mary Grace said. “Maybe even enough to hire a housekeeper or a cook.”

“What? When did he say that?” I stopped walking and turned Mary Grace to face me.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. A few days ago, maybe? He said maybe it will even be Mrs. Schmidt who used to work with mother where she was a maid, at that big house.

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