Tree By Leaf by Cynthia Voigt

Author:Cynthia Voigt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Published: 1988-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

That evening, Clothilde sat in the parlor unstitching the cloak. What a long day it had been, she thought, although she couldn’t think why the day had seemed so long. Yesterday seemed like a hundred years gone. The minutes of this Monday had lined up like the hundreds and thousands of tiny stitches along the seams of the cloak. There were so many stitches she couldn’t count the ones behind her, or ahead of her, as if there was no end and no beginning to them. That was the way this day felt to her.

That thought didn’t make her unhappy. In fact, Clothilde was feeling content. The red parlor curtains were pulled closed against the weather. Warmth spread out from the pot-bellied stove. Deep reds and blues were braided in concentric circles to make the rag rug. The lamplight fell warm on her hands. Lou had put Dierdre to bed and was finishing up the kitchen. Clothilde picked out stitch after stitch. Now the cloak would be a farewell gift for Lou. The wool, cleverly cut, would make a warm dress, the lining would make two good blouses. As her hands worked, separating the long seams, she reminded herself that two fine pieces of cloth were better than nothing, as a gift. Across from her, Mother’s head was bent over a square of silk, onto which she was embroidering red and yellow flowers. The threads gleamed in the lamplight, and Mother’s hair shone.

They were a houseful of women now. There was something peaceful about that idea. Boys, men, were forever going out and doing things, disturbing the quiet with the demands of their important businesses. Girls, women, stayed home, performing their small tasks. Even if the whole world crumbled around them, or fell away from beneath them, they worked patiently away. On a night like this, Clothilde thought, she didn’t envy Nate his cruise, the new places, the adventure. A slow, foggy rain fell through the darkness outside. She was glad not to be out in this night.

Oddly, she remembered that strange dream. Really, it was a wonderful dream to have had, especially the way of seeing things that happened at the end of her dream. Such colors and shapes—each leaf on every branch of all the trees. It was like being in a magic land, where everything was more perfectly itself. She smiled to herself. She kept forgetting it and then for some reason remembering. Maybe she remembered now because she was sitting quiet, like some wild animal in its den, like a rabbit snug in its hole. She wondered if it was possible to see people in that magical way—and then thought of Jeb Twohey, and the black fog that swirled around inside his head, and how it was as if he himself were huddled in there, like a rabbit waiting in the darkness of its burrow. It was Jeb Twohey who needed dreams like the one she’d had. She could just imagine what his dreams were like, poor soul.

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