“But, Gram. Is it? Is it the doll?” Honora looks covetously at the package.
Grandmother Castle rubs her nose with the back of her hand and then secures a few loose tufts of grey hair into the distracted knot on the back of her head. “I honestly don’t know. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Now out with you both. Play with William, or I’ll set you to washing up.”
She softens the brusque words with a quick peck to the tops of their heads, and sets them free. As an afterthought, she touches her hand to Honora’s forehead. “If Billy’s awake, play with him in the shade, why don’t you. It’s too hot in the sun.”
The three children sit in a semicircle around a tin bowl of water and a large heap of dandelions collected from the patchy meadow across the lane. They remain in sight of the family gate so they can watch for the return of their father and brothers. Mabel squeezes sticky white milk from a stem and touches it to Honora’s arm.
“Don’t.” Honora pushes her away.
Mabel feels the sudden surprise of rejection, and then a little cramp of anger that demands retaliation. She turns to William. “Smell this.” She holds a dandelion beneath his nose and pushes the golden crown into his nostrils so that a hundred fine petals tickle him. “Smell the pee-a-bed.”
“Don’t.” William copies his sister’s warning and bats at her hand with his chubby, sun-browned fist.
“Leave him,” Honora says.
|
|
