Читать книгу Twins' Double Victory - Karen Jones - Страница 5

On our birthday in July, my twin and I ran down to the water in front of our home wearing the navy blue bathing suits our father bought us last week.

Unable to swim, Sis and I splashed water on ourselves until I accidentally flicked the cool liquid into Emily’s face.

“Mother said not to get our hair wet,” Emily cautioned before she threw a handful of water back at me. Soon our fun escalated into a water fight with us laughing uncontrollably.

We didn’t care about our hair looking like limp strings until we walked into the house and Mother shouted, “How could you girls ruin your hair after I rolled and styled it for your birthday!”

“Let them be. It’s their birthday, for goodness’ sake,” scolded Dad, handing the matches to Mother while halfway smiling at her.

Mother lit the little candles as she sang a happy birthday song, and tension between our parents faded by the time the first bite of chocolate cake entered our mouths.

Our mother appeared radiant as the sun beamed through the window, shining on her curly brown hair. Winking at Emily and me, she said, “I can’t believe my girls are seven years old today. It seems like yesterday you were both babes in my arms.” She smiled at Sis and me as if she longed for us to be little again.

Then Mother pulled something out of a drawer in her china closet. “The bathing suits were from your father,” she said. “I sewed these dresses for your birthday.”

“Oh, Mother, I love red!” I said, feeling the soft corduroy material.

“Thank you, Mother,” said Emily, rubbing the fabric against her rosy cheek.

Dad looked dashing in his gray suit and vest as he gave Mother a playful smile, making her blush.

“This is my favorite birthday!” I said.

“Mine, too,” Emily echoed.

Six weeks later, Dad wore a grin when he came home from the logging camp. “I’ve rented a house about thirty-five miles from here in Tacoma,” he announced. “It’s closer to work, and we should be moved in before school begins.”

“Henry, you need to consult me before you up and decide to move,” Mother said with a scowl.

After our mother set a dish of spaghetti and a large green salad on the table, she glanced at my unhappy expression and waved her arms as she blurted out, “But I just love moving any time—it invigorates me.”

When our mother looked at all of us and burst out laughing, I said, “Mother, you’re acting silly.”

“Well, it’s better to laugh than to cry,” she said, looking at Dad’s startled expression. “Let’s eat. I have plans to make.”

Before school began, two men from the logging camp came in their truck to help Dad move the heavy furniture to our rental house.

On our first day in second grade, our teacher, Miss Forester, wore her auburn hair pinned back with curls falling down to her shoulders. “I’ll not allow any student to make fun of another or be disrespectful,” she said. “If you get into trouble at school, your parents will be notified.”

After the first day, almost everyone obeyed Miss Forester. Everyone, that is, except for Rudy Goodnight, a chunky boy who liked to pull the girls’ hair ribbons.

The teacher sat me beside Marcia, who soon became my best friend. We loved going up and down on the teeter-totter and pushing each other on the swing. When Emily or another child wanted to join us, Marcia always agreed. She was thoughtful and sweet, but she didn’t react kindly when Rudy rushed up behind her and untied her pink ponytail ribbon.

“Give it back!” Marcia yelled, chasing Rudy around the swings until he fell on the sand, out of breath.

“Here it is—you win this time,” said Rudy, smiling before walking off.

Marcia just shook her head and responded, “That’s Rudy.”

One rainy day early in October, Emily and I rushed into the house, and I accidentally knocked Mother’s floral vase onto the floor. Staring at the broken pieces, Mother shouted, “Emma Beckman, go to your room, now!”

Seconds later, Mother opened my bedroom door and said, “I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to yell at you, but your grandmother gave me that vase when I was your age.” After sighing, Mother added, “Your father is still at the logging camp, and I’m going to bed to try to get rid of my headache. You’ll find some chicken legs and apple salad in the icebox for you and your sister.”

In the morning, Mother was singing in the kitchen and acting like I’d done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to stay out of Mother’s way,” I told Emily. “She’s angry one minute and happy the next.”

“Sometimes even Dad doesn’t want to be around her,” said Emily. “I wonder if she’s sick.”

The following week, Dad limped into the house with a cast on his left leg.

“What happened to you?” Mother asked, raising her eyebrows.

“A log fell on my leg and broke it,” Dad explained, heading for his chair in the living room.

While Mother was propping his leg up on a padded stool, she said, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

“Dr. Weldon said after the cast is removed in six weeks, I may have trouble walking again. I’m just thankful it happened before closing time. A couple of the guys from work carried me to the doctor, and they brought me home along with the car.”

Soon afterward, Mother was complaining about having to do Dad’s work and hers, too. To get away from her nagging, Dad bought a used fishing boat. He named it the Loralee and moved into it soon after.

As the days passed, Emily and I were making friends at school and striving to get praise from Miss Forester rather than from our parents, who were avoiding each other.

On the weekend before Thanksgiving, Mother asked Dad to take us to live with him. My sister and I stuffed clothes, books, and our twin dolls into our pillowcases. When we spotted Dad’s boat from the living room window, I yelled to Mother, “Dad’s here,” before we ran to the dock to meet him.

After a fun day with our father, we awoke the next morning smelling sausage and biscuits. “Eat up so we can go fishing,” Dad said, when we sat at the table.

Once the dishes were washed, Dad steered the Loralee to his favorite spot and threw out the anchor. “Girls, it’s time I teach you how to fish, but I’ll have to do it with my leg propped up. I’ll be glad to get this cast off in a few days—my leg’s itching something fierce.”

“Yucky,” Emily commented, after looking at the slimy worms trying to crawl out of the can.

“Watch me,” said Dad, threading the wiggly worm up the hook.

“I think I can do that,” I said, hoping I really could to make Daddy proud of me.

Several times, Sis and I took turns threading the worms and casting Dad’s fishing line as far out into the water as possible. But every time we felt a tug on our line and yanked the fishing pole toward us, we only saw an empty hook.

“Stay here while I take the rowboat out and try to locate more fish,” Dad said, as he lowered the boat into the water.

About thirty minutes later, Dad returned in the rowboat and yelled for me to catch the rope. As I stepped forward, I slipped on the oily mast lying inside the fishing boat and fell overboard.

I was flailing my arms to keep from drowning when Dad spotted my red corduroy dress and dove into the water. He caught me by my long hair and managed to pull me up onto the deck of the fishing boat while I was coughing and choking.

As soon as Dad turned me over on my side, water came out of my mouth, and I could breathe easier. Dad covered me with a warm blanket and quickly steered the boat back to our house. When we reached the dock, he said, “Emily, stay here with your sister while I get your mother.”

The moment I sat up, my sister’s arms were clasped around me in a big bear hug. “I was so scared when I thought you were going to die,” Emily said.

A few minutes later, Mother rushed up to me. “Daddy told me that you slipped on the mast,” she said. “You need to watch where you’re stepping, Emma—you might have drowned.” Then reaching her arms around me and squeezing tight, she said, “I couldn’t stand losing my sweet little girl.” Glaring up at Dad hobbling toward her in his wet cast, she scolded, “I left my girls with you, and look what happened!”

Dad moved back home, but he and Mother didn’t get along very well. When Dad’s second cast was removed following Thanksgiving, he returned to work at the logging camp, still limping.

A few days before Christmas, Mother grabbed Dad’s ax and said to Emily and me. “Girls, let’s go find a Christmas tree at least as tall as me.”

“How tall are you, Mother?” I asked, after we entered a patch of fir trees.

“About five feet, eight inches,” she answered, walking up to a tree a little higher than her head.

After a few chops, Mother picked up one end of the tree, and my sister and I grabbed the other end. When we carried the fir tree inside the house, Mother ignored Dad, who said, “I wish I could help you set it up and hang the decorations, but my bad leg is throbbing again.”

On Christmas morning, a strong wind blew rain against our house, waking Emily and me. We ran into the living room to warm ourselves by the wood-burning stove. What joy we felt as we tore open our packages and found matching blue dresses that Mother had sewn! After putting them on, we posed in front of our colorful tree, and Dad took our picture.

A week after Christmas, our father said, “Eliza, I’m going to Alaska to do some fishing. This isn’t the best time of the year to catch salmon, but I’m hoping to get lucky so I can pick up some extra cash.”

“I wonder what that’s all about,” Mother said to Emily and me while we were playing with our dolls in the living room.

A month later, Dad returned from a trip to town carrying a bouquet of flowers for Mother. Showing his pearly teeth, he said, “Eliza, with the money I made on my fishing trip and a bank loan, I bought a prime piece of property sixteen miles from here in Arletta. There’s enough cash to build us a home. Three guys from work have promised to help, and I’m hoping to have the house built by Easter.”

“I’ve always loved Arletta,” Mother declared, after she smelled the purple and yellow pansies. “But as I’ve told you in the past, I’d like to be consulted before you up and make big decisions and move the family, especially before our girls have finished out the school year.”

“You’ll love it in Arletta,” Dad assured her, giving Mother a kiss on her cheek.

The next day at school, Emily and I approached our teacher as soon as we entered the classroom. “My daddy’s building a house in Arletta, and we’re going to move there,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Miss Forester. “Before you leave, I’d like to give you both a storybook I read to my nieces when they were your age.”

When Emily pressed her lips together and smiled, I asked, “Is it a true story?”

Miss Forester grinned. “You and Emily will have to find out for yourselves.”

On each day that followed, Emily and I were eager to go to school to be with our teacher. On our last day in her class, Miss Forester said, “I think you’ll love Arletta as much as I did while growing up there. Have a happy Easter in your new home,” she said, handing us the storybook.

As soon as Sis and I entered the house, we ran to the kitchen to drop off our lunch pails before rushing outside.

While lying on the grass under the cloudy sky, we held our new book in front of our eyes. We took turns reading the story about a happy rabbit who loved gathering dandelions and singing at the top of his lungs. My heart was filled with contentment as I lived in the rabbit’s imaginary world.