Читать книгу The Reincarnation of Clara - Kevin J. Todeschi - Страница 24

Eleven-year-old Clara stood in the kitchen, staring apprehensively at the enormous pile of dishes stacked on the counter next to the washtubs—one for washing and one for rinsing. Whether it was breakfast, noontime, or supper there always seemed to be far too many dishes involved.

“I hate dishes,” Clara whispered to herself, but not loud enough for her mother to hear. Mabel Stuart stood at the counter next to the pantry and kneaded four equally-sized loaves of bread dough. Four-year-old Sara was playing with a rag doll on the floor next to Clara, using an upturned Quaker Oats box as a dollhouse. Clara looked down at her sister and smiled.

“Sara, when I’m done with the dishes, you and me can go feed the ducks and then we’ll have a tea party . . . ”

“Don’t forget you still need to weed the sweet potatoes today.” Mabel Stuart reminded her.

Clara grimaced, “Yes’m, Mama.”

“I want to feed a duck,” Sara smiled happily.

“I promise, we’ll do it later.”

“Not ‘til your chores are done.”

“Yes’m, Mama.”

The screen door slammed shut as fourteen-year-old Emily walked into the kitchen carrying an empty clothes basket. Seeing that her mother was focused on making bread, she scowled at her sister, Clara, and then stuck out her tongue.

“Mama, I think Clara forgot about weedin’ the sweet potatoes,” she said ever-so-sweetly.

“She knows, Emily, she knows . . . don’t forget, I’ve got some sewing on the machine for you, and you need to sweep out the bedrooms and beat the rugs today.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Emily turned to her sister and mouthed the words, “I hate you,” before leaving the room.

“Mama, she’s doing it again,” Clara protested.

“Emily Ann Stuart,” came the familiar refrain but it was too late, Emily was gone.

Mabel expertly dropped each of the four kneaded loaves in a greased and floured pan. When she had eyed them all, making certain they were nearly identical in size she wiped her hands on her apron and covered the loaves with a moist dishtowel for the final rise. After looking at her youngest to make certain Sara was still preoccupied with the doll, she began to help Clara with the dishes.

“Thank you, Mama.”

Mabel smiled. “So how’s school, Clara?”

Clara blushed, “Paul spoke to me . . . he asked if he could borrow a pencil.”

The woman appeared concerned, “The Gabriel boy? I’ve told you, I don’t want you speaking to that boy, Clara.”

“Oh, Mama!”

“I don’t want you speaking to him. The family’s nothing but trouble.”

“Mama, it was only a pencil.”

“You heard me, Clara.”

“Yes’m, Mama.”

When the two were silent, Sara looked up from her place on the floor and reminded Clara:

“I want to feed a duck.”

“Pretty soon,” was all Clara managed to say.

About three hours later the dishes had been put away and the sweet potatoes had undergone a cursory weeding—the whole process being done while Sara had played with a tiny shovel, repeatedly building a small pile of dirt and then moving it to another location about two feet away. Clara and Sara walked toward the duck enclosure; Clara held her sister’s tiny hand with one set of fingers and some stale bread that their mother had given them with the other.

Grandfather Stuart stood under the oak tree smoking a pipe. Everett and his two sons—seventeen-year-old Benjamin and sixteen-year-old Jason were repairing some fencing on the far side of the horse pasture. Clara could hear the sound of Emily beating one of the house rugs beside the barn door but she refused to look in that direction. The two girls passed by the outhouse—with its shovel and its box of lime—on their way to the enclosure.

“Do you have to go to the outhouse?”

“No,” Sara said positively.

“We could look at the Sears catalog,” Clara added, just to make sure.

“No outhouse,” Sara said positively.

“You just want to feed the ducks?”

Sara nodded joyfully.

They passed the chicken coop and ignored the chickens, which ignored them in return. As they approached the duck enclosure, surrounded on four sides and the roof with chicken wire, the ducks pressed their way to the front of the cage, knowing the presence of the girls meant bread.

“See how happy they are to see you, Sara?”

The four-year-old grinned.

Clara broke off a tiny piece of bread and handed it to her sister. Sara grabbed the bread with her tiny fingers and put it up to the chicken wire, while duck beaks attempted to push through the wire. Sara giggled and dropped the bread through the tiny wire opening, where it was quickly gobbled up. She turned to Clara, who handed her another piece of bread. The process was repeated, each time Sara cautiously putting her fingers up close enough to push the bread through the wire enclosure, but not close enough to get nibbled herself.

Finally, Sara’s little fingers went between the chicken wire too far, and she was slightly nipped by one of the ducks. She immediately dropped the bread, pulled back and fell backwards onto the ground. Clara reached down to pick her up, and as she grabbed the child’s hands there was a tremendous flash of light.