The Point of Vanishing, Maryka Biaggio [top inspirational books TXT] 📗

didn’t like it when Mommy and Daddy yelled like that. She wanted them to be kind to each other, like the bees were. She enjoyed watching bees buzz all around the meadow flowers. They didn’t fight over blossoms, they just flitted to a different one, and then they all went back to the hive to make honey together. That way, all the bees had something to eat while the flowers slept under the snow.

“I’d like to get back to teaching,” her mother said. “And have time for my writing. I’m devoted to Barbara, but I want a life of my own, too.”

Daddy didn’t have time to say anything because Mommy kept talking. “You have your position and projects. Why can’t I have some semblance of that myself?”

“I gave you first authorship on Modern Novelists. That’s not enough for you?”

Shoes bonked on the floor. They must have been Mommy’s because she yelled at Daddy. “Gave it to me? After I scrambled to carve out ten, fifteen hours every week to research, write, and edit? I was the first author of that book.”

Daddy talked fast as a flash. “Fine, whatever you say.”

Barbara heard a sssttt sound. Daddy must have struck a match to light his cigarette. Then he said, “All right, Helen, what do you propose?”

“That she starts kindergarten in the fall. And I continue teaching her on weekends.”

“How many four-year-olds do you know who can type? Or have half the vocabulary she has? She’s far outpaced children her age.”

“She’s hardly interacted with them.”

“Be realistic, Helen. You’re the best person Barbara could have to foster her talent. And we both know it.”

Everything went still again until her mother said, “I have my book project, and I’d like to finish it.”

“Don’t fight me on this. If you see to Barbara’s schooling, I’ll help you with your book.”

“And just how would I find time to go to the library and do my research?”

Daddy’s cigarette smoke floated through the keyhole and tickled her nose.

Her father said, “I’ll likely get promotion and tenure. That’d allow me to relax my hours. And give you some time for your work.”

“So, if I do Barbara’s home educating, you’ll give me time to write? And you’ll rein in your expenses?”

“Yes.”

Her parents were quiet—like that time she surprised them with the alphabet written in a spiral.

Her mother said, “I suppose I can track down some lesson books and start next month.”

“I’m so pleased, dear.” Daddy sounded happy. “I know we’re doing right by Barbara.”

Quick as could be, her mother said, “I’ll be holding you to your promises.”

Barbara heard the rocker make one long creak and imagined Mommy was getting up, so she turned and tiptoed toward the stairs.

Her mother said, “I ought to check on her.”

The doorknob twisted. Barbara dashed up the stairs.

The door opened, and her mother said, “I just heard her pattering up the stairs. The little rascal was listening.”

“Humph,” said her father. “You should’ve kept your voice down.”

Barbara ran into her bedroom, closed the door, and sat with her back against it. She wished Grandma Ding was visiting. Her grandmother read her stories about baby birds and lambs. Once Grandma took her to a yarn shop and told her about how sheep let people use their wool because the sheep grow a new coat every year and people can take the wool and sit at spinning wheels, like the one she had in her bedroom, only bigger, and spin it into strands and skeins. (Barbara liked all the “s” sounds in the words strands and skeins.) Grandma showed her how she unwound the skeins and used knitting needles to knit the strands back together and change it from a sheep’s coat to a person’s sweater, and Barbara said it was nice of the sheep to help keep people warm in the winter. Snuggling up in the sweater Grandma knit for her was almost as nice as having a kitten to cuddle, but Mother had told her a kitten was out of the question.

Grandma Ding invited her to live with her for a while, but Mommy and Daddy said she had to stay home to do her reading and writing. Then Grandma said she would come to live with them in the summer, but that was a long time away because the ground was still squishy from melting snow.

She wished Grandma Ding could come right away. Then she’d have someone to play with when Daddy was at the university and Mommy was busy because now she had to go out and play by herself, but she wasn’t supposed to go any farther than the back yard or the field across the road, and she wasn’t to cross the road when a car was in earshot. (Earshot was a special word formed by putting two different words together.) Sometimes, for fun, she stood on the side of the road and waited until a car got close and then dashed across and stopped on the other side just in time to watch it whiz by.

CHAPTER THREE

BARBARA AT NINE

New Haven, October 1923

If it were up to Barbara, they’d live at the Lake Sunapee cabin year-round. She far preferred it to their dreary New Haven home.

She’d so enjoyed the lake water lapping at inlets, see-through minnows shimmering in the shallows, and bats bewitching the twilight skies. Many an afternoon, she’d tempted her father away from his editing work to join her fishing or hiking. Sometimes, when her mother wasn’t giving Sabra her bottle or bouncing her on her hip, Barbara watched her little sister wriggle in her crib or slumber sweetly. She liked how her baby nostrils fluttered like wild rose petals.

After six wonderful weeks, they packed their clothes, cabin gear, and kitchen supplies into every nook of her father’s Pierce-Arrow and drove back to their Orange Street apartment. Mother fixed melted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner and, afterward, Barbara unpacked her clothes and books. She put her typewriter back on her desk, with her old Eepersip story