Authors: Patricia MacLachlan
Skylark (6 page)
“What is it, Sarah?” asked Papa.
“I thought I saw something. Someone, maybe. Over there.”
Papa looked out, too.
“I don’t see anyone. But I do see the beginnings of snow. And the wind is picking up. Let’s go!”
“Snow!” said Cassie. “And wind! Will someone be born?”
Sarah and Papa laughed.
“Not here,” Sarah said. “Not tonight.”
We picked up Anna’s suitcase and packages and went out the door.
“She saw the man,” whispered Cassie.
“Come on, Cass. There’s no man,” I said.
I took Cassie’s hand and we went out where snow was coming down. Sarah looked worried.
“Anna? I want you to be careful. There’s so much sickness.”
“I know you worry about the influenza,” said Anna.
“So many are sick,” said Sarah, putting her arm around Anna. “So many have died. And you see the worst of it.”
“I love working with Sam,” said Anna. “You told me once that it is important to do what you love.”
“I said that, did I?” said Sarah.
“You did,” said Anna.
“You did,” said Cassie, making Sarah laugh.
The snow was falling harder now, so that we couldn’t see the clouds anymore.
“It’s so early,” said Sarah, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. “It shouldn’t be snowing!”
“There are no rules for winter, Sarah,” teased Papa. “This is the prairie, remember? Sometimes winter comes early. If the snow is heavy, I’ll stay in town with Jess.”
Sarah kissed Papa and Anna, and they climbed up in the wagon. Papa flicked the reins over Bess’s back, and the wagon began to move off. Snow began to cover the ground.
“Anna!” I called suddenly.
Anna turned. I ran after the wagon.
“I’ll write about winter!” I shouted.
Anna waved.
I stood, watching Papa’s wagon wheels leave small tracks on the wet road. All around me was the soft surprising sound of snow falling. In the quiet, the prairie seemed larger than ever.
Read on for an excerpt from
More Perfect than the Moon
S
ummer was cool and wet, and the barnyard was muddy. It was like spring left over. The cats jumped from the fence and ran into the barn so they could sleep in the dry hay.
“I see you there, you know,” Grandfather called to me. “Hiding behind Martha.”
Grandfather knew the names of all our cows. Martha was black, with a white spot on her rump.
I stood up.
“I’m not hiding,” I said. “I’m studying Martha’s spot.”
This made Grandfather smile. And Caleb.
“You were hiding,” said Grandfather. “It made Martha nervous. I could see her eyes roll.”
Martha turned and stared at me.
“Martha always rolls her eyes,” I told Grandfather.
He laughed out loud. He and Caleb were digging trenches in the mud so the rains would run off.
“You’re sneaky, Cassie,” said Caleb.
“Elusive,” I told him. “Mama says I’m elusive.”
“Sarah always finds a word to make you look better,” said Caleb. “I say you’re sneaky.”
Caleb has always called Mama Sarah. My mama is not Caleb’s real mama. But she is mine. He and Anna called her Sarah when she first came to meet Papa. Before they were married. I call her Mama. Maybe someday I’ll call her Sarah.
“I’m looking for things to write about,” I told Caleb. “It just looks like I’m sneaky.”
I took my notebook out of my coat pocket and began reading to them.
“ ‘Grandfather and Caleb dug deep rivers in the mud so the cows, Martha, Eleni, Princess, Mary Louise, Pudgie, and Boots, can float into the barn to feed.’”
“That’s not the truth!” said Caleb.
“Yes it is,” I said. “It is storytelling.”
“Made up,” said Caleb.
“Maybe,” I said, turning away and walking through the mud to the barn. I turned once to see Grandfather smiling at me, Caleb staring.
“Maybe,” I said louder just before I disappeared into the dark barn.
Read on for an excerpt from the last book about the Witting family,
Grandfather’s Dance
S
pring. School was hard in the spring. Even fourth grade was hard. The windows of the small school were open and the sweet smell of new grass blew in. I couldn’t pay attention. Neither could Ian or Min or Grace. Will was half asleep, and Isabel looked out the window. There were only six of us in school, from first grade to fifth. Mr. Willet read out loud to us, but no one seemed to hear. One of the horses whinnied outside and we all looked out the window. Finally Mr. Willet put down his book and looked out the window, too.
“Let’s go home,” he said softly.
Ian, the youngest of everyone, only six, clapped his hands, making Mr. Willet laugh.
“Go home, go on home,” he said, still laughing. “We’ll try again on Monday.”
I gathered my books and helped Ian with his. I made sure he got home every day. Today I’d ridden Molly, and I gave Ian a leg up. We rode together, Ian’s arms around my waist.
“Caleb and I used to ride home from school just like this,” I said.
“Caleb’s big now,” said Ian.
“Yes. He’s big. Away at school.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Yes. I miss Caleb.”
“Does he tease you?” asked Ian.
“Yes, Caleb has always teased me.”
“I tease my little sister every single day,” said Ian.
I heard him yawn behind me, and I turned and wrapped a long scarf behind him and tied it in front of my waist. Sometimes Ian fell asleep on the way home. I didn’t want him falling off Molly.
“Lily loves me even if I tease her,” said Ian matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Let’s do twosies,” said Ian.
“Okay. Two times two is . . . ?”
“Four.”
“Two times three is . . . ?”
“Six.”
Ian laid his head against my back and Molly walked slowly down the road to his house.
“Two times four?”
Ian didn’t answer. I smiled. He’d fallen asleep, his breath warm on my back.
Way off in the fields, meadowlarks flew and the smell of prairie spring followed us home.
“Cassie! Cassie!”
Jack ran out of the barn, Papa and our dog Lottie following him. His pale hair was long and curly around his face. Mama once said he looked like an angel. Grandfather said most times he didn’t act like one.
The surprise was that Jack did act like an angel around Grandfather. He never frowned at Grandfather. He never showed Grandfather his temper. Every evening he sat on Grandfather’s lap and made him tell a story, made him sing. From the very beginning, Grandfather had been Jack’s favorite.
Papa lifted Jack up to sit with me on Molly. Jack leaned down and kissed Molly on her neck, and we went into the barn.
“Doggie,” said Jack.
I smiled.
“Horse,” I said to him. “Molly’s a horse.”
Jack turned and frowned his fierce frown at me.
“Doggie,” said Jack, making me laugh.
I kissed the top of his head. It was warm and sweet smelling.
“All right,” I said. “Doggie.”
“Horse,” said Jack, smiling back at me.
“A joke!” I cried. “You made a joke, Jack.”
I got off Molly and reached up and slid Jack down beside me.
“Doggie,” whispered Jack.
I laughed and took his hand. We walked out of the cool, dark barn into the light. He jumped up and down beside me as we walked.
His hand was tiny and warm in my hand.
Photo by John MacLachlan
PATRICIA M
AC
LACHLAN
is the celebrated author of many timeless books for young readers, including
Sarah, Plain and Tall
, winner of the Newbery Medal. Her novels for young readers include
Arthur, For the Very First Time
;
The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt
;
Skylark
;
Caleb’s Story
;
More Perfect Than the Moon
;
Grandfather’s Dance
;
Word After Word After Word
; and
Kindred Souls
. She is also the author of many much-loved picture books, including
Three Names
;
All the Places to Love
;
What You Know First
;
Painting the Wind
;
Bittle
;
Who Loves Me?
;
Once I Ate a Pie
;
I Didn’t Do It
;
Before You Came
; and
Cat Talk
—several of which she cowrote with her daughter, Emily. She lives with her husband and two border terriers in Williamsburg, Massachusetts.
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Arthur, For the Very First Time
Through Grandpa’s Eyes
The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt
Mama One, Mama Two
All the Places to Love
What You Know First
Three Names
Written with Emily MacLachlan Charest
Painting the Wind
Bittle
Who Loves Me?
Once I Ate a Pie
Fiona Loves the Night
I Didn’t Do It
Before You Came
Cat Talk
