“I will. And maybe you can catch a bit of the parade.”
“I doubt I’ll have time, but from what I’ve seen Philadelphia is lovely. I’ll have to be more of a tourist another time.”
“You are always welcome to stay with me. I have plenty of room now.”
When she hung up, Maud went to the living room, but her appetite had diminished. Nan died as a child? And—Maud remembered—Polly had had a daughter who died young, too. How terrible would that be? It would change a person, wouldn’t it? Possibly more than ECT would.
She got the receiver from the kitchen and dialed her grandmother.
“How’s Clemmie? Is she up?” Maud asked.
“Oh yes. She’s been up for a while now. She’s on a good schedule here,” said Gladdy Silver, better known these days as Bubbi. “She ate a good breakfast.”
“Okay, great.” Maud watched a man in the square berate his dog.
“Yes, I don’t know why you have so much trouble getting her to eat. She had a good dinner last night, I already told you that, and now a big breakfast. She eats as if she’s been starving.”
Maud rolled her eyes. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
“She’s happy here. She slept through the night.”
“Would you tell me if she didn’t?” Maud muttered.
“What, dearie?”
“I said is she close by? I’d like to say hello to her.”
“She’s playing,” Gladdy said. “I have her all settled. She hasn’t fussed at all.”
“Would you put her on, please?”
“I’m afraid it might upset her to hear your voice.”
Pick your battles, Maud counseled herself, and carried her plate and coffee back to her bedroom. One more notebook before the hospital.
CHAPTER 19 Agnes, Leeward Cottage, September 1960
Dear Elspeth,
It’s night now. I’m writing propped against pillows, in bed. This morning I had to put my pen down in the middle of writing you. A dramatic event disrupted a day I expected to be uneventful. This is all your magic, Elspeth. Contacting you has everything stirred up!
I just reread what I wrote this morning to see where I left off. Now I’ll fill you in on what happened next. I am on my porch, remember?
Nan loped along, low to the ground, as though she were about to fall and was extending her stance to try to stay upright. Yet only ponderous adults do that—a child gives way—there’s no consequence for falling from her height. What was she up to? She entered the taller grass again, and then, like a bird of prey, she swooped. A sure and deft action. A natural hunter. When she rose up, she was holding a snake, a large garter. She wanted to catch a snake? I couldn’t conceive of it. She slid her right hand up to its neck and shook it vigorously. What could she possibly be doing?
“Nan!” I called out. She didn’t look around.
The snake’s body went limp as a plumb line. She changed her tactics and stroked its face. The sight transfixed and disgusted me. There is nothing in the world that could induce me to be affectionate to a snake.
I willed her to let go, but my will didn’t extend across the meadow. The child moved her hand slightly upward. I squinted and I got another shock. There was a chipmunk involved, though only the tail end of it protruded beyond the snake’s jaw. Its head had been ingested already. I shuddered. Was she trying to grab the chipmunk back from death? In my experience, death wins, and the snake was far along in its killing. The struggle lasted for several attenuated seconds. Nan’s expression was focused and tough. I rooted for her efforts. Was this a kind of surrender, El? It was certainly an inner movement, a broadened loyalty. Her victory went from being a neutral curiosity to crucial—to us both.
She wrapped her fingers tighter around the legs and pulled harder. My hands gripped tight, too, around the arms of the chaise. Come on, come on, come on, I silently cheered, forgoing my commonsense prediction of the snake’s success and effectively praying for a miracle. She pulled with one hand and rattled the snake with the other. I watched vigilantly, prepared for a rush to the doctor. The ocean, which had been background music, pounded as if we were in a storm. I lifted my eyes for a moment to glance beyond her, and saw only a placid sea. This momentarily confused me, until I realized I was hearing my blood rushing past my ears. An inner storm.
Suddenly Nan reeled backward. The chipmunk by her effort had become uncorked, and the animals popped apart. She set it on the ground and gestured for it to wait, do not move. She still held the furious snake, who was whipping its wiry body against hers, lashing its tail up at her chest. She looked around her and fixed her gaze on the water. She began to run, and finally I unleashed myself and ran, too, across the porch, down the wide side steps, past the graves, to the sea. My pants rasped as I ran faster than I have in years, gasping for air and at the same time screaming those strange croaking sounds of deep terror. I was still far away, too far to prevent her from possibly stepping off the edge of the bank and falling into the cold sea. Would she have the sense to stop short of it? Remember when Teddy Hancock ran over the bank, and Uncle Ian berated him for his ignorance of the laws of science? But he was twelve. Nan is around three, and surely has no idea of science, or any body of knowledge.
I raced, stomach bouncing against my ribs, propelled by the thought that I can’t survive another death, I simply cannot. I didn’t know that before today, but it was so apparent and true that I felt a literal blow when I realized it. A thump on my back. I called out to her over and over, child child child, but she was oblivious. A great despair rose up through me like a flu. I felt responsible. I’d been watching her, officially or not.
She reached the edge of the bank and stopped. I made a new sound, relief from the depth of my most buried organs. But then she hurled the snake sidearm and teetered from her effort, and the sick terror tuned up again. I stretched my arms out, determined to grab her as soon as I could, but when I’d nearly reached her I was suddenly flat on the ground, the air knocked out of me. I’d tripped. Fled the world. When I came to I saw legs standing close. My senses were playing tricks—I couldn’t believe there was another human being in the world beyond the little girl and me. Yet there was Robert Circumstance, age eight, home from school, pointing for the child to retreat, giving me a hand to get to my feet again. A savior.
I hope you don’t mind my use of that term. Did you ever meet Robert? Maybe as a young baby? He’s a fetching child. Since he was small he has come to talk to me and we have had many good conversations. He is curious, and he puts things together quickly. He’s brighter than Polly’s boys, who are the only other children I know well. He’s handsome, too. I’m determined to help him have a bigger life than the one he was born into.
Once we were squared away, Robert leaped from the bank himself and plunged through the cold water after the snake. Nan tipped her head quizzically, appearing to have no idea what he was doing or why. I stepped behind her and pulled her away from the bank by her shoulders. The snake thrashed violently and even I pitied it. Robert thrashed, too, and made several unsuccessful grabs. I called out for him to be careful, as if that might make a difference. When the creature began to flag, he snatched it up, climbed the bank, and laid it on the ground. I moved a cautious distance away. Nan slipped off, too, to lay down on the ground next to the chipmunk. Her tiny index finger ran down its back and she blew her baby breath into its face. I knew it was dead. She did not.