As Bright as Heaven(3)

When Mama left, I stood up slowly so that I would see Papa before he saw me. But he was looking my direction and he saw my head clear the laths. I’m not afraid of my father. He doesn’t yell or curse or storm about when he’s angry, but he can look like he wants to. He’s tall like Grandad and has the same coffee brown eyes that glitter like stars both when he’s happy and when he’s sad. And I guess when he’s surprised, too.

“I didn’t know you were still in here,” he said.

“I know.”

“Did you hear everything?”

I nodded.

He gave me a very serious look. “You can’t say anything to anybody, not even your sisters, until I talk to Grandad first. You understand?”

“Are we moving to Philadelphia?”

He hesitated a second or two before answering, like he almost couldn’t believe it was true himself. “Yes,” he said.

“Why? What’s wrong with where we live right now?”

Papa moved from his row to mine. “There’s nothing wrong with where we live right now. I just have a chance to give you girls a much better home. Better schooling. Better everything. My uncle Fred doesn’t have any children. He has no one to leave his home and business to. He wants to leave them to me when he dies. To us. He has a very nice house, Mags. Electric lights in every room. Hot water from the tap.”

“And so just like that, we’re going?”

“Mama and I’ve been thinking on it awhile.”

“All my friends are here.”

“You will make new ones. I promise you will.”

“Henry’s here.” My throat felt hot and thick as I said Henry’s name. I looked away from Papa, and in the direction of the cemetery, even though I couldn’t see it from inside the curing barn.

Papa put his hands gently on my shoulders so that I would turn my head to face him again. “Henry’s in heaven. He’s not in the graveyard here—you know that. We’re not leaving him; we’re taking him with us in our hearts.”

I reached up to flick away a couple tears that wanted to trail down my face.

“I need you to promise you won’t say anything. Not yet,” Papa said.

I didn’t answer.

“Maggie, I want your word now.”

“I promise,” I finally whispered.

“All right, then.” He took one hand off my shoulders, but left the other one as he began to lead us toward the big door that led outside. “When I tell your sisters, that’s when you’ll know it’s okay to tell other people. Not until then.”

“When will we leave?”

“I imagine it will be soon. A couple weeks. Maybe less.”

And then I said, “What about the African butterflies in Allentown I’ve been saving for?”

I don’t know why I said that. I don’t truly care about those butterflies. I just saw them once under glass in a gift store, and it seemed like I should have something in mind to spend my rolling money on. And they were so pretty. When I first told Evie that was what I was going to buy when I’d saved enough, she said, “So, you know those butterflies are dead, don’t you? Somebody killed them to put them on display like that.” Leave it to Evie to state the terribly obvious and make you wish for a second you were Willa’s age and knew nothing about anything. Evie must have felt bad about saying that, because a couple days later she told me butterflies only live a couple months anyway and not to worry too much about it.

We reached the barn door, and Papa opened it. “There are butterflies in display boxes in Philadelphia, Maggie. Far more than what’s in Allentown. They have everything in Philadelphia. Everything. Wait and see.”

I would have stayed in the barn awhile to ponder this move to the city, but Papa closed the door tight behind us and set off for Grandad’s house next door. I went back home to the room I share with my sisters so that I could start imagining what it would be like to leave it.

When Henry died, I’d found out how fast things can change. You think you have a view of what’s waiting for you just up the road, but then something happens, and you find out pretty quick you were looking at the wrong road.





CHAPTER 3



Willa


This is what I am taking to Philadelphia.

My clothes.

My dolls.

My hair ribbons.

My cigar box of pennies.

The good-bye pictures my friends Hazel and Grace drew for me.

And Henry’s little rocking horse rattle that Mama said I could keep even though I’m not a baby. I’m nearly seven.

I am not bringing my bed or the chifforobe I share with Maggie, because Uncle Fred already has all the furniture we need.

We had a big get-together at Grandpa and Grandma Adler’s house yesterday after church. Grandad and all the aunts and uncles and cousins came to say good-bye, and they all brought something to eat. Everyone said they were so sad to see us go.

After dessert, the uncles and older boy cousins got out some of Grandad’s best cigars, and all the men smoked them. Uncle Walt told Papa that he needed to buy a nice, new tape measure—at least six feet—and a long black coat and hat. And the men laughed like it was a very funny joke.

“You’re going to miss this,” Uncle Vernon said, puffing on his cigar. Like maybe they don’t have cigars in Philadelphia.