Free Heaven Sent by Alice Duncan Page A

less withdrawn lately. He might even turn
human one of these days, although Callie wouldn’t have laid any
bets on the possibility. But Callie wanted Becky to be absolutely
certain of her late mother’s love.
    Children were so apt to misunderstand
the loss of a loved one, believing themselves to be somehow
responsible for it. Therefore, Callie persisted.
    The summer had started fading into
autumn, the days were getting shorter, and the nights had begun to
contain a decided nip. Callie and Mrs. Granger had got out the
quilts that had been packed away during the hot weather.
    It was eight o’clock, Becky’s bedtime,
and Callie had just brushed and braided the little girl’s
hair.
    “ You have the prettiest
hair, Becky. It’s just like your mama’s.” Callie didn’t know that
for a fact, although she imagined that when Anne was young, she had
looked just like Becky.
    “ That’s what Papa and Mrs.
Granger say,” Becky told her complacently.
    Callie smiled. She said, “Your mama
was a beautiful woman, inside and out, Becky. If you try hard,
you’ll be like her when you grow up.”
    “ That would be
nice.”
    Callie thought she detected a shade of
dreaminess in Becky’s voice. “Yes, it would.”
    “ Everybody loved Mama,”
Becky acknowledged.
    “ Indeed, they did.” Callie
put down the hairbrush and patted Becky’s shoulder. “There you go,
young lady. Hop into bed now, and I’ll listen to your
prayers.”
    Becky was silent when she climbed into
her bed and pulled up the covers. She scrutinized Callie’s face
with an intensity Callie hadn’t seen before.
    A trifle unnerved by the child’s
unusual demeanor, Callie asked, “Is anything the matter, Becky? Do
you need to tell me anything or talk about something?”
    Becky shook her head. “No.” She
pressed her lips together for a moment, then burst out with, “But
you could help me, maybe.”
    Startled, Callie said, “I’d be happy
to help you, sweetheart, but first you’ll have to tell me what you
need help with.”
    Spots of color burned in Becky’s
cheeks. She hesitated for another moment or two, then said, “I want
you to read some letters to me. I can’t read the big
words.”
    “ Some letters?” For goodness
sake. Was Becky carrying on a clandestine correspondence with
someone other than her mother? Callie knew the child was
enterprising, but she couldn’t imagine her being this enterprising.
She was, after all, only six years old, “I’ll be happy to help you,
Becky.”
    Quick as a wink, Becky climbed out of
bed, walked to her closet, and opened the door. With a glance back
at Callie, she stooped, reached, and grabbed the handle of a
suitcase that had been sitting on the floor since Callie’s arrival
in the Lockhart mansion, and, Callie assumed, for a long time
before that. The little girl struggled to haul the suitcase out of
the closet.
    “ They’re in
here.”
    “ Would you like me to help
you?”
    Becky shook her head. “No, thank you.
I can do it.” She grunted. “I do it every night.”
    “ You do? I didn’t know
that.”
    “ Nobody knows. They’re my
secret.” Becky had managed
    to pull the suitcase out of the
closet. Now she sat in front of it and pressed the
latch.
    When she opened the lid, Callie saw a
stack of letters, tied with a pink ribbon. It looked to her as
though Becky had untied the ribbon and tried to tie it again,
without much success. Little-girl fingers had to learn ribbon-tying
skills over a number of years. Six years wasn’t long
enough.
    Callie experienced a sinking feeling
in her stomach when Becky picked up the letters and trotted over to
her bed. She laid them carefully on the pink-and-white counterpane
and stood back. “I found these,” she said simply. “It was after
Mama died. I was sad, and I was walking around the house, thinking
about things, and I found these in a drawer of Mama’s
desk.”
    Oh, dear. “I see. Urn, they belonged
to your mama?”
    The little girl nodded. “My papa