Free Pearl by Lauraine Snelling Page A

daughter.
    ‘‘See, I can read this too.’’ Pearl marked the line with a fingertip and read across, then the next one.
    ‘‘I believe a princess like this needs a present. What would you like, Princess Pearl?’’
    Pearl scrunched her eyes to think better. If she said a doll, he would buy her one, but she had plenty of dolls, and while they were good for lining up to play school, she wanted something else, something far more important. ‘‘I want to go to school.’’
    ‘‘But you are so little.’’
    ‘‘I’m big, and I can read.’’ She turned imploring eyes on her father, to catch a teasing light in his eyes. She patted his cheek with her right hand. ‘‘Please?’’
    ‘‘My dear Anna, is there any school who would take a minx like this?’’
    ‘‘I’m certain we can find one.’’ Her gentle words always bore the Norwegian accent of one born in the old country but who had learned the English language too. Pearl always knew that if she were a princess, her mother was the queen.
    She threw her arms around her father’s neck, squeezing him tight, inhaling the scent of good pipe tobacco, shaving soap, and the faint underlay of the sea.
    She’d been a year or two younger than the others in her new school, but she quickly caught up. Until the accident.
    ‘‘Where have you been?’’ Amalia asked gently.
‘‘Back to when I was little and his princess.’’
‘‘When your mother was still alive?’’
    ‘‘And before the babies died. It took my mother years to recover from that double loss. And then Jorge was born, and she never regained her health.’’ Pearl spoke in that dream voice of seeing both worlds, the then and the now, and not being part of either.
    ‘‘The accident was my fault, you know.’’ Her fingertips found the scar in unconscious protection.
    ‘‘Tell me what you remember.’’
    ‘‘Not a lot. Just that I was about six years old and trying to help with something. I reached for the pan. It tipped and poured boiling water on my neck and shoulder.’’
    ‘‘Your father blames himself.’’
    Pearl jerked fully back to the now. ‘‘Why?’’
    ‘‘He feels he should have kept you away from the stove.’’
    ‘‘I’ve always felt he blamed me. He grew so distant.’’
    ‘‘Guilt does strange things to one. He does love you, but I think he finds it difficult to show his affection for you. He’s so proper, you know.’’
    Pearl stared at Amalia. ‘‘Why have we not had this discussion before?’’
    ‘‘We haven’t had much conversation through the years.’’
    Because I didn’t trust you. You weren’t my mother . ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
    Sorry for all those years of turning away .
    ‘‘I am too. I was the adult, and I should have known how to help you.’’
    But you were off doing your good deeds, and I wanted no part of anything you did. Or he did. Not true . ‘‘I would do anything to know for sure my father loves me.’’

    She thought back to that conversation several evenings later when the entire family was gathered in the parlor for one of their rare times when both father and mother were at home at the same time.
    Each of the children reported on their schoolwork and what they’d learned. Father gave Anna, named after his first wife, a hug and a kiss, shook hands with Arnet and patted his shoulder, gave Jorge Jr. a well done and slipped him a packet of something, coins most likely. Anna recited from Hiawatha and for that received a coin and another kiss.
    Pearl felt as though she was part of the wallpaper or perhaps an aunt come to visit. She watched as the four of them laughed at something Far said, her fingertips stroking her jawline.
    ‘‘I have something I’d like to read,’’ Amalia said, taking a letter from her pocket.
    ‘‘Good. Read on.’’ Jorge Sr. settled back in his chair, Anna on his knee.
    Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hossfuss,
    I want to take this opportunity to express my gratitude and the future gratitude of all