Free Wings of a Dream by Anne Mateer

any chances with this influenza. I scrubbed my hands three times and made the children wash, too. Then I shut myself in Aunt Adabelle’s bedroom, again shoving aside the memories of her lifeless body. I needed a place where no one would intrude, and I felt certain Ollie wouldn’t set foot in here. Not yet.
    I sat on the still-naked mattress and slit open Daddy’s letter with my hairpin. I’d never known Daddy to write anything. Mama took care of the correspondence.
Rebekah,
Your mother is gravely ill.
    I dropped the letter to my lap, unsettled as much by the shaky hand as by the words I’d hoped not to hear. Would God take Mama as He’d taken Aunt Adabelle? Wiping my cheek, I forced my runny eyes back to Daddy’s words.
She took the news about Adabelle hard, but I think she was glad you were with her at the end. Pray for your mama, girl. Keep yourself and those children as far from this illness as possible.
I love you,
Daddy
    I walked to the window and leaned my forehead on a cool pane of glass. Would Mama be as ill if I’d have been there? Maybe Mama had hidden her illness from Daddy for too long. That would be like her. But I would have seen it. I could have told her—
    No, I couldn’t have told her anything. Mama was Mama. She wouldn’t take advice from me.
    And I couldn’t help her now. I could only help these children and myself. I threw open the sash, hands gripping the windowsill. “Please make Mama well,” I prayed. “Keep Will safe. Show me a way to get to Arthur. Give me strength.”
    The words stopped. I had nothing left to say. Did God really hear such simple pleas?
    From the window, I watched Dan and James line up at the far fence.
    “Go!” James dashed ahead of his brother, both of them headed for the porch. James reached it first.
    Dan threw himself into the dying grass and melted into hysterical sobs.
    “Heavens to Betsy.” In a flash, I was out the door, lifting Dan from the ground. He refused to put weight on his feet as tears chased each other down his wind-chapped cheeks.
    “Let’s go.” My voice held the same tightness I often heard in Mama’s voice. I tried to shake it away, but I wasn’t in the mood to coddle children. I plunked Dan on the bench beside the kitchen table, ready to scold. He hiccupped down another sob and brushed his sleeve beneath his nose.
    Then my heart melted. This child had lost his mother and his Miss Ada—and might not even remember his daddy. I slid my hand down the side of his face, sweat and tears and dirt mingling on my hand. “I’m sorry you lost the race.” I stroked his face again before folding him into my arms.
    “You should’ve whipped him good. Daddy would have.” Ollie’s cold eyes stared at me. I stared right back. Her gaze finally wavered, slipping to the floor in defeat.
    My voice dropped to a whisper. “Why don’t you cut us all some cornbread and spread it with molasses?”
    Her back stiffened again, but before she could defy me, Dan wriggled free from my grasp, his mourning turning to dancing, so to speak.
    “You makin’ me somethin’ to eat, Ollie?” He shoved his thumb in his mouth.
    Ollie pulled it out again and held him close. The look of a jealous woman flashed across her face. “Of course I am, Danny.”

    Ollie Elizabeth stayed up later than the others that night. A stifling quiet descended between us, magnifying the night noises outside the slightly open window. She’d lost her mother, and she resented me. I understood that. But while part of me wanted to comfort her, another part of me, the part raised in Mama’s house, wanted to send her to bed without supper. What did she need more—a mother or a friend? If only someone would tell me what I was supposed to do.
    I searched for something to say. “Perhaps school will start again soon. Would you like that?”
    Ollie shrugged and twirled a lock of hair that fell near her chin.
    “Do you enjoy school?”
    She squirmed on the sofa.
    I took a deep breath, needing to