Free The Very Little Princess: Rose's Story by Marion Dane Bauer Page A

bit of it poked out at the top of her pocket.

    â€œOh, that,” Rose said. And instantly, her imagination took flight. Rose’s imagination was good at flying.
    â€œIt’s a handkerchief I found,” she said. “A pretty one. But it’s full of snot now. My nose has been awfully snotty lately. Has your nose been snotty, too?”
    Before Hazel could answer, Rose tumbled on. “I’ve got some other stuff in there.” She tugged at the top of her pocket and peered in. “There’s broccoli. Kind of squished. You gave me too much broccoli last night at dinner. And … and, oh …” She patted her pocket. “There’s a dog turd, too. I found it in Mrs. Ratchet’s yard, and I thought she’d be happy if I picked it up. It’s only a small one, of course, because Mrs. Ratchet’s dog is kind of—”
    â€œRose!” Hazel interrupted. And she held out a hand for whatever might be in that pocket. Considering the list she’d just been given, it was a brave thing to do.
    Rose hesitated. She wasn’t a girl who gave in easily. Still, with her mother’s hand waiting like that, there wasn’t much else she could do. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny doll. She didn’t give it over, though. She just held it flat on her palm for her mother to see.
    â€œOh!” Hazel’s hands flew to her round cheeks. “Oh!” she said again. Then she added, with what seemed great certainty, “You don’t want
that
!”
    â€œI do,” Rose answered. Her certainty was every bit as great.
    â€œBut you don’t
like
dolls,” Hazel argued. She couldn’t seem, herself, to take her eyes off this one.
    â€œI like
this
doll,” Rose told her, still holding it out. “I like it a lot.”
    Apparently Hazel didn’t know what to say to that. She just stood staring at the tiny pink and white doll in Rose’s hand.
    â€œWhere did it come from?” Rose asked. And then she asked the even larger question that had been burning in the exact center of her chest since she had plucked the china figure from the trunk. “Why was it hidden away?”
    Hazel lifted her gaze to Rose’s face. “I put her away to keep her safe,” she said finally.
    â€œSafe?” Rose asked. “Who were you keeping her safe from?” But she knew. Of course she knew.
    â€œI didn’t want her to get broken,” Hazel said.
    â€œYou were afraid I would break her?” Rose spoke softly.
    For a long moment, Hazel closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she said, “Yes.I was afraid you would break her.” Her tone was honest, resigned, a bit weary.
    In that wait for an answer, as much as from the answer itself, Rose understood what she hadn’t before. This doll was important. Too important for her.
    Rose was a thousand things I’ve not yet had a chance to tell you. She was intelligent and imaginative and loads of fun. She was reckless and irrepressible and could swing from high joy to fury in an instant … before dropping into silent despair.
    And she might have been one of the most careless girls who ever walked the earth.
    She knew that about herself. Dishes seemed to leap from her hands to break. Pencils snapped. Homework was completed and then left on the school playground to blow in the wind.
    She’d lost her brother’s goldfish down thetoilet once. She never could explain quite how that had happened.
    All of which meant that she knew a tiny doll made out of china could never be safe in her hands. She knew that to be true, but she didn’t want it to be true. Which was, of course, precisely why she had to have the doll.
    So instead of giving her up as Hazel’s steady gaze demanded, Rose curled her fingers around the tiny thing. Or she started to.
    Even as Rose’s hand began to close, Hazel reached for the doll.
    What followed