Free Was by Geoff Ryman

somehow, but they kept slipping off.
    “Frances, you’re making a mess,” said her mother, and reached forward to help her eat.
    “Uuuuhhhh!” said Frances in protest. She tried again. The fork was too big to get into her mouth.
    “Take less, Baby, just with the tip of the fork.”
    Frances scowled and thought about what that could mean. It’s like dancing, she told herself. You step with your hands. Tap is done with the toes. So I eat tippy-toe.
    Delicately she picked up a fluffy piece of potato on the end of the prongs and twisted the fork around, so that just the tip could go into her mouth.
    “That’s better. Good girl. See?” Her mother was pleased.
    Frances knew they all depended on her. She knew that without her, none of them would talk to each other. They only talked when there was company, or a show, or when Baby Frances did something to make them all laugh. It all came down to her.

    Supper was cleared up in a hurry. Mother went up first to bathe and change. Jinny went to help Grandma wash up. Janie and Daddy played with Frances.
    They played a game of catch with Loopy. Loopy was a hand puppet, and there was a certain thrill of cruelty in throwing him about the room. Whenever Janie caught him, she put him on and pretended to make him hide behind Daddy’s back.
    “I’ve got something to hide,” she would say in a funny voice and make Loopy peek out from behind Daddy’s back. Frances would laugh, and try to catch Loopy in a lunge and always miss. Loopy would duck away.
    “I’m doing something you can’t see!” said Loopy.
    Her father stepped away, his grin too wide. Frances ran forward, hands outstretched to try to get Loopy, and Janie threw him, high over her head, to Daddy.
    “Daddy’s got the secret now,” Janie said.
    “No, I don’t,” he said, his queasy smile suddenly unsteady. He flung Loopy away too quickly, as if the puppet could burn him, too quickly and too high. Loopy careered into the mantelpiece. A tiny dish was knocked off it.
    “Uh-oh,” said Janie, in alarm, and looked at Daddy.
    “Oops,” said Daddy, and they both laughed. Frances decided to laugh too, even louder than they did.
    “Quiet,” said Janie, her mouth stretched downward from tension. Both she and Daddy knelt down and began to pick things off the carpet.
    Loopy was forgotten. “What are you doing?” Frances asked, walking toward them.
    “We’ve knocked over your mother’s seeds,” said Daddy. “She’s going to plant them in the spring.”
    “They’re from home,” said Janie. Home was still Grand Rapids.
    Frances knelt down too, and all of them pecked at the seeds with their fingers, like birds’ beaks.
    “Looks like these are going to grow a healthy crop of throw rugs,” said Daddy, holding one up, covered in fluff.
    “Fran-ces!” called her mother from upstairs. “Come on up, honey, and I’ll do your makeup.”
    “Show time,” murmured Frances, and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she found the whole thing bored her.

    There were always two movies shown at the Valley Theater. The songs came between the movies. Tonight the first feature was a Western. As she watched, Frances played the parts along with the actors. Her face mirrored the shapes the actresses made with their mouths, the wide O’s and their wide eyes and their fanned-out fingers held up in surprise. Frances thought they weren’t putting enough into it. She would make a great deal more fuss. She would run around and help the hero more.
    She wondered if silent actors bothered to talk when they were being filmed. She wondered if they stayed as silent as the movies.
    Suppose everything was silent. Suppose you wanted to scream, but couldn’t make any sound. You couldn’t make anybody notice you. You could wave your hands, but people might not see. It would be like you were drowning.
    Suppose no one knew they were in a silent movie? They would all think they were talking. They would move their mouths and nod their heads, but no one