Free Words Unspoken by Elizabeth Musser

listening happily to Mrs. Rivers’s suggestions: A Wrinkle in Time, Tom Sawyer, The Secret Garden, A Little Princess. And the Misty books— all three of them. In the third grade she had fallen in love with reading, and that had been the only love story of her life. Until Caleb.
    ________
    Stella Green read the letter from Ted Draper, written on stationery with the heading Goldberg, Finch and Dodge . She folded the paper in two with a frown and absently scribbled on the back. She didn’t much like the tone in his letter. Self-confident. Overconfident. But she trusted Jerry Steinman. He’d kept every one of his promises to her, especially about the foundation. He’d faithfully and fiercely guarded her desire for anonymity. He’d completed the business triangle—Ed Clouse, Jerry Steinman, and Stella. Too bad he’d decided to retire. She let out a sigh and traveled back more than thirty-five years to when the happy, complicit partnership had begun.
    The shrill ringing of the phone called out to Stella as she picked a handful of raspberries off the bush outside the kitchen. She tossed the berries into the sink and wiped her hands on her apron before picking up the receiver. “Yes?”
    “Mrs. Green? May I speak to Mrs. S. A. Green?”
    “Who is this?” she spat out, sweeping a hand through the wisps of hair that clung to her perspiring face.
    “Well, nice to hear your voice, Mrs. Green. My name is Samuel Ernst from the Washington Post, and I would like to schedule an interview with you—”
    “How did you get my number?”
    “Your publisher gave it to me—only because I assured him it was for an important interview for the Post .”
    “Don’t give interviews!”
    “Yes, I’ve heard that, Mrs. Green.”
    “Miss Green.”
    “Excuse me, Miss Green. But this is the Washington Post, and we thought that since your book has become so popular, you would naturally be interested in answering a few questions from your public.”
    “I am not interested.”
    “It could surely help with sales of the book. It’s already skyrocketing, and your publisher believes that a little personal history would push it even further along.”
    “Not interested.”
    “But I’m talking about … about money and …” She heard him thinking, trying to come up with something enticing. “Fame.”
    “Did I ever say I was interested in money or fame?”
    “No, ma’am, but I thought—”
    “Well, you thought wrong! I’m not interested in anything at all you have to offer, and I am not available for an interview, and do not call again or I’ll send the police after you for disrespecting my privacy! And you tell that publisher that if he ever gives my number out again, I’ll send my next manuscript to his biggest competitor! You tell him that!” She slammed the receiver onto the black phone piece, wiped her hands across her face, and started out the screened back door.
    Then she turned in her tracks and went into the office, searching through a mound of unorganized papers until she found the business card.
    Youngblood Publishers, Inc. She had scribbled a phone number under the printed address. Now she picked up the receiver and dialed the number impatiently.
    After three rings, a woman’s voice answered, “Youngblood Publishers, Edmond Clouse’s office. How may I help you?”
    “I need to speak to Mr. Clouse! Immediately!”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Clouse is in a meeting. I can take your number and have him—”
    “You tell Mr. Edmond Clouse,” Stella spat into the phone, “that if he ever wants to see another manuscript from me, he’d better come to the phone now!”
    “And who may I say is calling?” the secretary, obviously intimidated, asked.
    “Tell him whoever you want, but you get him to the phone!”
    It took the woman two minutes and twenty-two seconds to locate the editor, which gave Stella ample time to load her ammunition.
    “Miss Green?” A man’s voice came on the line, out of breath. “Is