Free More Perfect than the Moon by Patricia MacLachlan

1
    S ummer was cool and wet, and the barnyard was muddy. It was like spring left over. The cats jumped from the fence and ran into the barn so they could sleep in the dry hay.
    “I see you there, you know,” Grandfather called to me. “Hiding behind Martha.”
    Grandfather knew the names of all our cows. Martha was black, with a white spot on her rump.
    I stood up.
    “I’m not hiding,” I said. “I’m studying Martha’s spot.”
    This made Grandfather smile. And Caleb.
    “You were hiding,” said Grandfather. “It made Martha nervous. I could see her eyes roll.”
    Martha turned and stared at me.
    “Martha always rolls her eyes,” I told Grandfather.
    He laughed out loud. He and Caleb were digging trenches in the mud so the rains would run off.
    “You’re sneaky, Cassie,” said Caleb.
    “Elusive,” I told him. “Mama says I’m elusive.”
    “Sarah always finds a word to make you look better,” said Caleb. “I say you’re sneaky.”
    Caleb has always called Mama Sarah. My mama is not Caleb’s real mama. But she is mine. He and Anna called her Sarah when she first came to meet Papa. Before they were married. I call her Mama. Maybe someday I’ll call her Sarah.
    “I’m looking for things to write about,” I told Caleb. “It just looks like I’m sneaky.”
    I took my notebook out of my coat pocket and began reading to them.
    “‘Grandfather and Caleb dug deep rivers in the mud so the cows, Martha, Eleni, Princess, Mary Louise, Pudgie, and Boots, can float into the barn to feed.’”
    “That’s not the truth!” said Caleb.
    “Yes it is,” I said. “It is storytelling.”
    “Made up,” said Caleb.
    “Maybe,” I said, turning away and walking through the mud to the barn. I turned once to see Grandfather smiling at me, Caleb staring.
    “Maybe,” I said louder just before I disappeared into the dark barn.

     
     
     
     
----
    The cows float into the dark barn and then out the other side into summer. It is hot and dusty. Heat waves rise off the land and the cows happily eat their way through the fields of corn. They walk into the cow pond and look up, and the birds flying across the sky swoop down to cool their faces with their wings.
    And that’s the truth.
----

2
    I saw many things. Mama had gained pounds this winter. Sometimes she wore Papa’s sweaters.
    “They seem to fit me better,” she said. “And they smell like your papa.”
    Today in the barn I saw Papa put his arm around Grandfather. They laughed at something. I tiptoed in closer to hear what it was, but Grandfather, as always, saw me.
    “Cassie? That you behind the stall?”
    “Not a good thing, lurking, Cassie,” said Papa with a frown.
    “It would be a good thing if you didn’t see me,” I said crossly. “How am I ever going to find things to write about if I can’t listen?”
    “Maybe you need to observe, Cassie,” said Papa. “Quietly. Without lurking.”
    I did observe. I saw more things.
    I saw Caleb talking to a girl by the pond. She rode a dappled horse.
    “Who was that?” I asked.
    “Someone,” said Caleb. “Not for your eyes.”
    Of course it was for my eyes.
     
----
    Caleb has found a princess. They meet in secret because they must.
    They will marry soon and run away to live in wild Borneo, eating fruit and nuts from the bushes there. They will have two babies named Ondine and Tootie.
----
     
    I read Caleb my words to tease him. It worked.
    “Wild Borneo!” said Caleb very loudly. “Not true, Cassie. And she is not a princess! How can you write such things?”
    “Papa told me to observe quietly. That is what I saw,” I said.
    “It is a good story, though, Cassie,” said Grandfather, smiling.
    “Thank you.”
    “And Tootie is a very unusual name,” said Papa.
    “Imaginative,” added Mama.
    “Don’t encourage her, Sarah,” said Caleb. “Nothing she writes is the truth.”
    “It is my truth,” I said. “Mine.”
    I saw more things. I saw that Mama took naps late morning and