Free Singing Hands by Delia Ray

the benefits of her word list. "I do think my method might get at the heart of the problem much more directly than mindless chores," she was saying. "I expect you to define the words on this list and then use each one in a well-crafted sentence as you reflect on your behavior. My hope, and I'm sure the hope of your parents, is that in contemplating these words, you might begin to act more thoughtfully and weigh the results of your actions before making such misguided decisions. Do you understand?"
    I looked down at the paper in my hands, hesitating before I answered.
    "The first word, for example," Mrs. Fernley said. "'Knavery.' Do you know what that means?"
    I shook my head.
    Mrs. Fernley spun around and tip-tapped across the crowded room to a bookshelf wedged next to her bed. She bent down to one of the lower shelves and with a theatrical grunt hefted up the largest book I had ever laid eyes on.
    "You'll need to sit down," Mrs. Fernley huffed, nodding toward a love seat covered in plush pink velveteen. Once I had set the word list on the gold-leaf coffee table and leaned back against the cushions, she carefully lowered the worn book with its frayed cloth binding into my lap.
    "Wow," I wheezed. The book must have weighed more than ten normal-sized books put together.
    "The
Funk and Wagnalls New Standard Dictionary of the English Language,
" Mrs. Fernley announced, settling herself daintily beside me. "My father's prized possession. He came to this country from Albania when he was fifteen, and spent his whole life working at Southern Steel. However, his real loves were words and learning the English language." Her eyes softened as she touched the gold lettering on the cover. "Imagine it. Year after year of shoveling coal into furnaces hotter than the depths of Hades, and all the while his mind was spinning with the thousands upon thousands of words in this book."
    Then she thumped her knuckles against the red binding, startling me. "'Knavery'! See if you can find it."
    I slowly opened the cover and began turning the tissue-thin pages, being careful not to bend or rip them. Mrs. Fernley waited patiently while I took several minutes to find the
Ks
and drag my finger down the rows of tiny print. I hunched closer. I could barely see in the dim light.
    "I've got it," I finally said.
    "Read the definition out loud, please."
    I was surprised to feel my face burning as I read in a halting voice, '"The character or actions of a knave ... deceitfulness in dealing ... roguery, dishonesty, fraud.'"
    "Now give me a sentence incorporating the word 'knavery.'"
    All at once, I felt angry. What a stupid, old-fashioned punishment. Mrs. Fernley's idea might have worked for kids in the olden days, but for me, it was nothing but a silly waste of time.
    "I can't think of a sentence," I said.
    "No? Why, I can think of several. What about this one? Miss Gussie Davis committed an act of
knavery
by disguising herself as an escaped kidnapper and practically sending her nearsighted upstairs neighbor into heart failure."
    I looked up, searching Mrs. Fernley's powdered face. A little twitch tugged at the corner of her mouth.
    "Or what about this one? Let's see.... It was a pure act of
knavery
that forced the poor Davis sisters of Myrtle Street out into the hallways of their home desperately searching for their lost underwear."
    She laughed before I did. It was a light, rippling laugh, like a stream bubbling out of the ground. And in that fleeting moment, I could see past Mrs. Fernley's tight pin curls, the layers of face powder, and the fancy vocabulary. She was funny underneath it all, and she had a sweet, crooked smile. I couldn't help chuckling along with her.
    "Now, I don't mean to make light of this, Gussie," Mrs. Fernley added, her face turning serious again. "I want you to study these words and think about how you can eliminate such traits from your behavior. Agreed?"
    "Yes, ma'am." I gave a quick nod and straightened my shoulders. "When would you