Free Cassie Binegar by Patricia MacLachlan Page B

for Cassie Binegar,” said James, looking pleased. “From down under.”
    Cassie frowned. “But what about you? Maybe it was a sign for you, James?” She looked up to see James shaking his head.
    â€œNo, Cass. The ring fits you. It’s yours. I’ll find something else for good luck.”
    Cassie knew almost all fishermen had good luck pieces. John Thomas carried an old coin in his pocket. Cassie’s father carried a leather pouch with a lock of his wife’s hair. One old fisherman had always taken his small dog fishing. When the dog had died, peacefully, of old age and many hours at sea, the fisherman had never fished again.
    â€œCome,” Cassie’s father called to her brothers. “It’s getting late.”
    James picked up the metal box; John Thomas carried extra line. Cassie looked down at the ring on her finger. Then she looked out at the sea, the gray now curling with white caps.
    â€œWait!” Her brothers and her father turned at the door. “Don’t go.”
    Her father smiled. “Hey, Cass. We’ve been out in worse.”
    The wind came in a rush with the rain, and they turned to run to the truck.
    â€œWait.” Cassie’s hand found the old doll, the girl doll, in her pocket. She took it out and handed it to James.
    â€œGood luck sign. For you,” she said.
    James smiled, turning it over in his hand, then putting it in his pocket. “Cassie Binegar goes to sea,” he said, reaching out to hug her. She didn’t pull away.
    They left then, the door closing with a sudden rush of the wind, leaving Cassie and her mother in the kitchen. Cassie’s mother went to the window and watched as the truck started up and wound its way down the hill. Cassie leaned against the kitchen door and watched her mother, noticing for the first time the small lines on her forehead, on the sides of her mouth. She worries too , thought Cassie suddenly. Her mother stood on tiptoes, following the truck with her eyes.
    She waved, a short quick movement, then turned and smiled self-consciously when she saw Cassie.
    â€œThey never see me wave,” she explained. “But I do it every day anyway.”
    Cassie nodded. “I didn’t know you worried. It doesn’t show.”
    â€œI guess, Cass, that’s because you can’t see what goes on inside my head.” She put her arm around Cassie. “It’s private.”
    Private. Something stirred inside Cassie. Something to remember. To take note of. Cassie walked upstairs to dress. Private. Inside my head. Cassie walked into the bathroom and read the writing on the sheet.
    Each of us has a space of his own. We carry it around as close as skin, as private as our dreams. What makes you think you don’t have your own, too?
    Cassie grinned suddenly. She picked up the pencil and wrote.
    I do have my own space.
    Then underneath Cassie drew a small picture, rather rough but still recognizable. She leaned back and smiled at it as if it were a masterpiece. It was a pair of eyeglasses.
    â€œGran.”
    Cassie had gone to the attic to look for the kaleidoscope. And there was Gran, going through a trunk of clothes, her hair in a tumbled cloud around her head.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?” asked Cassie, settling by Gran.
    Gran sat back. “A dress. A lavender dress. I need it for my painting. Want to help?”
    â€œWhat kind of dress?” asked Cassie. The rain blew in a sudden burst against the attic roof, the sound loud and menacing. Gran and Cassie looked at each other.
    â€œWhere’s your mother?”
    â€œGone to check for roof leaks on the cottages,” said Cassie. “What kind of dress?” she repeated.
    â€œSpecial,” said Gran, smiling mysteriously. “Look, here’s your kaleidoscope.” She handed it to Cassie. “Ah, here it is.” Gran bent down and picked up a large box. Slowly, she took off the cover and parted the