Free First Came the Owl by Judith Benét Richardson

said Anne.
    Petrova glared at them.
    *   *   *
    Nita wasn’t the least bit sleepy that night as she lay on her bed in Anne’s room, looking at the moon through the trees. The moonlight was not the friendly, pulsing light of the lighthouse, which was put there by people to help people. The moon was bright but cold. Maybe it didn’t care about people. Petrova would say it didn’t. Like the owl, thought Nita. Like the owl, which isn’t my owl, the moon isn’t my moon.
    But it drew her. The moonlight on the snow. The cold, lonely winter outdoors, when everyone else was in their cozy houses. Except I’m not in my cozy house. I’d like to be out there with my … the owls!
    Nita felt hotter and hotter. She looked at Anne, who was asleep with the blue fairy-tale book on her chest and the bedside light shining on her eyes. Nita turned out the light and went over to the window. She thought of the stars and the owls. The snowy owl sleeps at night; I wonder where?
    She went out into the hall, down the stairs, and put her jacket and Anne’s old snow pants over her pajamas. She grabbed her skates. The front door clicked loudly as she opened it, and she froze for a few seconds, but no voices called out. Nita knew you were never supposed to skate without a buddy, but she slipped out the door anyway.
    It was not very cold and Nita could see lots of stars. She slid down the slope behind the house. Quickly she laced her skates and picked her way to the edge of the frozen pond. With one long swoop, she glided out into the middle of the ice. She skated backward. She twirled with her arms over her head. She tried a little jump, but it wasn’t much like a triple toe loop in the Olympics. She tried another jump, a little higher. CRACK!
    Was she imagining the long line that stretched like black lightning across the ice? Crack! Crack! The ice thundered and trembled.
    Nita’s feet broke through the thin skin of ice into the freezing water. She threw herself flat on the ice, but she was far from shore.
    â€œMa-jah!” she croaked. “ Chuiy duiy! Help!”
    Now she couldn’t feel her legs. “Ma-jah,” she sobbed. She flailed her arms up and down as if they were giant wings. It was working! She thrashed her way forward and after a long minute, she felt her knees buckle and her feet touch the bottom. Sobbing, she struggled to the shore and crawled out on her hands and knees. Her feet were totally numb.
    Nita’s teeth chattered and her body shook as she sneaked in the Stillwaters’ front door and up to Anne’s room. She stripped off her wet clothes, yanked on her long johns, and huddled under her quilt.
    She was still terrified and shaking, but she whispered over and over, “I saved myself, I didn’t drown. I saved myself. I didn’t drown.”

Thirteen
    B EFORE NITA even got out of bed on Sunday morning, she heard an unfamiliar voice in the kitchen. Rumble, rumble, she heard, like the cello, then a higher voice like the flute part, then an even lower rumble like the double bass. The double bass is probably Bill—he has a very low voice. But who is the cello? Nita wondered.
    She sat up. Where were her clothes from the night before? She found clean jeans and put them on over her long johns. It was only eight o’clock. What was going on down there so early on Sunday morning?
    Halfway down the stairs she stopped.
    â€œâ€¦ not doing schoolwork … outside skating in the middle of the night … why the hell is her father away at a time like this?”
    Nita couldn’t move. They were talking about her dad. And what Bill said about Dad was true! But Bill sounded angry at her, too. An outer door slammed.
    Then she heard the flutelike tones of Mrs. S., who poked her head around the kitchen door and saw Nita on the stairs. “There you are! Come and have some breakfast. You have a visitor.” She seemed the same as