Free A Bird On Water Street by Elizabeth O. Dulemba Page B

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    “Its charming song belies its dull appearance,” the book said. Maybe the next time we left Coppertown I could try to hear one. Unless they migrated. Wasn’t that what birds did?
    I’ll add some colors and make it prettier.
    I did one more landscape drawing of Coppertown, this one for Grandpa, but this time I added trees using lots of greens and blues. That one was the most fun to do as I imagined my home the way it used to be before the mining started. I wanted Grandpa to see it that way too.
    I smiled at my drawings—they looked all right. I signed each one Love, Jack , rolled them up, and tied some kitchen string around them.
    I was so proud of myself that I felt like a turkey with its tail fanned out. I went to find my parents, not to tell ’em what I’d done but just to hint a little maybe. Mom was in their bedroom with the door closed. I knocked. “Mom?”
    “Don’t come in!” she yelled and made sounds that made me think of juggling Tupperware.
    I frowned. “Well, where’s Dad?”
    “I think he’s out in his metal shop.”
    Where he always was now, if he wasn’t picketing. He’d come home from the strike, take a shower, and go out to his shop. If it weren’t for dinner, I’d probably never see him. The message was clear—he wanted to be alone.
    I sighed and went to the kitchen for a snack. There wasn’t much in the fridge, nor in the cabinets neither, just stuff that had to be cooked like beans, soup, and rice. I finally found a jar of peanut butter. That’ll do . I took a spoon, scooped out a big hunk, and ate it like a Popsicle.
    Lately it seemed I was hungry all the time, and there was never enough food around. Mom said I was gonna eat ’em out of house and home. It made me feel awful, but how was I supposed to stop growing?
    r

Chapter 13
    Christmas

    We went to church on Christmas Eve, as usual. The choir sang carols out of tune, as usual. The room did look nice with the twinkle lights and candles lit, though. There was a real Christmas tree in the back of the church. It filled the air with its spicy scent, which mingled with the cinnamon and hot apple cider. Everybody was dressed in their Sunday best, which made it feel more festive.
    Piran and I laughed about everyone huggin’ and shaking hands like they didn’t see each other every Sunday anyway. The smiles may have been more forced than usual, but everybody seemed to be trying. Anytime the word “strike” was mentioned, somebody got finger smacked on the arm or back, or even on the back of their head if they didn’t stop.
    Then I spotted Hannah. All the twinkle lights framed her, lighting her up all golden and sparkly. Her friends sounded like a pack of hens out at the Spencer farm, but she just smiled and outshined them like copper in the ore, a diamond in the coal, the jewel that she was.
    Could she feel me looking at her? I’d grown an inch recently—would she notice? I willed her to glance my way, but her eyes kept straying toward the back of the church. I followed her gaze to Eli Munroe. He stood near the door with his parents like a black cloud.
    What does she see in that guy?
    He was dressed in a suit, one that actually fit him, unlike mine, which felt like it would rip apart if I raised my arms. And he looked right back at Hannah with . . . with love in his eyes. Surely Eli couldn’t feel anything that deeply—even though that’s what it looked like.
    She’ll figure him out soon enough. She’ll see him for what he really is, and I’ll have my chance . I just hoped it was soon.
    O
    Back home, we did our traditional reading of “The Night Before Christmas,” with sound effects. I especially liked pounding on things during “the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.” It’s a very noisy poem, what with all the snorin’ and whistling and such. Of course, I didn’t tell any of my friends that we did that. I would have been laughed out of the county.
    “What about milk and cookies for Santa?” I asked.