Free Hattie Big Sky by Kirby Larson Page B

hands. “I wish for
two
dolls!”
    â€œThat’s the spirit. Now, Chase, how about you?”
    He looked over his shoulder at my library. He stood up and walked over, tracing his fingers down the spines of several volumes. “I wish I could live somewhere where there were books all around. In a real town, with a real library. And I could read about pirates or explorers or anything.” He gazed off into space for a moment, and I knew he was seeing himself in just such a wonderful place.
    â€œI hope your wish comes true,” I said to him. “Yours, too, Mattie.”
    â€œWhat’s your real, true wish?” Chase asked. He came back to sit at the table, searching my face with an eight-year-old’s earnestness.
    I flipped my hands up. “Oh, I don’t know.” How to explain to these two children the longing in my heart for what they had? To be part of a family. To have a place to call home. Better leave it all unsaid. I glanced over at my books. “So, Chase, shall you pick one out for a story time? That storm doesn’t look like it’s settling down any. I think you’re here for the night.”
    â€œWe’ve never stayed away from home before,” said Mattie. Her elfin face clouded over. She drew her legs underneath her and rocked on the wooden crate. Silent tears dribbled down her cheeks. She cuddled her rag doll close.
    â€œNow, now. There’ll be none of that.” I cringed to hear Aunt Ivy’s sharp tone accompanying my words. I softened my voice. “Or I’ll feed you another slice of my bread.” That won a smile from both children. I reached over, took Mattie’s hand in mine, and squeezed it,
one-two-three.
“That’s a secret message,” I told her. “My mama taught it to me, and now you can teach it to your mama.”
    â€œWhat’s it mean?” Mattie rubbed the tears from her cheeks.
    I blushed, embarrassed to say the words aloud. I leaned to whisper in her ear: “It means ‘I love you.’”
    Mattie regarded me for a moment with her big brown eyes. Then she reached out and squeezed my hand,
one-two-three.
I blinked back a tear of my own.
    Chase had made his selection. “Mr. Nelson’s going to read us
Treasure Island
by Robert Louis Stevenson at school, so I pick this one.” He held out
A Child’s Garden of Verses
and scooted his apple crate chair closer to the stove.
    Mattie stood at my knee. I opened the book. She inched closer.
    â€œMama lets me sit on her lap when she reads,” she said.
    â€œOh.” I felt myself get all flustered. “Then I guess you’d better sit here.” I patted my legs. Mattie scootched up and snuggled her wiry body close. She smelled of coffee and jelly and damp wool. As I began to read, her body relaxed into mine, until it was difficult to tell where she left off and I began.
    After two poems, she was sound asleep. After two more, Chase was snoring. I slipped them both into my bed and pulled the covers up tight. Then I got myself ready and joined them. Once Mattie cried out, “Mama!” but she didn’t waken. I settled the covers over her again, then watched them both, amazed. With a sigh, I curled up on the edge of the bed and slept the soundest sleep of my entire sixteen years.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    I woke to the jingle of sleigh bells. Two warm children were flung every which way across my bed. For a moment, my head was fuzzy. Children?
    â€œHallo!” A voice rose above the jingling bells. “Hallo, Miz Hattie!” There was an edge to that familiar deep voice. Not even Karl’s thick accent could cover up fear.
    I snatched up my overcoat and flung open the door. “They’re safe,” I called out. “Plug led them here.”
    Karl tethered his team and slid down off the sled. He caught himself—it was almost as if his legs weren’t strong enough to hold him. I waved him