Chapter Thirty-Two

chapter thirty-two

June 12, 1936

Sparrow Crest

Brandenburg, Vermont

Last week, I made a terrible mistake.

I took Maggie by train all the way to Boston, where my youngest sister, Constance, recently moved with her husband. Constance has been pestering me for some time about why we never visit her, how terrible it was that she rarely sees Maggie. “Her cousins barely know her!” she says.

And Maggie was so excited for the trip! She wanted to see the city. Go to the public garden and ride the swan boats with her cousins. Eat dinner in a restaurant. We planned to stay for three days. She had never left Brandenburg before. In fact, she rarely leaves Sparrow Crest. Will gives her lessons at home rather than sending her to school. The one-room schoolhouse here is fine, and we tried sending her there at first, but she seemed so tired, so pale, when she was away from home for long. She is excelling in all the subjects Will teaches her—science is her favorite. She plays the piano very well—we have a music teacher, Mrs. Tufts, who comes to give her lessons each Tuesday. Mrs. Tufts says Maggie is her most gifted student and that she should really be taking lessons at a proper music school.

In a strange twist of fate, Maggie has become close friends with Shirley Harding, the child of Benson and Eliza. Shirley lives with her grandparents on the back side of Lord’s Hill. She is a year older than Maggie and the spitting image of her mother. It unsettles me sometimes to see little Shirley playing in the rose garden her mother planted, swimming in the pool. And my Maggie, with her dark hair and eyes, looks so much like her. They could be sisters.

---

I packed two bottles of spring water for the trip to Boston. On the way there, Maggie was so excited—she’d never ridden a train before. She talked nonstop about all we would do and see. We went down to the dining car and had sandwiches and tea for lunch. “Isn’t it funny, Mother, that we’re moving so fast, and eating just like we’d eat at home, sitting still in our dining room?”

As soon as we arrived and settled in at my sister’s house, Maggie went off with her cousins, to unpack her things in their room. Constance and I were in the kitchen with cups of tea, listening to the girls all laughing together. Not ten minutes later, Constance’s girls came running into the kitchen. “Something’s wrong with Maggie,” they said.

Constance and I hurried in. Maggie’s breathing had turned wheezy. Her fingertips began to turn blue.

“Whatever is the matter with her?” Constance asked, her face heavy with worry. “Is it asthma? Should we bring her to the hospital?”

“No,” I said. I ran and got one of the bottles of water I’d packed from my suitcase. I had Maggie sip at the water.

“What is that you’re giving her?” Constance asked, frowning.

She drank half a jar and her breathing did not improve. Her face grew paler.

“I need to take her home. Right now.”

We caught the very next train back to Vermont. Maggie lay against me the whole way home, struggling for breath, shivering and frightened, so frightened. I stroked her hair, sang to her, apologized over and over. “We were wrong to leave Sparrow Crest,” I told her. “We should not have traveled so far away.” I gave her sips of water the whole ride back.

We arrived in Brandenburg late that evening. Will picked us up from the station, and we brought Maggie home, put her right in the water. “Isn’t that better, my sweet girl,” I said as I swam beside her, shivering. She is like a fish in the water, my girl. Such a strong swimmer. And the cold does not seem to bother her. She dunked under, took a mouthful of water and swallowed it down. Her breathing eased. The color came back to her fingers and toes. She splashed me, laughing. “Who needs swan boats when we have this,” I told her. “The water in Boston Commons is so dirty, not like our pool. Aren’t we the lucky ones?”

---

Today, Maggie asked if she might take the train to White River Junction tomorrow with Shirley and her family to visit relatives. “It would just be for the day,” she said. “We’d be home by bedtime. Please? The train is such fun! Shirley’s aunt and uncle have a farm, and they’ve got baby pigs and a foal that was just born!”

I stroked her hair. “I don’t think so, little sparrow. I don’t think leaving home is a good idea at all.”

She made a sour face at me.

“You don’t want to get sick, do you?”

Her face turned serious, worried. “No, Mama,” she said, cuddling up beside me.

“Let’s plan a special picnic tomorrow, out in the rose garden, just you and me.”

She was a quiet a minute.

“Can we bring the teapot and good china cups?” she asked.

“Of course, my love.” I pulled her tight against me, rocked her like I did when she was ever so little.

“We can put on fancy dresses,” she said. “And make strawberry tarts.”

“I think that sounds like a very good plan indeed,” I told her. “We have all we need right here, don’t we, my sparrow? Why would we ever want to leave?”