That water looks as if it was smiling at me.”

I bought Anne of Green Gables for Grace,

and I intend to read every word of it to her.

When she gets better, she can read it all again.

I say when, not if. I refuse to consider if.

Reading the story keeps me from shouting at her:

Listen here, Grace, you open your eyes right now.

Mrs. Norman went to the trouble to make this soup.

She even brought it over here herself! You’d better

wake up and eat it. Quit acting like this, do you

understand me? Mama and Papa and Dr. Brower told me

to stay out of Grace’s room, but—like Frank and Ollie

going to war—I’m old enough to decide for myself

what I’ll risk, and who I’ll risk it for, and why.

If I can stand up to that stupid man

who hit me with a board, if I can hold a banner

for the president to read, and—I’m not exactly sure

what this has to do with anything—if I can

give away an apple and a shoelace when someone

needs them, and sing a lullaby to Viola Irene,

I’m not going to let this flu prevent me

from loving my own sister! When Mama saw

that I would not be stopped, she said, Well, then,

maybe I’ll sleep a bit—just an hour or so.

Wake me if there is any change.

There is no change—Grace is burning up;

her breath goes in and out. She has been sleeping

for two days, and all our love can’t wake her.

Tipperary / Ollie

Tipperary

Ollie

Dread is thick as mud in our house, as Emma’s

song washes over us, a stream of cool water. Muriel is

staying up all night, reading that book to Grace. (Does she

think Grace is listening?) For the first time all week, Pa and Ma

are both asleep. Open the window a little wider, Muriel, I suggest.

I’m going to the creek for water. She probably guesses that, though I

will get water for her to cool Grace, I’m going to see Emma. Are you

still sitting on this rock in the dark? I ask. Have you been out here all this

time, huddled in your blanket? She nods. I shake my head. I bet even the

war wouldn’t scare you like it scares the fellows over there. I give her a

drink from the creek. She accepts it, takes a small sip, and says, I’m

praying as I sing, Ollie. That’s good. But, I ask, is there anything

wrong with praying a cheerful song? She smiles: Tipperary?

Red streaks the sky as we sing: It’s a long way …

Then What Happened? / Muriel

Then What Happened?

Muriel

Then what happened?

I’ve walked to the window to listen

to Ollie and Emma singing together