I haven’t dared to hope for Emma’s love. And now, the past two days,

old tunes come whistling back to me from who knows where; it’s like an

“all clear” in my mind. Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on his pony,

stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni. Macaroni? Something

struck me this morning while I was whistling that song: What did he

call macaroni, anyhow—the feather, the cap, or the pony? It’s not a

bold original thought, no one has to tell me, but it stopped me in

my tracks to realize: it’s the first time, since that bullet took a

slice out of my shoulder, I’ve had such cheerful thoughts.

Wow—that’s a fact worth knowing. Something can

sever an arm without destroying your brain.

A Quick Nod / Muriel

A Quick Nod

Muriel

Oh—you shouldn’t have! Most people,

when they say that, make it sound like thank you,

but when Mama says it, I always feel I’ve done

something wrong. Spent too much money,

made a careless purchase, chosen a color

that is not quite right. But Mama, I argue, it looks nice

on you—I saw lots of women in Washington, D.C.,

wearing hats like this one. She gives me a quick glance

(am I putting on airs?), longing—I can see it—

not exactly for the hat itself, but to be the kind of

person who could wear it. I don’t know, girls …

(Is Grace going to cry?) Mama tilts her head

and looks at me—a peculiar mix of love and

hard appraisal, with a touch of guilty vanity

tossed in. Grace grabs her hand—Mama can’t stop

herself from smiling. She gives a quick nod of

acceptance. Thank you, Grace, it’s lovely.

Thank you, Muriel, she says.

I Can See Myself / Emma

I Can See Myself

Emma

Corn, potatoes, butternut squash. A woodchuck

waddles through the garden. A V of geese flies overhead.

I’ve always loved this time of year, when all the work we’ve done

comes back to feed us. We put up ten jars of pickles, fifty pints of beans,

sixty-five quarts of applesauce. Now I see Ollie, crossing the creek, carrying

something to our house. Look, Emma, he says, here’s the first fish I’ve caught

since I’ve been home! Just last week, we were all afraid that Grace might die,

and now she (and everyone else, too) is brimming over with exuberant life. I

was thinking that if Muriel ever takes another trip to Washington, I ought

to go along—but it’s not likely. I can see myself staying here, marrying

Ollie someday. I know Muriel is restless. She thinks marriage means

we’d be hemming ourselves in. Mother calls her plucky. But one

life can’t be less full than another; making sure everyone is fed