Wings of a Dream

Wings of a Dream Read Free

Book: Wings of a Dream Read Free
Author: Anne Mateer
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Seeing Rebekah Grace.” Mama’s smugness irritated me, like a bad case of poison oak.
    I laid down my chicken leg and wiped greasy fingers on my napkin. “He delivered Mama’s order from the store.”
    “He stayed a bit, didn’t he? That was for you.” Mama turned her attention back to Daddy. “I invited him for dinner after church on Sunday.”
    Daddy looked at me, his eyes asking if I consented. I bolted for the stove. “More green beans, Daddy? They sure are good.”
    As I returned to the table, Daddy passed a sly glance to Mama. She acted like she didn’t see, or didn’t understand. I sat back down, my fork spearing one green bean at a time, lifting them to my mouth in an even cadence.
    Only the clink of our forks against the old tin dishes broke the silence in the room. Then Mama jumped from her chair and hurried to the window. “I do believe someone’s coming up the road.” She peered through the glass before she straightened and smiled. “Mr. Graves is back, Rebekah. You better run right out and see what he wants.”
    “Yes, Mama.” I went out there all right, but not in any hurry. I figured he wanted to invite me to a house dance or share some tidbit of gossip. But that wasn’t it at all. He just handed me a telegram and said to give it to my daddy.
    Did Barney tip his hat and take his leave? I didn’t notice. I held that slip of paper between my fingers, my legs shaking like a newborn calf’s.
    Everyone knew a telegram meant death.

I wobbled back into the kitchen, anxious to steady myself before I heard the worst.
    What if it was Arthur, his death ending all our dreams? I imagined myself crying at his funeral, pictured my resigned walk down the aisle to meet Barney Graves.
    Mama met me at the door. “Why didn’t you invite him in?” Her neck craned to see past me.
    I held out the telegram in reply. Mama’s flushed face drained white as she snatched it from me and looked to Daddy. Then I thought of Will. My brother lived every moment in danger on the Western front. I sat hard in the nearest chair.
    Mama didn’t sit. And she didn’t say a word. She pulled a hairpin from the tight knot of pecan-colored hair at the back of her head and slipped it beneath the flap of the envelope. I winced, the tearing of the paper ripping through my heart. But Mama remained unruffled. I admired her strength in that moment. Determining to show the same fortitude, I sat up straight, waiting for the words I felt sure would shatter me.
    Mama let out her breath, never taking her eyes from the paper. “It’s my sister, Adabelle. She’s ill.” Her lips curled into a frown.
    My whole body relaxed. Aunt Adabelle. She’d sent a short note and the shawl at my graduation last year, but I’d only seen her twice in my whole life. The first time I’d been seven or eight years old. I remembered a soft hug and a wide smile, green eyes, and smooth skin. She skipped with me, hand in hand, to the chicken coop to gather eggs, asking questions all along the way. Did I like school? Who was my best friend? Was Will a good big brother? Did I like to play with dolls or climb trees?
    And when I answered, she listened.
    We found twelve eggs that day. She cradled each one before setting it in the basket. I wondered if she knew how much Mama hated when I broke the eggs before they made it to the kitchen.
    But when she and Mama came together, Aunt Adabelle changed. The laughter in her voice stilled, and the sparkle in her eyes vanished. She and Mama spoke in short, awkward sentences. I didn’t understand the distance between them. I only knew Mama disapproved of her sister. And Mama’s disapproval was nothing to be trifled with.
    Yet something in me had always cottoned to those memories of my aunt. It gave me the courage to ask, “What should we do, Mama?”
    “Do?” The spark of scorn in that one word could’ve started a prairie fire.
    I glanced at Daddy. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back his chair. It scraped

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