Saturday, August 27
ahhhhhhhhhhh. i just read katherine paterson's lyddie again for the first time in years and i cried so hard i don't know how i'll go to church tomorrow with swollen eyes. it's just a
book for heaven's sake. i hate myself.
i keep hearing her words [how can i hear them, when i only read them? but i can imagine her choked voice, forcing back tears that she didn't dare shed for years] --
"Well," she said, arranging her apron on her lap. "well, then? " It was as much of a question as she could manage. "I got good news, Lyddie," he said, a little of the boy she knew creeping into his voice. Her heart rose. "The Phinneys have taken me on as full apprentice." "Ey?" "More than that, truly. They treat me like their own. They don't have no child but me." "You got a family," she said faintly. "You'll always be my sister, Lyddie. I don't forget that. It's just..." He put the carpetbag on the floor and laid his cap carefully on top. His hands were big now, too large for his body. Finally he looked up at her. "It's just -- I don't have to worry every morning when I get up and every night when i lie abed. I just do my work, and every day, three times, the food is there. When the work is slack, I go to school. It's a good life they give me, Lyddie--" She wanted to scream out at him, remind him how hard she had worked for him, how hard she had tried, but she only said softly, "I wanted to do for you, Charlie. I tried--" "Oh, Lyddie, I know," he said, leaning toward her. "I know. But it weren't fair to you. You were only a girl, trying to be father and mother and sister to us all. It were too much. This'll be the best for you, too, ey. Don't you see?" No! she wanted to howl. No! What will be the use of me, then? But she kept her lips pressed together against such a cry. At last she said, "There's Rachel..." He smiled again, his grownup smile that turned him into a stranger. "I have good news there, too. Mrs Phinney asked me to bring Rachel back. She craves a daughter as well. And she'll be so good to her, you'll see. She even sent a dress. She made it herself for Rachel to wear on the train. With a bonnet even." His eyes went to the carpetbag beside the chair. "She's never had a proper ma, Rachel." She has me. Oh Charlie, I ain't perfect, but I do my best. Can't you see? I done my best for you. She's all I got left now. How can I let her go? But even as she stormed within herself, she knew she had no choice. Like the rusty blade through her heart she felt it. If she stays here with me, she will die. If I cling to her, I will be her death. ::: She climbed the stairs like an old, decrepit woman, clinging to the banister and pulling herself up step by step. Rachel was fast asleep. She would not wake her. In the candlelight she studied the lovely little face. Too thin, too pale, the skin nearly transparent. Lyddie brushed back a curl that escaped its plait and smoothed it against Rachel's cheek. Any minute she would start to cough, her little body wracked, the bed shaking. Mrs Phinney would keep her safe. She could go to school. She would have a good life, a real mother. And she will forget me, plain, rough, miserly Lyddie who only bought her ribbons because she was shamed to it. Will she ever know how much I loved her? How I would have gladly laid down my life and died for her? How, O Lord, I am dying this very minute for her? She took out the dress. It was a lovely sprigged muslin. It looked too big for Rachel's tiny frame, but the child would grow into it. She would lengthen and fatten and turn once more into a stranger. Lyddie's tears were soaking the dress. She wiped her face on her own apron skirt, then laid out the new garments - the frilly little bonnet with ribbons and lace, a petticoat fit for a wedding. A length of pink ribbon was woven in and out all around the top of the hem, wasted, pure waste where no one would ever see it. Except Rachie. She packed the bag. It took less than a minute. Rachel had so little. She remembered the primer, and then decided to keep it. Rachel would have a new one, a better one now. She took the book of verses off the nightstand and shut it in the bag, then took it out again. She got her box of writing materials, dipped her pen in the ink, and wrote in painful, careful script on the fly leaf: "For Rachel Worthen from her sister Lydia Worthen, June 24, 1846," wiping her face carefully on her apron as she wrote so as not to blot the page. yes i am obsessive enough to type out the bits that made me howl into my pillow. for ally's viewing pleasure. but you must read the whole book or it won't have as great an impact. the front's all about how her mother's mad, and she's only 13 years old, trying to keep her family together without a father. her mother sends her and her brother charlie away to work, taking her younger sisters [one dies] to her evil brother-in-law's house to live. lyddie wants to earn enough money to pay off the debts and move the family back to their tiny farm, but the farm gets sold and her mother dies too, her siblings are adopted by someone else and she suddenly has no more reason to work like a horse. there's a happy ending in another book, jip, by katherine paterson too. yay!
i like studying with nanz. she doesn't talk too much or too little. she isn't too restless or too still. she isn't too know-it-all or too clueless. basically, i like studying with her =D and the SA notes are great. hah. so much for my mother refusing to let me go to SA cos their notes aren't as good. my foot. i don't even recieve notes for international history, thank you very much.
it is saturday night. i have much to do. i'm not doing it. i ought to take my inspiration from lyddie! i like the picture in front. she isn't hot, like darryll rivers from malory towers. but you can tell she once stared down a bear. i wonder if i'll ever know anyone with that kind of gaze. fiery, intense. yes i know it's just a picture, but who's to say that
you exist?
it must've been love.
10:33 pm
xoxo
