Andrew says, “That is a problem, madam. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts has often acted as too permissive a father to his Wampanoag children. I hope they will make sure no group abuses their special privileges.”
Mama offers second helpings, and we finish the meal in silence. When everyone is done eating, Mr. Pye and Miss Hammond stand up to leave, making excuses about having to check in on a sick relative.
My dear schoolteacher gives me a hug and signs, “I pray for the well-being of your family.”
Andrew also excuses himself. While putting on his coat, he thanks Mama for her hospitality, then kisses her hand and begins his walk back to the parsonage.
For the first time, I wonder, Does being deaf determine my worth? Will deafness ever disappear from the world? Are there really perfect men?
After I help clean up and say good night, I start to climb the stairs, then stop. I slowly creep back, trying to make my footfalls as quiet as possible. I can feel stomping. I know Mama and Papa are not happy with each other. They never wanted George or me to witness their conflicts. Are they angry with me since I’m the one who started it by prompting Andrew’s foul behavior at dinner?
Mama and Papa face each other in the kitchen.
I stand to one side of the doorway. Mama signs at him furiously.
The kitchen is dark save for the fireplace and the candles left on the table from supper. Their signing hands cast long shadows on the wall. I catch parts of their conversation.
“So embarrassed …,” Mama signs. “You don’t care how I feel.”
“Listen …,” Papa signs, “Andrew Noble has insulted too many people, too many of our neighbors. And you calling innocent children ‘mongrels.’ What’s come over you? I will not welcome him into our home again. Mary need never have known that the deaf are treated as less than human on the mainland. I have been soft with you. Now I must be strong for our family.”
“Our family? Our family! You want to talk about our family? You don’t understand …,” she signs. “Without George we have no family … I would have died for him …”
I am frozen in my place.
“Stop,” Papa signs, raising his palm.
Mama signs, “I won’t stop … You didn’t love George as I did … You didn’t …”
“Not true,” Papa signs. “I grieve differently from you.”
“What do you know of grief?” Mama asks cruelly.
Papa reaches for her, but she pulls away.
“You are not alone,” Papa signs. “Be reasonable. You have me and Mary.”
I hold my breath, terrified of what will come next.
“Mary was jealous of her brother … of how much he meant to me.”
“No.” Papa shakes his head.
My heart is breaking.
“Stop,” Papa tells her firmly. “Stop. This is not only your pain.”
Mama collapses onto the floor.
Silent.
Sobbing.
Papa bends down to hold her. She pushes him away. But he won’t leave her side. When at last she stops fighting him, he cradles her in his arms.
I should go up to my room. But I can’t.
I walk slowly toward Mama and Papa. I count ten steps, but it feels like a thousand.
When Papa helps Mama off the ground and into a chair, they see me. Mama’s face is swollen from crying.
“I know,” I sign, “I am not special like George … I know you loved him more … but I was never jealous … I was proud …” My words come out in stutters. “Memories … his death … I cannot escape … It was my fault he was in the road … Just a stupid game … I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”
Mama looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time in nine months. I cannot read the expression on her face. It seems a mixture of anger, confusion, and, I hope, love. I raise my hands to beg forgiveness, but I can’t make words. I wish she could feel my heart and see the pain inside me.
Through my tears, I see Papa is looking at Mama. Still by her side. Waiting.
“I need time to think” is all Mama signs.
Papa touches Mama’s shoulder, then lifts me in his arms and carries me upstairs. He helps me off with my gown and shoes. He puts me on my bed and covers me with a blanket.
“I knew, in my own way,” he signs. “I saw my two children run out of the barn together. You were punishing yourself enough. Accidents happen. We can’t always make sense of them.”
I look downward. Papa takes my chin in his hand.
“She will see reason. Each of us has been blaming ourselves. I know you won’t understand that now.”
I manage to shake my head.
“Sleep,” he signs, putting his hands under his head like a pillow.
He feels the question inside of me.
“Take care Mama,” he signs. “Talk to Reverend Lee about Andrew Noble. Don’t worry. It will be fine.”
I can’t imagine my family will ever be fine, but I want to believe Papa.
I fear the night, with its shadows and dreams.
I fear the morning, facing Mama in the light.
I pace back and forth in my bedroom. I feel the cold floorboards under the soles of my feet and stop to stare into the looking glass Grandmother Lila gave me. My hair is no longer the color of sunlight, and my hazel eyes look gray. Everything has dimmed.
I try to speak. My mouth twists up into a grimace, and my tongue flaps. It hurts my jaw to try to say words correctly. I squeeze hot tears out of my eyes. In the dream world, I have forgotten sign language. I can’t scream, and I can’t signal for help.
I awake suddenly, lying on my back. I pull
