Bridge to Terabithia - Katherine Paterson [36]
They had never been there in the dark. But there was enough moon for them to find their way into the castle, and he could tell her about his day in Washington. And apologize. It had been so dumb of him not to ask if Leslie could go, too. He and Leslie and Miss Edmunds could have had a wonderful day—different, of course, from the day he and Miss Edmunds had had, but still good, still perfect. Miss Edmunds and Leslie liked each other a lot. It would have been fun to have Leslie along. I’m really sorry, Leslie. He took off his jacket and sneakers, and crawled under the covers. I was dumb not to think of asking.
S’OK, Leslie would say. I’ve been to Washington thousands of times.
Did you ever see the buffalo hunt?
Somehow it was the one thing in all Washington that Leslie had never seen, and so he could tell her about it, describing the tiny beasts hurtling to destruction.
His stomach felt suddenly cold. It had something to do with the buffalo, with falling, with death. With the reason he had not remembered to ask if Leslie could go with them to Washington today.
You know something weird?
What? Leslie asked.
I was scared to come to Terabithia this morning.
The coldness threatened to spread up from his stomach. He turned over and lay on it. Perhaps it would be better not to think about Leslie right now. He would go to see her the first thing in the morning and explain everything. He could explain it better in the daytime when he had shaken off the effects of his unremembered nightmare.
He put his mind to remembering the day in Washington, working on details of pictures and statues, dredging up the sound of Miss Edmunds’ voice, recalling his own exact words and her exact answers. Occasionally into the corner of his mind’s vision would come a sensation of falling, but he pushed it away with the view of another picture or the sound of another conversation. Tomorrow he must share it all with Leslie.
The next thing he was aware of was the sun streaming through the window. The little girls’ bed was only rumpled covers, and there was movement and quiet talking from the kitchen.
Lord! Poor Miss Bessie. He’d forgotten all about her last night, and now it must be late. He felt for his sneakers and shoved his feet over the heels without tying the laces.
His mother looked up quickly from the stove at the sound of him. Her face was set for a question, but she just nodded her head at him.
The coldness began to come back. “I forgot Miss Bessie.”
“Your daddy’s milking her.”
“I forgot last night, too.”
She kept nodding her head. “Your daddy did it for you.” But it wasn’t an accusation. “You feel like some breakfast?”
Maybe that was why his stomach felt so odd. He hadn’t had anything to eat since the ice cream Miss Edmunds had bought them at Millsburg on the way home. Brenda and Ellie stared up at him from the table. The little girls turned from their cartoon show at the TV to look at him and then turned quickly back.
He sat down on the bench. His mother put a plateful of pancakes in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time she had made pancakes. He doused them with syrup and began to eat. They tasted marvelous.
“You don’t even care. Do you?” Brenda was watching him from across the table.
He looked at her puzzled, his mouth full.
“If Jimmy Dicks died, I wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.”
The coldness curled up inside of him and flopped over.
“Will you shut your mouth, Brenda Aarons?” His mother sprang forward, the pancake turner held threateningly high.
“Well, Momma, he’s just sitting there eating pancakes like nothing happened. I’d be crying my eyes out.”
Ellie was looking first at Mrs. Aarons and then at Brenda. “Boys ain’t supposed to cry at times like this. Are they, Momma?”
“Well, it don’t seem right for him to be sitting there eating like a brood sow.”
“I’m telling you, Brenda, if you don’t shut your mouth….”
He could hear them talking but they were farther away than the memory of the dream. He ate and he chewed and he swallowed, and when