Miss Spitfire (15 page)

•   •   •

When the visiting priest, Father Barbara, says he's taking me away from Tewksbury for an operation on my eyes, I cry and tell him I don't want to go. My sight is little more than bewildering swirls of colors, like ladies' skirts always dancing before me, but I don't care. In the months since Jimmie died, Tewksbury has become all the home I have.

I'm right to be afraid. When the doctors' work is done, I'm no sooner put to bed with a bandage over my eyes than another woman arrives, rescued from a fire. Her moans and screams tear through the ward, and the scent of charred flesh stings my nostrils. The talk I hear is of skin and cloth melted together, singed flesh sloughing off in pieces, and white bones shining
through it all. A picture worse than anything I saw at Tewksbury forms in my mind, and I cry and flail until the bandage comes loose from my eyes and the nurses carry me away.

After all that, the operation isn't much use. All it does is turn the swirls into a blur. But away from the almshouse, I get a glimpse of another world. I help the sisters deliver baskets to the poor. From time to time I slip into Saint Patrick's Church to peer at the chalice and carvings on the altar. Often Father Barbara joins me there and chants the stations of the cross to me, or sits still and quiet in the pews, pretending to listen to a sermon. Other days we walk along the river Merrimac, hand in hand, and at night he reads to me of Saint Bridget, Saint Lucia, Saint Catherine. For a few days some friends of Father Barbara's take me in, a dark house where it's my job to wipe the dishes, and there I discover a piano. I bang away gleefully until someone yanks me from the bench.

When the next operation is done, there are no burn victims to torment me. The nurse is kind and lets me make lemonades, chipping ice from the great block in the kitchen myself and adding all the sugar I want. My eyes are no different, but every day calm-faced nurses fuss over me, and there are plates of fruit and slices of bread almost as soft and white as my sheets.

Before long the doctors decide they've done all they can with me. Father Barbara is gone, called away on duty. His friends don't want me back in their house,
and the hospital can't keep me. Tewksbury looms before me. The thought of leaving this clean and decent place for what lies behind the stone gates of the almshouse makes the fear rear up like a cold wind inside me. Howling, I fasten myself to the doctor's leg until they peel me away.

•   •   •

The thought of the days ahead of me at Ivy Green, the dread of more clashes with the Kellers over Helen's discipline, makes that same cold fear whirl through me. We've taken one great step forward, and after this glimpse of success I have no intention of giving any ground back. But where will I find the strength to stand between Helen and the overindulgence of her parents?

My heart pounds. My fingers, so used to moving when I speak, itch to spell. I clasp my hands in my lap and urge myself to be brave.

Across from me on the parlor sofa Mrs. Keller and Helen sit side by side, fitted together like the strands of a braid. Mrs. Keller strokes Helen's cheek with the backs of her fingers, softly as a kitten smoothing its whiskers. Behind them the captain stands with his hands resting one on each side of his wife and daughter. Seeing them framed in contentment, I wish I could join their intimate circle. I pray my words won't ruin the scene before me.

I draw a deep breath. “You must not interfere with me in any way.”

The captain's face crimps like the mouth of a satchel drawing together. He glances down at his small family, then at me. His eyes tell me to be cautious, but they don't keep me from speaking.

“I know it hurts to see your child punished, and even more because of her afflictions. Whatever you think of me, I'll tell you, it's painful for me as well. But allowing Helen her way in everything is a terrible injustice.” The conviction behind these words surprises me. The Kellers, too, look puzzled.

“An injustice,” I insist, the words coming unbidden. “Not only to you and me, but to Helen. You let her behave like a common imbecile, tolerating those fits. She's a bright child, yet you allow her to make a fool of herself with every tantrum. She may not understand the reason behind good behavior, but she's smart enough to mimic it. At least let her have that small dignity.”

Mrs. Keller looks up, her eyes bleary with tears. I can't guess the emotion behind them. “But she has so few pleasures, Miss Annie.”

Exasperation makes my words harsher still. “That's no excuse for bad behavior. The world outside Ivy Green won't bend to her will, Mrs. Keller. And neither of us will be with her forever. Who in their right mind will cater to her whims when you're gone?”

“Miss Sullivan—,” the captain begins. I know where this is headed. We've been down this road more than once.

I cut him off. “There's no reason to deprive her of anything—as long as she's civil to the rest of us. I'm
willing to grant Helen any luxury you can bestow her, provided she earns it. Let me hold her to what I've taught her—be consistent—and she'll stay as calm and reasonable as she is this minute.”

“Do you propose, Miss Sullivan,' the captain says, straining for courtesy, “that we simply hand over our authority as parents?”

I gulp, willing myself to hold my chin high in the face of the captain's indignation. “Any interference will undermine everything I've accomplished these two weeks. Helen may be deaf, dumb, and blind, but she's no fool. If she finds an easier path, she'll take it and never look back. For now she's tame, but given the chance, she'd turn on you like a mad dog.” I pause, chiding myself for the acrid words forming on my tongue. I smooth my face into dour seriousness. “I'd hate to have to take her away from you again.” This is not entirely true, but it has the desired effect. Mrs. Keller looks stricken; her arms pull Helen nearer.

A lump comes into my throat. Why must I be so cruel? “Please, just let me have a free hand.”

Mrs. Keller nods, wide eyed and fearful as a little child. I look to Captain Keller. Confronted with his wife's tears, he assents.

“You'll speak to the rest of the family as well,” I prompt. He nods again.

A shiver runs through my body. It's done.

“Wouldn't you at least like to have a nurse for her?” Mrs. Keller offers.

I blink at the question, my emotion breaking into confusion. “A nurse? Whatever for?”

“To dress and feed and wash her. You'd have all your time to teach her.”

“Helen's perfectly capable of all that. A nurse will only get in my way. Every simple thing we do is a lesson in itself. Besides, I don't need anyone else to look after.”

And that is the end of that.

Only a few hours later my agreement with the Kellers wavers with the threat of mutiny. We sit round the supper table, before platters heaped with mounds of food sweetened and sauced with Helen's tastes in mind. In a sudden about-face Helen behaves long enough to earn me the barest morsel of respect before making a fool of me yet again.

She sits stock-still through the blessing, seemingly fused to her chair. Her hands don't wander from her own place. Her legs don't swing or fidget. The only movement at the table comes from the shifting glances of Helen's family, eyeing her as though they find her good manners distracting.

When Captain Keller takes his seat, I turn to Helen and put the napkin round her neck. As I reach for the nearest serving bowl, I hear a rustle next to me. The napkin has disappeared from Helen's neck. Her arm hangs limp at her side, fingers pointing to the floor.
Beneath her hand the napkin lies like a puddle on the ground. I steal a look round the table, hoping no one has noticed this breach of etiquette.

Captain and Mrs. Keller avert their eyes. Simpson uses the opportunity to steal the largest cut of meat from the platter. James sits with his chin cupped in his hand, one corner of his mouth turned up in awry half grin.

Enjoying the show, James?
I want to ask him.

For a moment I'm torn. I know Helen is pushing me. It's no coincidence this is the first trouble i've had with her in nearly two weeks. I can't afford to let her win even one small battle. But the way the Kellers refuse to look at me makes my stomach shiver. Can they truly bear to witness my discipline?

Only Miss Eveline meets my gaze. She gives a small nod, heartening as a wink. A surge of conviction runs through me. I can't back down now.

With as much grace as I can muster, I lean over and retrieve Helen's fallen napkin. Again I fasten it round her neck and turn to filling our plates as though nothing has happened.

Again I hear the napkin flounce to the floor. I pick it up and double-knot it beneath Helen's hair. Her impudent fingers scurry to the knot, working like rats gnawing a bone. When she succeeds in removing the knot—and a few strands of hair with it—Helen flings the cloth to the floor.

I'm up in an instant. Captain Keller draws a sharp
breath but says nothing. I yank the napkin back into place, winding the ends together so tightly Helen's skin wrinkles beneath them. In the time it takes her to unravel that knot I manage to stuff a few bites of food into my mouth. I'm the only one eating.

Triumphant at last, Helen whips the napkin into my face.

“That's it.” This time I bind her neck against the chair with the napkin and clutch the ends in my fist. “She'll use a napkin whether she likes it or not,” I announce. Resisting like an unbroken horse, Helen twists against the cloth until her neck glows pink with the rubbing. Everyone, even James, squirms in their seat. I have no pity for them; it's no worse than I felt when Helen reigned as mealtime tyrant. Mrs. Keller reaches out to comfort her daughter. I snap my head toward her. “You promised me a free hand, Mrs. Keller,” I remind her. Defeated, she lays her hands deliberately flat on either side of her plate.

Within seconds Helen begins flailing at the table with her feet. The dishes leap like fleas with each blow. Stripping away the last shred of her dignity, she grunts like a laboring sow as she fights.

Fed up at last, I let loose of the napkin. Helen lunges for her plate. I shove it aside and jerk her from the table. In a flurry of temper we lurch toward the door.

“Miss Sullivan!” the captain's voice thunders from behind me. “No child of mine shall be deprived of food on any account.”

Fury freezes me on the spot. I can't do anything but splutter, “Captain Keller, our agreement!”

“Agreement or no agreement, I am the child's father.” His knuckles rap the tabletop with each word. “You shall not deprive her of food, Miss Sullivan.”

Trembling with indignation, I push Helen from my arms. Tears spill down my cheeks. The words rush over my tongue like bile. “For the love of God, Captain Keller, have you no shame?”

I don't wait for an answer. Storming from the room, I bang the door shut behind me. Only halfway down the hall despair overcomes me. Too exhausted to sob, I slump to the floor in the parlor doorway and cradle my head in my arms. From the dining room I hear roaring voices mixed with wailing. Someone, perhaps Captain Keller, bangs the table again and again, making the dishes clatter.

I have surely done myself in. They've tolerated my brazen temper before, but I've gone beyond the limits of propriety this time. If I could find the strength to climb the stairs, I'd pack my trunk and escort it to the train station myself.

None of the voices I hear belong to Helen. Fearful as they are, the sounds pouring under the door are too refined to have come from her throat. I imagine her making the rounds of the table, unaware of the clamor, helping herself to the neglected plates jittering on the tabletop. What has my outburst gained me, then? I've insulted my employer and given my pupil permission to act just as she pleases.

Will I never learn? It's Perkins all over again, with them rubbing my face in my shortcomings and me shouting back like some class of an idiot. “Laugh, you silly things,” I cried once when they ridiculed my spelling. “That's all you can do to the queen's taste.”

Fancying herself the queen, the teacher retorted, “Get out of this room and sit on the steps until the hour has passed!”

Blind with rage, I bumped into a desk, and the teacher snapped, “Go back and leave the room quietly.” I kept on my way, and at the door I turned and shouted, “I will not sit on the stairs and I will not come to this class again!” I very nearly didn't. Mr. Anagnos threatened to turn me out if I didn't return to that class, and I wouldn't. Only the intervention of my other teachers saved me. But who will save me now? None of the shouting in the dining room is likely on my behalf.

In the midst of the commotion a small sound captures my attention. Different from the din in the next room, it makes me think of a bird warbling. Following the sound between lulls in the uproar, I find myself creeping into the parlor, half expecting to find a sparrow trapped inside.

My eyes on the ceiling, I lumber into the cradle and nearly send baby Mildred toppling. A cry erupts from her mouth, and I crouch to hush her before I cause any more trouble.

“Whisht, now, whisht.”

Her face turns, brightening at the sound of my voice. It's been so long since I've felt a child's eyes upon me, I feel almost naked. Bashful, I inch my hand over the edge of the cradle. She grips my thumb with fingers sturdy as tulip stems. A hiccuping sob twists my throat. I've been so long with dolls and blind brutes I've forgotten how simple it is to reach another person.