Handful
Sarah was up in her room with her heart broke so bad, Binah said you could
hear it jangle when she walked. Her brother, Thomas, hadn’t even got his
hat on to leave before the whole house knew what happened. Mr. Williams
had himself two more fiancées. Now who has to remove himself hastily?
Come teatime that day, missus said to Tomfry, “Sarah will not be
receiving visitors for the next three weeks. Explain to any callers that she is
indisposed. Indisposed, Tomfry. That’s the word I would like you to use.”
“Yessum.”
Missus saw me hovering. “Quit dawdling, Hetty, and take a tray to
Sarah’s room.”
I fixed it, but I knew she wouldn’t touch a bite. I got the hyssop tea she
liked, thinking of us when we were little, how we drank it on the roof, her
telling me about the silver button and the big plan she had. I’d worn that
button in my neck pouch almost every day since she’d tossed it away.
I slipped into the warming kitchen, slid off the pouch, and dug the
button out. It was full of tarnish. Looked like a big shriveled grape. I
studied it a minute, then I got out the polish and rubbed it till it gleamed.
Sarah was sitting at her desk, writing in a notebook. Her eyes were so
raw from crying I didn’t know how she could see to write. I set the tray in
front of her. I said, “Look what’s on the tea saucer.”
She hadn’t laid eyes on the button in all these years, but she knew right
off what it was. “How did . . . Why, Handful, you saved it?”
She didn’t touch it. Only stared.
I said, “Awright then, there it is,” and went to the door.