Well, the poor man. He’s pale and sad. I think he’s fond of our Rebecca. He knows she’s learning, but in her own way. He slips out the door. The mother leaves shortly after. I hang around in her office snooping.
She has a picture on her office wall of her hero Amy Johnson, the first woman to fly solo from England to Australia. She told Rebecca about the flying hero, hoping she’d be interested. I wander around on her pile of Agatha Christie novels and her files of volunteering activities.
She’s the busiest person I know. She’s involved in Suffragettes, Women’s League of Health and Beauty, cleaning up the slums, Red Cross, and travel on the liner Queen Mary. She should have a pair of wings for all the flying around she does with this committee and that foundation. I soak up the drops on her saucer, and wait for the door to open.
A day or two after the mother and the father leave on their trip, Rebecca’s Report Card arrives in the mail.
Report Card for Rebecca
Tutor: Harry V. White
Mathematics:
When I first began the primary course of study, I didn’t believe she had any concept of numbers, sets, or placement. I was wrong. She has total understanding of numbers, sums, subtraction, division, decimals, and fractions and can carry out many advanced functions. She can accomplish every problem quickly and without the use of paper and pen. If I drop a handful of dried peas or beans of the floor, Rebecca immediately tells me how many are there. I count them to be sure, and she is always correct. I toss gaming dice on the floor. She immediately gives me the total sum. She visually divides items into exact fractions. I count them to be sure, and she’s always correct. She’s obsessed with geometric shapes. Her capabilities are extraordinary, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. She seems, in fact, quite brilliant. I’m ill equipped as a teacher to know how to proceed with her, as her level of mathematics is quite advanced, beyond the level I teach.
Spelling:
Rebecca learns her spelling words every week. She recites them orally because she breaks the pens and pencils. Her spelling is perfect. She has the curious habit of repeating every word that’s new to her. She repeats it, spells it, goes to the Webster’s, glances at the definition, and repeats it from memory, rather than reading it aloud. The next time she uses the word, she repeats it, spells it, and defines it. I don’t know how to assess this. Her memory work is astonishing. Her vocabulary seems extensive, though she won’t converse.
Reading:
When I first began teaching Rebecca to read, I was astonished that she already knew letters and many words by sight. I understand that the household staff reads to Rebecca, as I also do. She is shy, self-conscious, and stubborn. She doesn’t read aloud. She is capable of reading, in fact reads exceptionally well and extracts content. I’ve tested this theory in several ways, and she’s demonstrated great ability. Indeed, she demonstrates this with her use of the Webster’s. She refuses to hold a book in her hand the proper way. She seems totally distracted, but when quizzed orally, she knows and understands the content. I can’t fault her comprehension. While I confess that I’ve never heard the child read aloud, she’s reading and comprehending at quite a high level. She reads silently at astonishing speed.
Penmanship:
Utterly and completely atrocious. Refuses to hold pencils and will chew them or break them deliberately. I can’t offer an opinion on whether or not the child can write. I find this terribly frustrating.
Manners:
She has none. She’ll never look me in the eye. I’ve never observed her with peers. She avoids conversation and is socially inept. She seems comfortable with the household staff. In my opinion she spends too much time with the mutt she calls Heart. It’s not natural. That is my personal opinion, of course. Many times I’ve seen her behave like the dog. They seem to communicate. I’m at a loss to understand this.
I hope this serves as an official report card. I’ve taken leave of your staff, Madam, as it’s apparent to me that I can no longer be of service to Miss Rebecca. I’m ill equipped to pursue her academic advancement.
Kindest regards,
Harry V. White
The mother is going to be furious.
Chapter 11
Daily Chores
When Rebecca chooses to keep company with someone it’s very often Cook. Cook understands Rebecca will do things in her own way, and Rebecca knows that’s okay with Cook. Cook talks to Rebecca, and though she rarely answers, Rebecca listens and follows her instructions. The mother would be surprised how nicely Cook and Rebecca get on together. In the last year they’ve learned to communicate well. Rebecca’s life is more interesting now that she’s entrusted with more responsibility in the house. It seems to me every one is most happy when they have a purpose and can produce some service, don’t you agree?
“Oh, Rebecca, Heart, good morning, dears. I knew I could find you two out here on the step in the morning sunshine,” Cook said cheerfully.
Cook never speaks to me. She scratches Heart’s ears with her usual greeting. I don’t take well to that sort of handling, myself. And, when I consider the fly swatter, it’s just as well that I stay incognito in Cook’s kitchen.
“I’m taking these muffins up the road to a neighbor, who isn’t getting on too well.”
That’s what I love about humans, how they look after one another. She hands Rebecca some money. I’d better pay attention now; this is something new.
“Put this in your pocket. When Kenny comes with the order from the green grocer, I want you to pay him. Then take the food inside. Do you understand?”
Rebecca looked up and over Cook’s shoulder, but made eye contact for a brief instant. “Yes,” her nod said.
“Good girl. After that you may shell the peas if you wish. There’ll be some fresh ones in the boxes from Kenny. I won’t be long.” She picks up her basket of muffins, I jump off, and she trots down the lane to the road.
This is something new for Rebecca, handling the money. I can see she’s pleased to be trusted. The mother would worry if she knew. She put the money in her apron pocket.
Rebecca sits on the back step in the sunshine. Heart lies behind her in her shade. Before too long, we hear the bicycle bell and we know Kenny will be biking along the alley momentarily.
Kenny’s a nice boy who always speaks kindly to Rebecca. He often brings Heart a bone from the butcher’s. I usually benefit from that act of kindness, too.
Rebecca reaches into her pocket for the money and starts to stand up when she’s frozen by Heart’s low growl. The hair on his neck is bristling. Heart is warning her about something. I fly out to the yard and look down the lane. Uh oh. This isn’t Kenny.
“Hey, you, girly, come get your green stuff, I’m in a bit of a rush here.” The delivery boy stops pedaling and looks at Rebecca, who’s now standing up. The boy’s jaw drops as he recognizes her. She’s taller, but Heart, he will never forget.
I buzz dizzying circles around his head, hoping to make him fall off his bike. The delivery boy tries to unload his basket and get away as fast as he can. He remembers well the night long ago when he met Rebecca and Heart on these steps during a party when he was working as a waiter. And it is obvious Heart hasn’t forgotten him, either.
Kenny’s substitute tosses the packages out of his basket and pedals off; the snarling dog chasing him. Heart stops at the boxes of food. He and I know we don’t need to pursue. He won’t be back.
Rebecca carries the food inside. I follow her and rest on the squash, tomatoes, and lettuce. She pulls the peas from the box and rejoins Heart on the step.
“Yes, yes, I knew you’d be here,” chuckles Cook. Her empty basket swings on her arm.
“I see Kenny made the delivery, right on time this morning; such a good boy. Did he bring Heart a bone this morning?
Rebecca, head down, pulls the money from her pocket and hands it to Cook.
“What’s this? Rebecca, did you forget to give Kenny the money?”
“No.” Rebecca s
poke the word aloud, looking directly into Cook’s eyes. Oh, my. We are surprised! Cook is surprised but pretends it’s an ordinary conversation.
“Well, no worry, then. We’ve got good credit at the grocer’s, don’t we now.” She goes into the kitchen to clean the vegetables. I follow her and rest on the kitchen window. She’s smiling to herself.
“To think,” she says. Hmm, she must be talking to me, the fly on the wall. “To think, that she answered me twice today and looked directly at me. Right in the eye, she did! She actually talked to me and looked at me.” I can tell Cook is feeling very privileged.
Rebecca sits quietly on the step shelling the peas.
When Rebecca finishes shelling the peas, she walks to the potting shed to see what Gardener is doing. Since the potting shed is a favorite hangout for me, I follow. Gardener is on his knees on the cement floor drawing out three large circles with chalk. Rebecca is interested to see how he makes circles with a string attached to his chalk.
Gardener notices her watching. “Called a protractor,” he tells her. “Want to have a try?” She stands perfectly still and gardener continues his project. Beside him is a peach basket full of tulip bulbs. He has his measuring tools, paper, and a pencil beside him. I see he’s planning something. I move from the wall to the floor. Rebecca is wearing her figuring-out-the-math face. Heart sniffs the floor, sniffs the Gardener’s feet, sniffs the basket of tulip bulbs. I flit out of his way. Rebecca likes Gardener’s circles. She begins to sway, moving her mind, into the circles.
“What are you two up to this fine day?” he asks. He knows there won’t be any answer, he doesn’t mind. For the old gardener, it’s enough that we come to visit. He starts to explain what he’s doing. He supposes that neither the girl nor the dog care, but it’s nice to have company. He putters, measures, and draws more circles. He writes notes, scratches them out. I walk across all his drawings, but I can’t figure out any of it. Rebecca’s forehead is wrinkled. I think she already knows what this is.
“I’m going to have to borrow Butler’s big measure for this job.” Gardener sighs and pulls his stiff old body to a stand. “Got to get these bulbs in the ground, winter’ll be comin’ ‘round, whether I’m ready or not. I’ll be right back.” He pats Heart’s head and walks toward the house. I immediately pilot over to his potting bench and help myself to his morning coffee.
Rebecca dumps the basket of tulip bulbs upside down. She knows exactly what Gardener intends to do. I slurp the coffee spilled on the table and watch Rebecca silently spreading out the tulip bulbs, counting them with one casual look at them. In a few minutes, Gardener returns to his project. Rebecca and Heart have already moved on.
“Guess I took longer than I intended,” the old gardener says. I guess he’s talking to me. He opens his notebook and takes out Butler’s fine measuring instrument and prepares to work on his project. He looks down at his circles on the shed floor. Now they are filled with perfect concentric circles of tulip bulbs right side down in perfect rows.
“Why, that’s exactly what I wanted.” He scratches his head and looks bewildered.
“But how? Rebecca? No, she couldn’t… did she? But how? I thought she…Well, what do you know. She’s a corker, isn’t she? Ah ha, she might be a genius; something special, I daresay!”
The old man smiles. I think he’s beginning to figure our girl out. Then he notices the odd little tulip bulb discarded under the basket. He studies it, looks at the planting diagram again, then he grins. “It’s an odd one at that. Well, how about that,” he says, with great understanding and appreciation.
I’d like to tell him, there’s more to people than what you can see. Rebecca is full of surprises.
Rebecca makes her way to Butler’s pantry. I really zing it to catch up and I nearly miss the open door as it swings shut. May Day! May Day! I have to cut a fast eleven o’clock to keep from crashing into the closing door. Good thing I keep all my eyes open!
Butler is arranging the glasses and silver for dinner. Rebecca knows the routine by now. She picks up a stack of starched and ironed napkins. She counts them out. She sits at the side table and folds the napkins into equal sections. She makes them into interesting shapes and designs.
“A bit like origami,” Butler says.
I know nothing about origami, but that’s what he says.
She puts four of the napkins, folded in geometric shapes, on the dining table, standing on their own. Butler brings in the dishes and sees the napkins standing at attention with perfect points. He stops short.
“How on earth does she do that? It takes me longer than that to fold them into quarters and they’re never so interesting.”
Don’t ask me.
He doesn’t touch a single one of the napkins because if it came unfolded he wouldn’t be able to refold it. He leaves them exactly as Rebecca placed them.
“That’s a most unusual talent,” he mumbles. “Sometimes it seems she sees everything in terms of design and shape or numbers and sets.” He shakes his head partly in admiration, partly in disbelief, and finishes setting the places. “A mystery,” he mumbles.
He might be speaking to me, but more likely musing to himself. But, I totally agree with his assessment.
Rebecca puts the rest of the ironed napkins in the linen drawer. She lays them flat in twos.
“Whoever heard of a pair of napkins?” Butler ponders. “What an odd idea.”
Chapter 12
B-A-B-Y
The mother and the father finally return from their trip. They’ve been sailing on the Queen Mary luxury liner for quite some time. I’m not sure how long they’ve been gone. It’s been quiet here. I’m not sure if their trip was business or pleasure, but this fly on the wall sure would like to have had a go at the Queen Mary dining room. Butler takes the new Daimler Coupe to the station to meet them.
Rebecca sets the table for Cook, counting plates, forks, and chairs, folding the napkins in exact dimensions and interesting shapes, and being quite useful in Butler’s absence.
After arriving home and dispersing gifts for everyone, the mother tells Cook to ring for dinner.
At dessert, the mother announces, “I have very exciting news to share. Our family is having an addition. We’re going to have a baby. What do you think of that, Rebecca? You’ll have a little brother or sister. You’ll be Big Sister; won’t that be wonderful?” she coos and chatters. I’m reminded how quiet it’s been while she was away.
“Rebecca, say something, please,” the mother says.
Rebecca lays her dessert fork on the table. “Baby,” she says “B-A-B-Y; very young child, infant, youngest in the group, small animal. Baby.” She ends the expressionless monotone, takes a breath, and picks up her fork to resume work on her bread pudding. I’m pacing back and forth across the drapery cornice waiting for a go at that dessert myself.
The mother looks perplexed. Butler looks amused. The father sips his tea and shrugs.
“What did you expect?” he asks his wife.
As months wear on, Rebecca, Heart, and I notice the changes in the mother and changes in the household. Furniture is rearranged and furniture added. The mother has new clothes. Rebecca doesn’t like the changes. Heart senses tension in the air, and he’s constantly on alert. Excitement pulsing through the air waves makes me dizzy. Looking out from under the lilac bush one afternoon, we watch while Butler carries traveling bags out of the house. The father helps the mother into the motor car. Heart pants and paws the ground, keeping his eyes focused on the commotion.
“Baby,” says Rebecca. “B-A-B-Y, Baby.” She buries her fingers in Heart’s ruff with one hand, silently counting the hairs slipping through her fingers. She sucks the fingers on her other hand. She sits under the lilac bush and sways. Heart’s tail thumps in rhythm.
When we get our first look at the new household addition, visitors gather around cooing and whispering. They all advise Rebecca that she must now be Big Sister. I move quickly in and out the crowd who are all bent o
ver the small crib. Heart moves in to sniff the subject and his nose receives an abrupt slap by another new household addition: the Nurse.
“No dogs in the nursery!” she announces with authority. I have a feeling Nurse is quick with a fly swatter, too. She strikes me as the type. The three of us won’t be in the nursery much.
“Come, Heart,” coaxes Cook. “Let’s find us some morsels in the ice box.” Rebecca follows. She’s deciding she doesn’t want to be Big Sister. She thinks she’s big enough just as she is. I think so, too. I zoom into the hall and down the staircase ahead of them. Behind us, Baby starts a bawling ruckus. Heart hurries down the stairs to escape the shrill noise of the baby crying.
“Needs her nappy changed,” one guest said. “I believe she’s hungry,” says another. “Perhaps she’s chilly,” suggests another. Why don’t they just ask the baby, I wonder?
They head toward the kitchen. Heart looks up at Cook and gives her one of his best smiles. He can taste the biscuit and jam already. Me too. It’s quiet and lovely in the kitchen.
Things eventually settle down in the household, the way they usually do after the disruption of a new baby and the intrusion of change. Life eventually becomes normal again for Rebecca and Heart and me.
Baby is getting bigger. Nurse allows Rebecca and Heart to sit by Baby bundled in her pram near the back step. Rebecca sits on the back step and rocks the pram. Heart keeps time with his tail. I watch from my place on the downspout.
Baby takes sick. Everyone stays awake all night tending to the cough and the baby’s temperature. Finally, after a few frantic days, the doctor comes to see about it. We all watch as the doctor installs a vaporizer at the foot of Baby’s crib.
The vaporizer is a large, glass jug filled with water. An electrical cord runs from the lid of the jar to an electrical outlet that has only recently been installed to modernize the house and nursery. The cord is a soft black fabric with stripes. It looks like a little black striped snake in the garden. I move to the ceiling. I don’t like the looks of this.
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