The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin

by Stephanie Knipper

  Lily was a head taller than her sister, and Rose’s arms were thin as willow branches. Lily felt like she was hugging a child instead of her older sister. “Of course I came,” she said. Her throat burned, and she clutched Rose as if afraid she might disappear.

  “It’s good to have you home,” Cora said when Rose pulled back. She pressed her lips into a tight line and nodded. “Rose has been on her own for too long.”

  “She hasn’t been on her own,” Seth said, his voice sharp. Antoinette struggled in his arms, still trying to reach Rose. “I’ve been here.”

  Antoinette groaned. She smacked Seth’s back with one hand and reached for Rose with the other.

  “Calm down,” Rose said, stepping out of Antoinette’s reach.

  “It’s not the same as family.” Cora tucked her long dark hair behind her ears and directed a pointed look at Lily.

  “Cora—” Rose started.

  “No,” Lily said. She stared at the hardwood floor, more scuffed now than it had been the last time she had been home. “She’s right, I should have—”

  “Not your business, Cora,” Seth said. Antoinette squirmed and he tightened his arms around her.

  Cora arched her brow, but she stopped talking.

  Antoinette threw her head back and screamed. She put both hands on Seth’s chest and pushed.

  “What’s wrong?” Lily asked.

  “Is it a seizure?” Cora asked. “Should I call the paramedics?

  Yes, Lily thought, paramedics are a good idea. Epilepsy was associated with an increased mortality rate.

  Seth paced, trying to calm the girl, but she continued to scream. He just held her tighter and kept walking.

  “No,” Rose said with the voice of someone who had been through this scene a million times before. “She’s not having a seizure. She’s mad. Calm down, Antoinette. You can’t get down until you stop screaming.”

  But Antoinette didn’t stop. Lily was amazed that such a loud noise could come from such a little child. The urge to count crept over Lily, and she pressed her fingernails into her palms to keep it at bay.

  “Take her to the family room, Seth,” Rose said. “Maybe she’ll stop if she can’t see me.”

  Antoinette’s face was pinched and red, and the tears rolling down her cheeks made her hair stick to her face. Seth seemed unfazed by her behavior. He carried her to the adjacent family room and walked in circles, holding her close.

  Lily counted the kitchen’s wood floor planks, pressing her lips together so she wouldn’t say the numbers out loud. She was on ten when Rose said, “Antoinette gets frustrated.”

  On the iPod, a new symphony had begun. Vivaldi’s “Summer,” Lily thought.

  “It’s hard for her,” Rose said, “not being able to speak.”

  Lily mouthed, Sixteen, then closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Still counting?” Rose asked.

  Lily blushed, but she nodded.

  Antoinette whimpered, and Rose peeked into the family room. The little girl slumped against Seth’s shoulder. A thin line of drool ran from her mouth down his back.

  Rose went to him and touched his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You can set her down now.”

  Gently, Seth lowered Antoinette to the floor. Her knees folded under her like an accordion, and she plopped down, spent from her temper tantrum.

  Rose sank down next to her daughter.

  Seth stepped back to give them room. He crossed to stand next to Lily. “You okay?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I don’t know.” Lily watched her sister. Rose’s skin had a blue tint, but her eyes were bright. “Does she do that a lot? Antoinette, I mean.”

  “Does it matter?” Cora asked. “You’re family.”

  Lily repressed a sigh. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Only when she’s upset,” Seth said. “And with Rose’s health, she has a lot to be upset about.”

  Rose ran her hands through Antoinette’s thin hair. The little girl let out a sob. “Shh, it’s okay,” Rose said. As she spoke, Antoinette’s eyes closed and her breathing slowed.

  Lily felt like she was intruding. She stepped back and bumped into the wall. Seth touched her back, steadying her.

  “You’re good with her,” Lily said to him.

  “She’s just a little girl,” Seth said. “No different from anyone else.”

  Lily frowned but didn’t say anything.

  Cora turned off the music. The sudden silence filled the room. “Is she okay?” She walked over to Rose and peered at Antoinette.

  Rose dropped her chin to her chest, and her shoulders slumped. “She’s fine. She’ll sleep for a while.”

  “Want me to carry her to her room?” Seth asked.

  “No,” Rose said. “Let’s pile some pillows on the floor. She can sleep here.”

  Seth went upstairs to get some pillows and Cora followed.

  When they left, Lily felt like a spotlight had been turned on her. “I’ll just—” She gestured to the kitchen and walked to the back door. She turned the doorknob; it squeaked the way it had when she was a child.

  “Don’t go,” Rose said. She rocked back on her heels and closed her eyes. “I need you. I’ve needed you for a long time. I was just too stubborn to admit it.”

  Lily glanced at Antoinette and took a deep breath. Her hands shook as she walked toward her sister. This was why she came home. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  ASIDE FROM ANTOINETTE curled on a nest of pillows at one end of the family room, Lily and Rose were alone. Cora left once Antoinette was settled, and Seth was upstairs getting a quilt. Lily stood with her arms wrapped around her middle, hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt.

  The room had changed. If she had thought about it logically, she would have realized that with their parents gone, Rose would change the house to suit her needs, but home was the one place Lily’s heart ruled, not her head. Over the years, whenever she thought of home, the house was frozen in time, remaining the way it had been in her youth.

  The family room used to have beige walls and a desk overflowing with receipts and flower catalogs. Now the walls were moss green, and the desk was gone. Coffee-table art books were stacked on the floor. The biggest difference, though, were the black-and-white photos of Antoinette hanging above the plush couch.

  The pictures were fascinating. In one, Antoinette knelt, her nose brushing the petals of a coneflower. In another she stood with her head thrown back, a wide smile splitting her face. In most of them she looked like a normal little girl.

  “Did you take these?” Lily asked.

  Rose sat on the couch, her elbows on her knees. She nodded. “It’s not easy getting a good picture of her. She’s almost never still.”

  “I can tell it’s your work,” Lily said. “The contrast between light and dark reminds me of the plant studies you did for your college portfolio.”

  For the first time that morning, Rose brightened. “I haven’t thought about that in years.” She craned her neck and looked up at the photos. “College seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “Like we were different people then,” Lily said, shifting nervously, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

  When they were children, Rose had seemed to her like a giant. Though just over five feet tall, she filled a room when she entered it.

  “We were different then,” Rose said. “Younger, at least. Naive—”

  “Scared,” Lily said at the same time, their voices overlapping.

  Seth returned and covered Antoinette with a blue quilt. “She calmed quickly this time,” he said, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  Lily looked again at the photos hanging over the couch. There were seven. The odd number and their asymmetrical arrangement made her uncomfortable. She pushed her hair back from her face and plucked at her shirt. “Cora said Antoinette has seizures?” she asked to distract herself.

  “Yes. And they’re getting worse.”

  �
�Seizures can shorten life expectancy.” Lily had not meant to say that. She pressed her lips together wishing she could recall the words. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Of course you would know that.”

  “I know exactly how dangerous seizures are for Antoinette,” Rose said as she sank deeper into the couch.

  “Hello?” A man’s voice called out as the back door opened. “Is anybody home? It’s Eli.”

  Seth gave Antoinette’s shoulder one last pat and stood. “I’ll see what he wants.”

  Lily turned her attention to Antoinette. She was amazed that this was the same little girl who had fit in her hand when she was born. “Why did she get so upset?” Lily asked.

  Rose let her head fall back against the couch. “It’s complicated.”

  Muffled voices drifted in from the kitchen. Lily spread her hands. “What about this has been simple?”

  At that, Rose smiled. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said.

  As if Lily could have stayed in Covington, waiting for the call that told her Rose had died. “We’re sisters,” she said, and that explained everything.

  Seth returned with Eli Cantwell. Lily remembered visiting Eli as a child. Each time their mom took Rose and Lily into town, they’d run to the Bakery Barn while their mom chatted with Teelia Todd in Knitwits. MaryBeth was always waiting for them with yellow smiley-face cookies.

  Now Eli held out a bakery box tied with a yellow ribbon. “I heard you were home,” he said to Lily. “Welcome back.”

  Lily smiled her thanks and took the box. She glanced at Eli’s thin body thinking he looked like a stork, with spindly arms and legs, and a beak nose.

  “Go on, open it.” Eli waved his hand. “MaryBeth thought you’d like them.”

  Lily opened the box and peered inside at the stack of iced cookies. They weren’t yellow this time. They were pastel shades of blue and purple and pink, but each one had a smiley face. Lily grinned. “I can’t believe she remembered. Tell her thanks.”

  Eli nodded toward Antoinette. “She still tired from last night?” he asked. “I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life.”

  “No. She’s just napping,” Rose said quickly. “She got upset this morning with all the commotion—Lily coming home and all. Wore herself out. She’ll be fine with a little sleep.”

  Eli didn’t seem to hear her. “Never seen anything like it,” he said again.

  Seth moved to stand between Eli and Antoinette. “You can get used to anything if you’re around it enough. Spend some time here and a seizure won’t seem like anything.”

  Eli nodded and his face softened. He stepped around Seth and knelt down next to Antoinette. “She sure is a blessing. MaryBeth can’t stop talking about her since y’all stopped by last night. She’s having a real good spell right now.” He brushed a stray piece of hair from Antoinette’s face.

  Lily noticed that Rose looked troubled as she clenched her jaw and twisted her fingers together while watching Eli.

  “You have any trouble getting home?” he asked. “I haven’t seen it rain like that in ages.”

  “We were fine,” Seth said as he put his hand on Eli’s back. “I’ll walk you out. I’m headed back to the market.”

  Eli took one last look at Antoinette and stood. “You ought to get an alarm system,” he said. “Anyone could walk right in. With the way things are today . . .”

  “We’re okay,” Rose said as she nodded toward the kitchen. Lily followed her gaze and saw a light above the door. “Antoinette wanders off sometimes. I usually keep it on. Today’s just been real busy. I didn’t reset it after Seth and Lily arrived.”

  Lily didn’t let herself watch Seth leave. She looked out the window at the hoop houses behind the commercial fields. Six. When she had last been home, there were only two. Hoop houses functioned like a greenhouse, extending the growing season, but since a hoop house was only a white plastic tarp stretched over flexible piping, they were a lot less expensive.

  “Seth missed you,” Rose said.

  Each sister had always known what the other was thinking. Lily smiled at the realization that not everything had faded between them, but she shook her head. If Seth had missed her, he would have called. Besides, she was here to help Rose. Not to revive an old romance.

  Upon hearing Rose’s voice, Antoinette stirred in her sleep. She opened her mouth and a soft “Mmmmaaa” fell out.

  “What do you think she dreams about?” Lily asked.

  “The same things we do,” Rose said. “Why would her dreams be different from anyone else’s?”

  “I used to dream about being you,” Lily said shyly. “Everything seemed easy for you. You were the one everyone liked. You had all the friends. You were the pretty one.”

  “Everyone wants to be someone else sometimes,” Rose said, her voice sounding young and wistful. Then her tone transformed into that of a woman who knew the weight of sorrow: “I dream about staying right here. Having more time with my daughter.”

  The anguish in Rose’s voice finally pulled Lily across the room. She sat next to her sister, so close that their knees touched.

  “Are you scared?” Lily asked as she reached for her sister’s hand. It was so warm and real it seemed impossible that one day soon Rose’s heart would stop.

  Rose twined her fingers through Lily’s and squeezed as if their linked fingers were enough to keep her in this world. “Terrified,” she said as the distance that had existed between them collapsed and they became sisters again.

  ROSE’S JOURNAL

  September 2005

  THE OAK-LEAF HYDRANGEAS surrounding the library playground are still blooming even though it’s late September. Lily has taken a few days off work and is visiting. She and I sit on a park bench across from the swings, while Antoinette twirls on a small patch of grass. The blades under her feet are green, but everywhere else, they’re brown. The summer has been hot and dry.

  Antoinette stands on her toes and stretches her arms toward the sky. Other than the crook in her elbows and the way her head lolls back, she looks like any other child.

  Except she looks younger. Antoinette is two and a half but looks half that age.

  My heart clenches as I compare her to the other children on the playground. They hang on the swings and climb up the slide. All of them—even the babies—seem bigger than Antoinette.

  Most of them speak.

  A switch flipped when I became a mother. One day I didn’t worry about anything; the next, everything became a concern, a possible source of danger.

  Most of all, I worry about leaving her. Who will take care of her when I’m gone?

  “Does she always do that?” Lily asks, staring at Antoinette as she turns in circles.

  I look at Antoinette and notice a clump of out-of-season daisies blooming at her feet. How did I miss them before? It’s a strange but beautiful picture.

  “She likes to spin,” I say. I keep my voice casual, as if Antoinette’s constant movement doesn’t bother me. But it does. As a mother, I find that everything bothers me.

  I sleepwalked through Antoinette’s first year. Suddenly, I was a single mother and a college dropout diagnosed with severe heart disease. The changes were overwhelming and I emotionally checked out. I wasn’t a bad mother, but I wasn’t the mother I wanted to be.

  I hope I’m making up for that now.

  Across the playground, a little boy laughs as he climbs the steps to the slide. He moves so easily I have to look away. Antoinette wears her body awkwardly, always on the verge of falling.

  “How long will you be home?” I ask before anxiety claims me. Mom told me not to compare Antoinette to other children. Someday I’ll listen.

  Lily’s visits have grown less frequent. After graduating early, she accepted a job as an actuary for a life insurance company in Cincinnati and bought a home on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River. When I asked why she moved, she said she needed a change of scenery. She didn’t mention the breakup with Seth at all.


  “Just the weekend,” she says.

  “Have you talked to S—”

  She cuts me off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  We both like to ignore our problems.

  The sound of laughter sweeps over us. I look across the playground to see a group of preschoolers scrambling up the slide.

  “Do you want to play with the other kids?” I ask Antoinette.

  She doesn’t stop spinning, and I wonder if I should make her quit. No one else is turning in circles. I want to ask Lily what she thinks, but she’s watching Antoinette and counting.

  “Rose,” Lily says, without looking at me. Her voice is so soft I almost miss it. “I think something’s wrong.” She nods toward Antoinette.

  I follow her gaze. Antoinette has stopped spinning. Her head hangs to one side, and she flicks her fingers in front of her eyes. Her arms are bent at the elbows. She looks like a marionette.

  Lily is giving voice to my own concerns, but I can’t listen. If I do, my fears will become so big that they’ll swallow me. My chest burns as I stand. “I need to get Antoinette home. Nothing’s wrong with her.” If I say it enough, maybe I’ll believe it.

  Eli and MaryBeth Cantwell come out of the library when we’re almost at the car. MaryBeth sees us and waves. She is solid, like Mom.

  “How’s my favorite girl?” MaryBeth asks as she kneels in front of Antoinette. A strand of Antoinette’s hair hangs in her face, and MaryBeth gently tucks it behind her ear. I try to focus on the joy in Antoinette’s face instead of the pressure building in my chest.

  “She’s getting big.” When MaryBeth looks up, I see longing in her face. I hurt for her. If anyone should have had children, it’s MaryBeth.

  “You think so?” I ask. “She seems small to me.”

  “You see her every day,” Eli says. “Trust me, she’s growing like a weed.” He stands behind his wife and puts a hand on her shoulder. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them apart.

  Eli pulls a bunch of wrapped hand-pulled taffy from his pocket. “We’re trying something new at the bakery. Let us know what you think. You too, Lily. Are you home to stay this time?”