Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“It’s not here. It’s at Angelo’s house. Heidi showed me. There’s a big room with a dollhouse and tiny fairies on the windowsill and a cave right in the middle with a table and chairs.” She stretches her arms to the sides. “And a bookshelf this size full of books.”
Unease creeps up on me. “That sounds nice.”
“It’s very pretty, but I like my room here better.” She adds, “With you.”
“Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” I don’t show her how much her comment bothers me. My husband never said she could live here indefinitely, but I became attached to her. More than that, I don’t want her to harbor unrealistic expectations and be disappointed when things don’t work out the way she envisions. She’s Angelo’s family, and I don’t have a say in her future. “Alison must be hungry.”
“She just arrived from the city, and it was a very long journey.”
The grown-up way in which she says that makes my smile stretch. For a little girl who’s practically grown up wild and hasn’t attended school, her language skills never cease to amaze me. Unlike her brothers, she has no accent, a perfect pronunciation, and a vocabulary that’s advanced beyond her age. She’s clearly a very intelligent little girl.
Curious, I ask, “Besides your family, who else did you visit?”
“No one,” she says, turning her attention to the dolls.
I sense her clamming up. “I only ask because you’re so clever. I was wondering if someone taught you to speak English. It’s not even your first language.”
“No,” she says, her voice quiet. She picks Beatrice up and places her in front of Alison. Her lips move with a faint whisper as she imitates the dolls’ conversation.
“It’s not important.” I sit down and pick up my spoon. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She continues to whisper, alternating between animating the two dolls. I’m dipping my spoon in my soup when she says so softly I have to strain my ears to hear, “I sometimes hide and listen to people.”
I pause. “In the village?”
She walks Alison across the table and shrugs. “Not this village. The one close to the camp. Sometimes, I sat behind the bushes by the shops or in the tree above the market. If I sat under the window of the school, I could hear what they said.”
“Would you like to go to school?”
“I guess.”
“You’ll learn many interesting things, and going to school will allow you to do the job you want when you grow up.”
My chest squeezes as I think about my own shattered dreams of a career. I never want that for Sophie.
“Can Johan and Étienne and Guillaume go too?” she asks.
“Your brothers?”
She nods.
“I’m sure Mr. Russo will see to it that they go.”
That seems to satisfy her. She puts the dolls aside and reaches for a bread roll.
When my siblings and I were little, my mom never allowed toys at the table. My instinct tells me that Sophie needs them to cope with her new reality. I’ll have to wean her off them slowly until she’s secure enough to brave this different world on her own.
“Let’s put Beatrice and Alison aside until we’ve eaten,” I say. “You can take them up for a bath after dinner.”
“Why?” She blows on her soup. “Is it not good table manners?”
“That’s right, sweet girl.” I reach over and caress her cheek. “You’re a fast learner.”
At the compliment, her face glows. She puts the dolls on the chair next to her before dunking her bread in the soup.
During the rest of the dinner, she’s her old chatterbox self, telling me about the food fight at Angelo’s house and how angry he was. She relays her brothers’ punishment with big eyes. Grounding seems to be a huge deal to the kids who’re used to wandering outdoors at will.
Later, after I helped Sophie with her bath and read her a story, I crawl into bed. The emotionally charged day left me exhausted. I should work on my shark notes for Mrs. Powell, but I’m physically and mentally drained.
Not long after switching off the light, the bedroom door squeaks open. Soft footsteps fall on the floor. The bed dips as Sophie climbs in next to me.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” I ask, switching on the bed lamp.
“I want to sleep with you.”
“What about Beatrice and Alison? Won’t they be lonely if you sleep here?”
She thinks for a moment before her eyes light up. “They can sleep here too.”
“The bed is too small for the four of us.” I want to wrap her up in my arms, but I also don’t want to encourage bed hopping. I know from experience with my nephew, Brad, that the habit is difficult to break. “It’s best you stay in your bed next to theirs.” I take her hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”