A Change in the Weather

It was quiet time. The frosted globes were dimmed, the window shades pulled down, and the children were lying on rugs spread across the floor. Norah turned on her back and squinted at the shadows on the ceiling, searching for pictures of her mother. She never looked for Poppa or Lucinda or Fronnie. It was Sunny she had to guard.

And then the shadows moved, and there Sunny was, sitting in the garden. She was wearing her yellow sweater and her silky blond hair was swirled on top of her head. She was smiling. She was safe. Norah closed her eyes.

When she felt Dickie’s toe pressing into her leg, she twisted around so she could see him. He had wrapped his arms all the way around his head and was jerking the lobes of his ears and waggling his tongue. There was a rustle of excitement in the room, and the children lifted their heads off their rugs and grinned at Dickie. Norah saw that even Mary Wood Clements grinned.

“All right now, Dickie,” Miss Bellamy said. “I won’t have you disrupting the class again today.” Miss Bellamy was tall and boney and always slumped over, and her skin looked like the damp sand at the beach. Dickie claimed Miss Bellamy was a spook, but Lucinda said Miss Bellamy lost her sweetheart in the war and grief had made her ugly. “Bring your rug up to my desk.”

Dickie looked wild, as though starting up one of his tantrums. When he has a tantrum at home, he yells and screams and jerks around on the floor and hits anyone who comes near, and his mother gives him whatever he wants. One time she bought him a big drum and another time a ukulele, though he never could play either of them. But, when Miss Bellamy took the yellow pencil from the thin coil of hair on her neck and cracked it against her desk, Dickie picked up his rug and just said, “Norah started it.”

“I saw you, so don’t try to blame Norah.”

Norah turned to Mary Wood and smiled. See? she wanted to say. It isn’t my fault. Mary Wood was wearing black patent-leather shoes and a light blue angora sweater the same color as her eyes. Norah wanted to be friends, but sometimes Mary Wood wouldn’t even speak to her.

A ball of paper soggy with spit hit Norah’s arm. Dickie. He waved frantically and pointed under Miss Bellamy’s desk. He loved to look up girl’s dresses, but Norah didn’t think he would try that on Miss Bellamy. Still he might. Norah slid toward him on her back, dragging herself with her heels.

She stopped suddenly and looked again at the ceiling. Sunny was laughing and waving from the big black car that had taken her off to Las Vegas that time with that ugly redheaded man. Norah put her head down and closed her eyes. I didn’t mean to look at Dickie, she said silently. I’m being good, honest.

Dickie hit her with another spitball, but she kept her eyes closed the rest of quiet time. When Miss Bellamy turned on the lights, Norah opened her eyes. The ugly picture of Sunny was gone.

“Sunny,” she called as she opened the front door, “where are you?” There was no answer. “I know you’re here. You’re playing hide-and-seek, aren’t you?”

The kitchen door squeaked open. But it wasn’t Sunny. It was just Fronnie. “Come get you something to eat,” Fronnie said, wiping her hands on her apron. “If you been a good girl today I’ll let you have two big cookies. Ain’t let that Dickie get you in no trouble?”

“Where’s Sunny?”

Fronnie put her arms around Norah and began to pull her toward the kitchen. “Something come up your momma had to tend to, honey.”

“The picture lied,” Norah shouted. “It was Dickie’s fault.”

“I don’t know about no picture, but don’t you worry, your momma be coming...