“What’s your happiest memory of April?”
“When
the ducks would trust us again; my father & I fed them fresh
bread stolen from the inn he worked at.”
“Jack!” said Mrs. Ostraman in her deep and rather snooty voice. “That feral daughter of yours is out on the deck. With...things.”
Jack glanced over to the deck door from the table at which he stood, covered in plates of food. “Yes, I'll take care of it in a minute, Mrs. Ostraman!” he said.
He delivered the plates and had a few words with the people at his tables, then he opened the door out to the patio. There were a few people out here, but not many; it was very early in the season. Mrs. Ostraman was a permanent resident, and was always either out on the deck or just inside. Jack always wondered why, since she actually seemed to hate outside-related things.
The wooden deck formed a second-floor patio, and a large oak tree grew up through the center. A bar was set up out there for when it got really busy, but for now it was unmanned. A set of wooden steps led down to the gravel driveway.
At the top of these steps was a little girl with a bright red bucket. Little blonde wisps of hair stuck out from the french braid Jack had made this morning. She still wore most of her drab school uniform, except that she had taken her shoes and stockings off. The bottom of her skirt was wet and so were the sleeves of her jacket.
His heart broke with love for her, and not just because of her resemblance to her deceased mother. “Daddy!” she shouted, thumping the bucket onto the top step. “Look what I got!”
Jack crouched and peered into the bucket. It was half-full of water, and at the bottom rested two reddish-brown salamanders. “Salamanders?” he said.
She grinned and nodded.
“Baby, what are you doing? Didn't you go to school?”
Her delighted face fell. “I...did. For a little while.”
“What happened?”
“We had to sit down and write letters,” Aurora said.
“Letters? To who?”
“No, just letters. As and Bs and Cs. Over and over. I told Ms. Smitts that I already know how to make letters, but she didn't care. Then Alice called me a name, and I left during first recess.”
Jack could not be mad at Aurora. He remembered only too well being cramped in a classroom on an early spring day. For a little girl who already knew how to make her letters, the stream out of which she'd caught those salamanders offered so many more interesting lessons. “If it was up to me, I'd let you catch salamanders every day, Baby. But we'll both get in trouble if you don't go to school.”
“I know, Daddy, I'm sorry.”
Jack sighed. “It's all right, Baby. Listen, would you do something for me, please?”
“What?”
“Don't bring things like this up the stairs, please?”
“I just wanted to show you.”
“And I wanted to see. But I've got to work, so we can keep staying here.”
“Ohhhkay,” Aurora said, sounding disappointed.
“Hey, chin up. I thought I saw some ducks down by the lake earlier.”
“Ooh, ducks? And ducklings?”
“Maybe.”
“I want to see little baby ducks!”
“I'll take my lunch in about an hour; why don't I meet you on the archy-bridge and we'll have a picnic.”
Aurora grinned. “Okay!” she said, and she gave Jack a big wet hug. “Bring some bread for the ducks!”
Jack laughed. “Okay, Baby. I will.”
She kissed Jack on the cheek and hauled up her bucket, then walked slowly down the stairs. Jack crossed the deck to go back inside. “You're spoiling that child,” Mrs. Ostraman said. “She'll never learn to sit still or obey.”
He smiled at Mrs. Ostraman. “There are worse things,” he told her.
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