Aftershocks Hardcover - 2006

Details

• Title Aftershocks
• Author William Lavender
• Binding Hardcover
• Edition First Edition
• Pages 352
• Volumes 1
• Language ENG
• Publisher Clarion Books, NY
• Date 2006-04-18
• ISBN 9780152058821 / 0152058826
• Weight 1.42 lbs (0.64 kg)
• Dimensions 8.25 x 5.5 x 0.81 in (20.96 x 13.97 x 2.06 cm)
• Ages 12 to UP years
• Grade levels 7 - UP
• Library of Congress subjects Sex role, Sisters
• Library of Congress Catalog Number 2005019695
• Dewey Decimal Code FIC

Friday, May 22, ­1903
 
I can’t believe I’m stuck in my room writing in my journal when I could be having a good time over at Hazel’s. And all because I was looking in the window at Huston’s Medical Supply. The cold fog made me shiver, but I couldn’t stop staring at the surgical instruments in their display—they’re so amazing! And the smart medical bags that the doctors carry when they make house calls—I do crave one of ­those.
 
           Not that I need one yet. But someday I will, of that I’m ­certain.
 
           I thought Papa would be seeing patients at the hospital this afternoon, but I was wrong. As I stood gazing through the window, he and his friend Dr. Arnold came out of the tailor shop next to Huston’s and almost ran me ­down.
 
           Papa’s face turned as red as his hair. I think he quite scared Dr. Arnold, who tipped his hat and hurried away. It turns out Papa knew I was supposed to be at Mama’s tea party. I tried to tell him there was still plenty of time for me to greet her friends, but he wouldn’t listen. He positively forbids me even to slow down on the street when I walk home—he calls it “loitering like a common street girl.” The way he practically dragged me home, I felt like I was eight years old, not ­fourteen.
 
           To Papa, there is no greater disgrace than a disobedient child. Except, perhaps, one who talks back. As we stepped into the foyer, he growled that he’d “deal with” me later. I expect he’ll lecture me on how shameful it is for the daughter of San Francisco’s most eminent physician to “carry on” the way I do. At least I hope that’s all he’ll ­do.
 
           Luckily for me, Ching Lee was polishing the bronze lamp on the upper landing. My getting in trouble with Papa is nothing new to him. When I told him what happened, he nodded in his wise way. He said this might be one of those days when we need Mrs. O’Reilly to whip up Papa’s favorite pie. He slipped down the back stairs to see about ­it.
 
           I heard Papa grumbling to himself as he stood outside the parlor door, straightening his tie. Then he put on his friendly doctor smile and went in to greet the ladies. Right this minute, he’s probably admiring the crocheted doilies they make for Mama’s ­charities.
 
T-FAMILY: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt"           I know that sounds sarcastic, and I don’t mean it to. Mama’s ladies truly do good for the needy. It’s just that I can’t help wondering how they keep from getting bored with all that ­handiwork.
 
           Oh, why didn’t I go with Hazel when she asked me to help take care of Claire and Ellie this afternoon? I bet no one would mind if I’d missed Mama’s tea to play with sweet little twin girls. After all, a young lady’s supposed to want lots of children. I’m sure marriage and babies would be very nice, but there’s something else I want more than anything. I can’t say it. In fact, I’m not even supposed to think ­it.
 
           First things first, Mama always says. And right now, that means getting Papa to sign for me to skip ahead of my class and take biology in the fall. Maybe if I tell him I’m taking it just to meet boys, he’ll go along. After all, he doesn’t know I mean to keep up my schooling after high school. And he has no idea that when there’s another Dr. Wainwright in our family, it’s not going to be my dear brother, ­Corey.
 
           It is going to be me.
 
 
 
Jessie blew lightly on her page until the ink was dry, then closed her journal and stood up. She was surprised at herself for putting her secret down in writing. She had never breathed a word to anyone, except Hazel. It still counts as a secret if only your best friend knows, she ­thought.
 
           Going to her bay window, she pushed back the rose­-­colored curtain. Her mother’s ladies were departing now, their familiar voices floating up on the late afternoon breeze. Letting the curtain fall back into place, she sat down on one end of the window seat. When she was small, she would curl up there and gaze out over the hills and rooftops, pretending she and her golden­-­haired doll, Mademoiselle, were princesses in a ­castle.
 
           Now she reached for Mademoiselle, who sat primly at the other end of the seat with her trusty companion, Chester, an elderly stuffed bear. Holding Mademoiselle and Chester always made Jessie feel happy—and sad at the same time. Chester had been the favorite toy of her own little sister, Amy, and Mademoiselle would have belonged to her someday, too. But Amy had been taken from them when she was only three. One day, they were playing together; the next, Amy had caught a chill and grown so very tired. And then she was ­gone.
 
           Soon afterward, Jessie had seen a housemaid throw Chester into a donation bag in Amy’s room. For the five years since the night Jessie crept into that now­-­silent room and rescued him, he had brought her steady comfort. And Chester always reminded Jessie of the promise she’d made herself to become a doctor when she grew up, so she could save sick children like ­Amy.
 
           Impulsively, Jessie got to her feet, tossed Chester and Mademoiselle gently onto her bed, and pulled the cushion off the window seat. She lifted the lid to the storage chest under the seat, breathing in the delicious scent of cedar­-­wood lining that rose up to greet her. Lifting the bottom board, she placed the leather­-­bound journal in the secret compartment below. Then she restored the board, the cushion, and the toys to their ­places.
 
           Good, that’s safe, she thought. Now she’d try to make herself especially presentable for supper. Crossing to the tall armoire that dominated one end of her room, she got out of her everyday skirt and waist and drew on a fresh chemise, new petticoats, and a pink silk dress. Mama always likes me in fancy gowns. I think they make me look like a stick, but Mama calls it “slender.”
 
           Jessie pulled her brush through her long brown hair and decided to wear it braided and up, in the old­-­fashioned way her mother liked. She could even pin on the dyed­-­to­-­match hair ribbons the dressmaker had sent. But leaning over to look in the glass above her dresser, she grimaced. These ribbons and bows are for little girls. Still, an exception to her usual ways did seem in order ­tonight.
 
           She glanced at her hands, rough and tanned from playing tennis—nothing to do about that now. She could hear her parents’ voices in the foyer and knew that she should hurry. Her mother always wanted everyone to be on time to the dining room. The Wainwrights seemed the perfect, cozy family, but weeks often passed without their being together except at the dinner ­table.
 
           “I hope when Papa ‘deals with’ me, he’ll at least see how hard I’m trying,” Jessie said to her reflection in the mirror. Adjusting the soft folds of her dress, she opened her door softly and stepped out onto the landing. A pale light filtered red­-­and­-­blue through the stained­-­glass window above the staircase. Placing her hand on the smooth mahogany banister, Jessie let it rest there for a long ­moment.
 
           Then, her heart racing, she took a deep breath and started down the ­stairs.
 
Copyright © 2006 by William Lavender
 
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
 
Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work
should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department,
Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.