The Mirror

The Mirror

a short work of fiction by

K.L. Stover

“I’m tired,” said Danielle, slumping to the ground, “all we do is walk.”

“It’s only a few more miles to town,” replied Emily. She felt bad for her little sister.

It was midday on the hazy Kansas plain, and Emily could feel the heat, like a candy coating, on her freckled face and arms. The pink petticoat she wore had been thrown on in haste that morning, almost as an afterthought. Now she wished she had worn a jumper or some shorts. Emily was twelve years old and particular about the way she dressed.

“How far is a few miles?” asked Danielle, brushing a horsefly away from her reddening cheek. She was in no hurry to continue.

“It’s not too far, Danny. Please. Let’s just go.” Emily was also hot and miserable, but she wouldn’t tell her sister that.

“You sound like Momma,” said Danielle.

“I do not,” Emily answered, flattered by the comparison.

Suitcase in hand, the smaller of the two girls struggled reluctantly to her feet. Blisters were already rising on both of her heels, but she would act like a big girl today. She had decided that she would not cry.

“Where are we going, Emmy,” she said, “I forgot.” Danielle had called her ‘Emmy’ since she was old enough to talk, and Emily didn’t mind. Back then everyone said how cute it sounded. Things were different now.

“We’re going to Clifton,” said Emily, “be careful, Danielle.”

Her arms spread wide for balance, Danielle walked the steel rail. Occasionally the sun winked off the hot steel, dazzling Emily’s eyes.

When Danielle grew bored with walking the rail, she jumped down onto the softer gravel shoulder of the rail-bed. The crushed rocks baked in the sun, and she could feel the heat rising from her ankles to her knees. She had a question she wanted to ask Emily, but kept forgetting it. She always had a question for Emily.

“I bet Clifton is a long long long long way off that is so far we’ll be half grown up when we get there.” A statement, she figured, was better than another question.

“You’re foolish,” Emily replied.

“You sound like Momma again,” said Danielle. Emily decided her little sister was pretty smart. Especially for someone who was only six and a half.

The journey hadn’t been as bad that morning, before the heat took the day. After Emily had dried Danielle’s eyes and blown her nose, they had made a game of counting the railroad ties. Stepping on each beam, they had tallied fifty-nine timbers before they both tired. Danielle had been amazed by her older sister’s mathematical prowess, and games were always fun.

They trudged on, too hot to speak. Now there was only the steady crunch of the searing gravel under their feet, and the intermittent howl of the hot breeze whipping the open plain. Emily had always lived on the flatlands, but now she felt small and inconsequential walking the featureless terrain.

Danielle didn’t like it when her sister was so quiet.

“I’m hungry,” she said, just for the sake of conversation. Even as hot as it was, she had yet to whine. Danielle’s father would have called her a “real trooper,” thought Emily, and just as quickly put the thought of her stepfather out of her head.

“We’ll eat when we get to Clifton,” she said.

“But I’m hungry NOW,” whined Danielle.

As Emily played the events of the day over in her mind, she began to feel guilty. She had no money for them, and food was probably out of the question today. They had left the house in such a hurry that she had not thought to take food. She bit her lower lip now, fighting back the tears that would surely burn her face if she allowed them to start. She could not let little Danielle see her upset.

“Grampa lives in Clifton, can we eat at Grampa’s?” asked Danielle.

This hadn’t occurred to Emily, and now she was convinced that her little sister was exceptionally smart. Maybe even smarter than herself.

“Yes, Danny,” she said, “we’ll eat at Grampa’s.”

The two girls felt better now, but for different reasons. Danielle started to skip, and Emily skipped right up beside her. Danielle began to giggle and Emily felt better, though not better enough to giggle.

The sisters held hands, swinging their arms as they skipped.

When Danielle grew winded, she stopped skipping and let go of Emily’s hand.

“Why is Daddy so mean?” she asked.

The question had come from nowhere, and Emily didn’t know how to answer it.. She left the railroad bed and sat on the parched embankment, aware, for the first time, of her labored breathing. Surveying the vast reaches of empty scrubland, she felt lonelier than at any time she could remember. In the windy distance, the watery sunlight erased the horizon, and the earth seemed to curve upward and meet the sky.

The tears came against her will, running sticky down her chin. The heat made them worse, and she scratched at them, leaving red streaks where her fingers had been.

She quickly dried her eyes and nose with the back of her hand.

Without a word, Danielle joined her, sitting cross-legged on a patch of dried witch grass. She knew that her last question had upset Emily, and she regretted having asked it.

“We’re going to live far away from here, Emmy, and he won’t be able to find us and he won’t ever hit me again.”

Danielle’s words held a certain brave comfort, and Emily’s despair seemed to dry as quickly as the tears on her cheeks. Wiping her eyes once more, she flashed an awkward smile at her little sister.

When Emily opened her suitcase, Danielle did the same. Hers was actually a zippered hat case, but it seemed to fit her just right, and Emily was glad she had taken it from her mother’s closet. From the elastic pouch of the suitcase, Emily produced a hand mirror. The mirror’s handle looked like mother-of-pearl, but was really just white plastic. From the time her mother had given her the mirror for her birthday, she had known that she was almost grown up. Studying her puffy red eyes, she didn’t notice that the mirror was already scratched.

Fishing another compartment in the suitcase, she found a yellow barrette, shaped like a butterfly.

”Danielle, let me put your hair up,” she said, with the barrette pried open with her teeth.

“Why?”

“Because it’s too hot hanging in your face.”

“Okay,” Danielle replied, stretching her neck as if primping.

When Emily had finished, she zipped the suitcase and tied her sneaker. “Let’s go,” she said, holding her hand out for her sister.

“No,” said Danielle. She had spoken quietly, but was now shaking her head emphatically.

“We’ve got to find shade, Danielle,” said Emily, trying to stress the importance of her request without scaring her sister.

“My feet hurt,” said Danielle, pouting.

When Emily noticed the little girl’s sunburned arms for the first time, she began to cry again, harder this time.

Danielle immediately ran to her side.

“I know why you’re crying,” she said.

“Why?” sniffled Emily. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Danielle, whose sunburnt arms wouldn’t bother her until the next morning.

“Because really you want to go back home, but you don’t like it when daddy drinks. You think he will hit me again and you don’t want me to be hurt like momma, but you want to go home.”

“Yes,” said Emily, believing that somehow they would both be all right, now that the words of fear had revealed themselves and vanished in the air.

“Do you want to go home?”

“I want to go with you,” said Danielle. She was glad that she had acted like a big girl today. She hadn’t cried.

Emily searched Danielle’s eyes and saw her childhood fly away. The two travelers turned and headed for home.

© 2010 K.L. Stover