Her crinkly slip scratched, and the elastic on the puffy sleeves of her dress cut into the soft skin of her upper arms. Emily closed her eyes and folded her hands together and offered it up as a sacrifice.
around her, on this Easter Sunday, dressed up families were smiling, all shiny
and clean and pretty. Emily’s dress wasn’t new; it was last year’s ‘good’
hand-me-down from Ellen. And her family never went to Mass all together, not
even on big holy days. Somewhere else in this crowded church, her brother Andy
was squirming in his pew, probably close to the door so he could dart out before
Father Hamson, who wanted Andy to sign up to be an altar boy, could catch him
by the collar. If indeed Andy was
actually there, and hadn’t ripped open his collection envelope (sometimes Emily
found the pieces scattered as she walked home) and kept the quarter.
said ten was too old to start as an altar boy, and he said Father Hamson’s
breath smelled like a dead fish, and he said if he wanted to find God, he’d
look outside in the woods God made and not in some stupid, smelly church. So
sometimes he skipped, Emily was pretty sure. She was afraid for his mortal
soul, of course; Sister Angela had explained what happened to children who died
with mortal sins on their souls, and skipping Mass was certainly a mortal sin.
But she was more afraid of what would happen at home if she told. Andy would
exact some kind of retribution, but worse, their mother would beat him, maybe
with the broomstick like she’d done once when she caught him mixing wine with
the grape juice.
had hid in the back closet that time, on top of the empty burlap potato sacks
and behind the winter coats, and covered her ears. Later Andy saw her there and
laughed at her.
are YOU worried about?” he said. And added jauntily, “She can’t hurt me. But this is a doozy of a bruise. Wait till I
was a wild boy, Andy’s best friend. He went to public school, and the nuns said
parochial school kids should only make friends among their own classmates. But Andy
was bold and fast and he didn’t care.
make up a story about falling out of a tree or ramming into something with his
bike, and then he’d pick up his shirt and show Donnie the bruise on his back,
and Donnie would say, “Wicked!”
had seen this happen before.
sister Ellen and brother Frank got up and went to 8 am Mass. They both
preferred dragging their butts out of bed to waiting for High Mass to be over
to eat their Easter goodies. The family rule was that no one could touch their
Easter baskets until they’d gone to communion, and the 10 o’clock Mass was a
High one, so it went on and on. Ellen had an alarm clock, so she got herself up
and dressed and pounded on Frank’s door but never waited for him.
was ten, she could get working papers and pick strawberries and grapes when
they were in season, and she’d save the money she earned for an alarm clock.
But until then, no one thought to wake her.
Joey was only four, and he didn’t have to go to Mass yet; his mortal soul
wasn’t old enough to be in danger. Her mother got up early and went to 7 a.m.
Mass, and her father usually worked on Sundays. When your work supports a
family, Mom always said, you get special dispensation from going to church.
Gospel was so long on Easter, and Father Hamson droned on and on, and Emily
knew she should try to listen. But she was thinking about her Easter basket and
the one, solid, chocolate Easter bunny that waited for her. It was about as big
as her hand. They got the same thing each year: that bunny, some foil wrapped
eggs, a marshmallow peep and some jelly beans that rolled through the plastic
grass and onto the bottom of the basket. Emily didn’t like the peep or the
jelly beans—she always put them in the dish on the dining room table, and
someone else grabbed them pretty fast, but she loved the chocolate.
friends got the most amazing things in their baskets. Once, Nancy C had gotten
a hollow chocolate bunny two feet high. Even though it was hollow, the
chocolate was really thick, and she brought chunks of it to school to share. Emily
thanked her so much, but Nancy C waved it away.
that crazy about chocolate, anyway,” she said airily. Which confirmed Emily’s
opinion that Nancy C was just not right.
friends Abby and Mary Sue McCloskey, who were Irish twins and in the same
grade, got solid white chocolate bunnies and little chocolates shaped like
animals. They shared, too, and Emily especially liked the little chocolate
ducks that, if you turned them a certain way, suddenly became bunnies instead.
What was once a bill became bunny ears: a little bit of Easter magic.
there wasn’t, she thought, too much magic about Easter. She didn’t remember
ever believing that there was an actual Easter bunny. It was too obvious that
her parents pulled the baskets out of the attic every year, and the chocolates
often had price tags on them from the Nu-Way store where her mother shopped.
But the having of chocolate all to yourself was a treat, for sure, and Joey did
believe, so she kept her mouth shut.
Mass was finally over, she slipped out the side door, so she didn’t have to
shake Father Hamson’s hand; he terrified her, and besides, there was a big
clump of people surrounding him. She ran home; their big old house was on the
same road, not all that far from the church. When she got there, she ran
upstairs and hung up the scratchy dress (maybe this would be the last time she
ever had to wear it!), and put on her play clothes, a soft striped t-shirt and
an old pair of dungarees. The jeans had been Andy’s, and they were a little too
long, but they were just right across the belly. Because, as her brothers often
reminded her, she was fat. Emily folded up the cuffs as neatly as she could and
ran downstairs in her sock feet.
Easter basket was sitting on the dining room table, and the chocolate bunny was
gone. Disbelieving, she checked all over the table, under the basket, and under
the table, even on the end tables, the chair seats, the shelves. Her bunny was
nowhere to be found.
she yelled, and her mother snapped “What???” from the kitchen. Emily pushed
through the swinging door. She felt drawn with loss.
was a silence. Her mother turned from where she was peeling potatoes; her hair
was all crazy and she had on an old housedress. Frank, who had been out working
on his bike, turned from the sink, lifted a glass of water to his lips, and smirked.
Ellen had the long phone cord wrapped around her wrist, and she rolled her eyes
and took the phone into the back hall.
have been either of them, Emily thought. It could have been Joey, who had
recently taken to climbing on a chair and helping himself to things on the
table. (But if it was Joey, there would be wrappers to be found. Joey wouldn’t
think to hide the evidence.) She was bereft and shaking and angry. “Mom,” she said, imploring.
snapped her mother. “You shouldn’t have left your basket on the table. That
means everyone can help themselves. You know that.”
stared at her. It had always been the rule that they left their baskets on the
table so Monkey, the dog, didn’t eat their chocolate. It never meant someone could just take your bunny.
tsk-ed at her. “If you got your lard butt out of bed and went to early Mass you
could have eaten that bunny by now.” She swung back to the potatoes, her back
an unassailable divide.
took all her foil eggs up to her room, even though they weren’t allowed. No
food in rooms was a big rule, but Emily thought bitterly that rules seemed to
change without warning. Her room was tiny, maybe a maid’s room once when rich
people lived in this house, and she squeezed in between the bed and the closet
door and sat on the floor. She peeled the foil from the eggs—there were seven,
but there might have been more: maybe someone stole those, too. She lined them
up on her blue-jeaned legs, and slowly, carefully, ate them one by one.
was no use in crying, she knew that: often she got whacked just for crying.
(Her mother would say, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!”
which was terrifying, and also made no sense. And of course then she couldn’t stop. Better just not to start.)
But she also knew that she had been wronged: it WAS a big deal, taking that
bunny. It was something she waited for all year. It was something she loved.
Stealing the bunny was mean.
you whined and carried on, things did not get any better. You had to act like
the martyrs: strong and brave, even if you were jelly inside. Emily knew the
martyrs had horrible ends, but at least they went with dignity and were
remembered forever because of it.
wouldn’t become a saint over the loss of a chocolate bunny—even an
eight-year-old knew THAT—but she could do the strong thing and rise above it.
She would be cheerful and kind, and she would not give her mother a reason to
say, “You’d better wipe that puss off your face or I’ll wipe it off for you.”
Somewhere in her, she felt being strong would be noble, and somewhere else, in a deeper, more devious spot, she also knew that it would drive someone crazy.
doorknob rattled and she bunched together the foil from the eggs and slid the
little ball into her pocket.
you lost your chocolate bunny,” Andy said, and he wasn’t being friendly.
it’s all right,” Emily said, practicing. She smiled at him. “I don’t really
care that much.”
stared at her or a moment.
you do,” he said. “Of course, you do.”
Dad was home in time for dinner, which was ham and mashed potatoes, canned peas, and a chocolate layer cake for dessert. Emily didn’t really like mashed potatoes with no gravy, but she took a spoonful and made a ditch for the butter, which melted and made a gravy-like pool. She ate them without complaint, along with a spoon of the pasty peas. The ham had baked a long time; it was hard to cut with her knife and fork and finally, she just picked up her slice and chewed on it. But it was salty and good.
everyone pieces of cake and Dad sat back and relaxed. He didn’t eat the cake,
but he had a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette, and he looked around at all the
kids and said, “So? Eat all the candy yet?”
was a babble of replies, and then Mom looked pointedly at her. Emily made
“Mine’s all gone!” she said, and she
scooped up a big piece of chocolate cake. She loved it with white frosting. Mom
narrowed her eyes suspiciously, waiting for a follow-up, and Frank and Ellen
swiveled their heads to stare at her. Andy snorted, Joey babbled, and Emily
took another bite of cake.
night she dreamt that she had an invisible friend who walked with her for hours
in the woods out behind the backyard. Just before she had to go in, the friend
said to her, “We’ll feed you.” Emily wasn’t sure why that made her feel so
good, but she had that hazy happy feeling when she woke up, the kind of feeling
when you don’t want your dream to end.
the whole week off, and she went to the library by herself, because eight was
old enough to have your own card. She got four books, three biographies and one
story to read with Joey. When she didn’t have chores, she read. She liked to
read in the scratchy red chair in the living room, but sometimes her mother
would say, “Get outside!” and Emily would take her book and go sit behind the
old garage in a spot she’d made. There was a broken chair and an old sheet
stuck between a short tree and the back garage wall; she’d wrap the sheet
around her if it was windy or cold, and usually no one bothered her for hours.
about George Washington Carver one day and thought she probably wouldn’t be a
farmer. She read about Jane Addams and Hull House, and she thought maybe she
would like to work at a mission in a big city and teach poor people to read and
cook and shop for groceries. She read about Helen Keller and plugged her ears
and closed her eyes and tried to figure out how a deaf and blind person could
learn to talk.
Thursday morning, when she woke up, there was a Hershey bar next to the lamp on
her nightstand. She hid it in her underwear drawer and tried to figure out who
left it there. But nobody said anything, and she couldn’t see any clues on
their faces. She broke off a row each day and ate it before she took her bath
and brushed her teeth; it was a little secret waiting for her at the end of
each day, a reward for being strong and good. It was gone by the time she
started school again on Monday.
Wednesday, Andy’s teacher, Mrs. McLean, saw her in the hall after school and
asked her to come to the fifth-grade classroom. She said she didn’t have any
fifth graders who were interested in washing the boards and clapping the
erasers, and she wondered if Emily would do it. Emily lit up; she had looked
forward to the day she’d be old enough to do these chores. Mrs. McLean showed
her how to wash the board, and she went with her to the side door by the
playground and put a wedge in the door so Emily could get back in after the
erasers were clean.
came back, Mrs. McLean inspected the erasers very seriously and smiled. “Good
job,” she said. She was a short teacher, and fat, and she looked jolly.
“Especially for your first time. I knew you’d be a good worker.”
McLean went to her big old wooden desk and pulled open a drawer. She winked at
Emily. “Now, I’m not going to pay you every time you do this, but I just
happened to have this left over from the Easter party, and I thought you might
like it.” Mrs. McLean’s husband ran a pharmacy that sold candy, and her class
always got the best and biggest treats.
It was a
solid white chocolate lamb, a big one. Emily’s eyes got wide; she couldn’t
believe it. It was way too big to eat at once, so she and Mrs. McLean decided
she could work on it each day after the boards were clean; she’d leave it
wrapped up in cellophane in a bag in the teacher’s desk.
way home, Emily, skipping, stopped as a thought occurred to her. Had Andy told
Mrs. McLean about her rabbit? That would mean he felt bad about it, and it
would also mean Mrs. McLean felt sorry for her.
she realized she was EARNING that chocolate, doing work no fifth grader would
do, and so she started skipping again.
weeks later, after the white chocolate lamb disappeared, the lady at the
library checked out her books and commented on what an interested reader Emily
was. She told her that the rule was only four books at a time, but that they
were going to change the rule for Emily: she could take six.
don’t tell your friends,” the lady laughed, and then she invited Emily back to
the room where librarians take their breaks, a room like a kitchen. She poured
Emily a glass of milk and gave her three chocolate chip cookies. “I baked those
for my grandson,” the lady said, “but he got braces and isn’t supposed to have
many sweet things.”
bit into the cookie; it was crispy and chewy and loaded with chocolate
chips—chocolate chips in every bite! Her mother’s cookies were soft and plump
and usually one cookie only had two or three chocolate morsels. She ate all
three cookies, trying not to wolf them down, to be polite. And then she thanked
the lady so much and took home six books.
savored every treat. It seemed that something special would happen, and that
would give her a little happy boost for days or a week, and just as the glow
wore off, something else would take its place. The man at the five and dime
stopped her one day and asked if she liked chocolate covered peanuts, which she
did of course. He gave her a little white bag full; they were all that was
left, he said, and he wanted to clean the bin. Another time she found a dollar
on the sidewalk; she asked her teacher what to do with it, and the teacher said
it wasn’t enough money to report and she could keep it. She bought candy at the
drugstore and took it home to share.
she wondered if someone felt sorry for her because of the missing Easter bunny,
if someone in her family had told a teacher or someone else, who went around to
all their friends and said, “Here’s something very sad which happened to this
little girl.” And she started watching, a little breathless, for the good
things to happen. Eventually, something always did.
And surprising things kept happening even after her family moved in fourth grade, to a smaller house that was closer to her dad’s work, and she went to a different school, where nobody could possibly know about the missing bunny when she was eight. She remembered what the invisible friend had told her in that dream,–“We’ll feed you!”– and gradually she came to accept this: that life can be very, very hard, but that sometimes good things can happen, especially if you don’t whine, and if you are brave and strong.