The Youngest One (2 page)

“Good thing you weren’t reading
King Lear
,” the old woman remarked. “Or
Hamlet
, or anything with crazy people or apparitions. Then it would have been harder. You know, Shakespeare was a friend of mine, and I helped him with the three witches in
Macbeth
.”

Jessie understood only a little of this, which was still enough to start her trembling.

“Jessica, you have nothing to be afraid of,” said the old woman softly. “You know, when the wicked stepmother drives the children away, it’s always the youngest one, the humble one, kind to old people and animals, who returns with the treasure.”

Still dazed, Jessie struggled for an answer. “I, um, I don’t have a wicked stepmother…”

“That’s just code for what these days they call dysfunctional. Now, let me see what you have in your hand.”

Eyes widening as she remembered, Jessie lifted her right hand and opened it.

On her palm shone what appeared to be a very large pearl, blue-tinged, but not round. Smooth and lustrous yet irregular, its shape resembled that of her recent squatting, brown friend.

“A perfect toadstone. Beautiful.” The old woman’s eyes glowed like the gem in Jessie’s hand. “Do you understand what you are to do with it, Jessica?”

“Um, sell it for money to get some food?”

“No. Certainly not. Now, young lady, think. I told you to pay attention in Shakespeare class.”

It was a long wait for Mom to come home.

Even after midnight, Jessie remained perched on the edge of the sofa. In the dark, as if she were on a stakeout. Too tense to lean back, too nervous to watch TV or do homework or even eat, although after she had come back from talking with Mrs. Warty she had found a loaf of warm brown bread and a wedge of yellow cheese on the table.

So far, even as bad as things had been, Mom had always come home at night. She couldn’t pass out somewhere else
now
. She had to show up soon. Please.

Waiting, begging the air to make her mother come home to her, Jessica cuddled the toadstone in her hands until its blue-white form became as warm as her blood.

Finally, must have been around two or three o’clock in the morning, she heard the sound of feet dragging outside, an unsteady key clawing in the dark.

Stiff from sitting so long, Jessie got up, flipped on the front light and opened the door.

Wobbling and unfocused, her mother faced her without seeming to recognize her for a moment. Then she said blurrily, “What you doing home? You kids spose to be in school.”

“That’s during the daytime, Mom.” It hurt Jessie’s heart to see her mother this way. Usually she would have been avoiding Mom, curled up in bed with her eyes shut tight. But tonight, taking hold of her mother by one elbow, Jessie guided her inside and shut the door. Mom staggered toward the sofa, but Jessie swung her around and sat her in a chair instead.

“Whatcha doing?” Mom slurred. “Didjer Dad get back from bowling yet?”

“Oh, is
that
where he went.” On one knee in front of her mother, Jessica held out the toadstone like an offering. “Mom, look.”

In the dim room, the toadstone glimmered with its own blue-white light.

Mom’s wandering glance caught on the glowing gem. Jessie saw Mom’s bleary eyes widen, focusing, and she saw a freaky kind of understanding in that stare, as if Mom knew what the toadstone was for, even though she could not possibly ever have seen one before. Mrs. Warty had said it would be that way.

Mrs. Warty had said Mom had a choice: to reach out and take the toadstone, or not.

And whichever way Mom chose, that was the way it had to be.

Jessie found herself holding her breath.

“Oh,” said Mom uncertainly. “Oh, weird. Kind of ugly, kind of booful. Zat for me?”

“If you want it.”

With a fumbling hand Mom reached toward the stone. But she hesitated before she touched it.

Jessie had to bite her lip to keep quiet. If she tried to tell Mom what to do, it would ruin everything.

Mom’s hand floated like a butterfly in the air for a moment that seemed like forever…but then softly alighted on the toadstone. Mom’s unsteady fingers curled around the gem. She lifted it, held it in front of her face.

Jessie started to breathe again.

And in that moment Jessie’s mother sat up straight, steady. Her eyes cleared. “Jessica,” she said, her voice no longer slurred. “Jessie!” She leaned over to hug her daughter, pulling Jessie up off the floor and into her lap like a little girl. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie, how did you do it?” She hugged her daughter. “Is this really for me?”

“Of course.” Suddenly feeling all choked up as if she might cry, Jessie couldn’t say much.

“I’ll carry it always,” Mom told her. “I’ll get us some groceries first thing tomorrow, then start looking for a job. What are you doing up so late? You need to get your sleep so you can pay attention in school.”

Jessie whispered, “Um, no more drinking or drugs?”

“No more,” said Mom in a strong, sure voice. “Why would I? Jessica, that stuff is nothing but poison.”