A Face Without a Reflection Read online

  “‘Mira! How are you today?’

  “‘Mira! So happy to see you!’

  “‘Mira! Bunny huts again this year? Bravo!’

  “‘Mira! Mira! Mira!’

  “There were kisses and hugs and pinching of cheeks as Mira giggled her way to a pile of neatly folded napkins, which she placed next to each plate. Soon the food was prepared and found its way to the center of the table. There were large crocks and ladles for the stew, baskets of bread, butter, and an array of vegetables that were fresh from the garden.

  “‘How do you make such a wonderful stew, Grammy?’ Mr. Wallace asked. He was a frequent visitor to Mira’s home, and while he was fond of the stew, he was even fonder of Grammy.

  “‘Oh, Mr. Wallace, I don’t do anything special.’ Grammy blushed. ‘There’s just a lot of love in Love You Stew.’

  “Mira noticed the twinkle in Mr. Wallace’s eyes as he looked at Grammy, and that made her smile.

  “‘Well, your stew is a blessing to me,’ Mr. Wallace said. He raised his glass in a toast. ‘As are all of you.’

  “Everyone at the table clinked their glasses and nodded as Mira’s father said, ‘Let us bow our heads and give thanks to the One Who Provides for the blessing of family, friends, and food for our bodies as well as our souls.’

  “‘Amen!’ they all said.

  “Someone added, ‘And for Love You Stew!’

  “Everyone said, ‘Amen!’

  “The talking and laughter continued until the last bite was bitten and the last sip was supped. After dinner some people stayed to help with the dishes; some stayed just to be there awhile longer. Mira took what little scraps were left outside and placed them by the big tree in the backyard for her woodland friends. Then she went back in the house to find her father’s lap, where she curled up tight and fell fast asleep.

  “The sun peeked through her window the next morning and beckoned her to rise and shine. Little Mira sat up in her lovely pink bed, and after a single stretch and a quick yawn, she threw back the covers and jumped to the floor, ready to welcome the day. Mira remembered the food she had left under the big tree and climbed up on her window seat to look outside. She had to lean in on the deep sill and get very close to the glass to see the big tree. But sure enough, the food was gone!

  “Mira wished she had seen who, or what, had eaten it. She imagined it was a beautiful fawn with her mother, and she said loud enough for them to hear, ‘You’re very welcome, of course! I’m glad that you enjoyed it. And I hope you’ll come again.’ Then she climbed down from the seat beneath the window and skipped off to see who else was awake.

  “Mira heard her grandmother singing in the kitchen, and a wisp of baked apples and cinnamon touched her nose as she hurried down the hall. She knew something wonderful was baking for breakfast.

  “‘Grammy! Grammy!’ she cried out from the hall. ‘The food is gone from under the tree! Someone had a feast last night.’

  “‘Oh gracious me! That is very exciting news. Do you know who our guests were?’

  “‘No. But I imagine it was the new fawn I saw by the woods with her mother.’

  “‘Well,’ said Grammy, ‘you should go outside and take a look. Perhaps you’ll find some hoofprints by the tree.’

  “Mira grabbed her jacket from the hall closet, slipped on her rubber boots, and ran to the yard to search for clues.

  “The morning was still very young, and the sun had not yet dried the dew from the earth. This made Mira’s job quite easy, as the footprints from the hungry visitors were still imprinted in the blanket of wet grass that covered the ground. Just as she had suspected, two sets of hooves—one big, one small—led from the wooded area nearby directly to the tree.

  “‘It was the deer!’ she exclaimed happily. Then she noticed that tiny paw prints were around the feeding place as well. ‘And the rabbits! Oh, how delightful! They must have had a dinner party too.’ She ran back to the house to share the news with Grammy, who had just taken fresh-baked apple cobbler out of the oven.

  “Mira’s father walked into the kitchen, rubbing his belly. ‘Mmm! Something smells good enough to eat,’ he said, smiling.

  “‘It’s Grammy’s cobbler, Daddy. It smells so delicious.’

  “Her father hugged his daughter playfully while pretending to take a bite of her hand. ‘Not as delicious as you!’ he chortled.

  “Mira giggled and scrunched herself into his loving arms as he said, ‘Good morning, my precious one. And a very good morning to you, my dearest Petra.’

  “He took an exaggerated whiff of the cobbler that Grammy was taking from the oven and said, ‘Heavenly! You are truly a blessing on this glorious day.’

  “‘Blessings to you, son-in-law,’ Grammy said with a smile. ‘You are right on time this morning.’

  “Mira’s mother appeared at the basement door with an armful of newly laundered towels. ‘Good morning, family,’ she said. ‘Save me a seat; I’ll be right back.’

  “‘We won’t begin without you,’ Grammy assured her as she placed the hearty warm cobbler on the table next to a pitcher of cream.

  “Mira’s mother soon reappeared and sat down in the chair next to her only child. Then everyone joined hands and bowed their heads as they gave thanks to the One Who Provides.

  “After the amen, Mira’s father eyed the cobbler and with a big smile said, ‘Mmm! I believe that big one in the middle has my name on it.’

  “The steaming cobbler was still quite warm, so Mira’s mother poured a bit of cold cream on top of Mira’s portion, which cooled it down just enough to take a bite.

  “‘Oh Grammy, this is the best cobbler ever!’

  “‘Dear me!’ Grammy chuckled. ‘I do believe you say that about every cobbler!’

  “‘Why, of course,’ said Mira’s mother. ‘That’s because the best is always what we have right now.’ And everyone agreed.

  “After his plate was nearly clean, Mira’s father said, ‘This is the way we start our day. How very blessed we are.’ He bowed his head for a moment and then looked at his family and smiled. ‘What does everyone have planned for the day?’ he asked as he carried his empty plate to the kitchen sink.

  “‘Well,’ chimed in Mother, ‘today we will work on math and history.’

  “‘Yay!’ shouted Mira. ‘I love history.’

  “‘Not too fond of math, though,’ said her father with a wink.

  “Her mother smiled. ‘No, not too fond of math. But she’s doing fine. Perhaps we’ll start with math and be done with it. Then we’ll take a little break and finish school on a positive historical note.’

  “Mira smiled and nodded. ‘What are you doing today, Grammy?’ she asked.

  “‘Oh, I have a few chores I need to take care of, and then I’m going to visit Sarah Martin. Poor dear. She fell the other day and isn’t getting around as well as she should. Some women from the church are taking turns helping her until she’s back on her feet. I thought I might bring along the quilt I’ve been working on to give us something to do together. I believe Sarah loves quilting. I baked an extra cobbler for her. I know she loves cobbler.’

  “‘Not as much as I do,’ said Father as he grinned and patted his belly once again. ‘Well, ladies,’ he added, ‘thank you for your wonderful company and for a truly delicious breakfast. I love you all! But now I suspect it’s time for me to be on my way.’ And with that, he kissed each of his three girls on the tops of their heads and gave Mira a hug as he whistled a happy tune and walked out the door.

  “‘Mira,’ said her mother when breakfast was over, ‘I’ll help Grammy with the dishes. Why don’t you take the cobbler crusts out to the yard? I think the birds might like some yummy crumbs.’

  “‘Oh yes. There were deer and rabbits here last night, but we mustn’t forget the birds.’

  “After Mira was out the door, her mother said to Grammy, ‘Mum, Mira is growing into a lovely, kind, generous girl, don’t you think?’

  “‘Why, of course,
darling! She is filled with the light of the Spirit.’

  “‘I know,’ her mother said, gazing out the window at her only child. ‘But we can’t protect her from the world forever. How will we know when it’s time to tell her the truth?’

  “Grammy looked at her daughter through eyes of great compassion and wisdom. ‘He will let you know when it’s time, dear. Protecting her is His job, not ours.’

  “The two watched as Mira carefully spread the crusts evenly under the elm tree and then danced after a butterfly that flitted from flower to flower.

  “‘She’s like a beacon,’ Mira’s mother said, mesmerized by her child’s every move.

  “‘She certainly is,’ Grammy agreed. ‘Shining for others who need to find their way. She will understand this one day, and when she does, it will serve her life’s purpose. Until then, be strong and of good cheer. It is all part of His great plan. We are never, ever alone.’

  “Mira’s mother hugged her lovely mum, and together they said thank you to the One Who Provides and praised His goodness. And the Spirit was with them.”

  Mother closed the pages of her imaginary book, signaling that the reading was over for the night.

  “Is the Spirit that’s with them their dog?” I asked groggily. My ability to grasp what my mother would answer was fading quickly, as sleep was bearing down on me.

  “No, dear. But I think you’ll be surprised at what the two Spirits have in common.”

  “Mommy,” I said with heavy eyes, “is God the One Who Provides?”

  She sighed and then smiled. “Yes, honey. The One is God.”

  “Then why don’t they just call him God?”

  Mother laughed as if she’d been caught off guard, and then she said thoughtfully, “Well…if you think about it…God is the Provider. I mean…He created all things, so He provides life. And the living things He has given us can be used for food, clothing, and shelter. So He provides for all our needs.” She was still for a moment while her eyes searched the room. “Yes,” she concluded, “it seems like an appropriate name for Him.”

  I still had a lot of questions, but the answer she gave made sense, so I decided to let it go for the time being. I was having a very hard time staying awake, and there was something I needed to know before giving in to sleep. I rolled over and propped my head up with one hand as I looked deep into her eyes.

  “Do you believe in God?” I asked.

  My mother didn’t respond quickly, although I believed she knew the answer. The very little she had told me about her parents always included their love for God. She once said that Christ was at the center of everything they did, said, and touched because they wanted to be like Him. So they put the needs of others before their own and prayed in thanks for the little they had every day. When they died my mother must have prayed that God would send someone to save her from the orphanage. But only Myrtle came. Looking back, I think my question gave her pause when she realized she hadn’t stopped believing in a loving God. She’d just stopped believing He loved her.

  “Yes, Lily. I believe in God.”

  “Then why don’t we pray?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that myself lately.” She sounded sincere but tenuous. “It’s something we should do. My father used to say that we should thank God for all things, big and small. I’m afraid I haven’t done that in a very long time. And,” she said with a loving smile, “I have a lot to be thankful for.”

  I waited for a moment, expecting to hear a prayer. But there was only reverent silence.

  “So is that it?” I asked. “Silence? Is that all there is to prayer?” I was disappointed but at the same time happy that it was so simple.

  My mother laughed nervously. It had clearly been many years since she’d bowed before the Father.

  “Well, I think it can be,” she said hopefully. “I do remember one prayer my parents taught me when I was a little girl. It goes like this:

  “Now I lay me down to sleep,

  “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

  “If I should die before I wake,

  “I pray the Lord my soul to take.

  “Oh my!” she said with a horrified look. “I don’t remember it being so terrifying. I’m pretty sure we can come up with something better than that.” She chuckled. “I’ll give it some thought, and we can try again tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll give it some thought too.”

  I let the thought go as my tired eyes began to close, and I soon found myself dreaming of apple cobbler, bunny huts, and running through an open field with my bold otterhound. She leaned down and kissed my cheek after turning out the light and said a brief but very important prayer.

  “Thank you, Father, for my precious Lily.”

  CHAPTER 7

  THE DAY THINGS WENT HORRIBLY WRONG

  My thoughts were fully focused on finding the right dog-training book as my mother handed me my lunch bag, and we headed out the door for the bus.

  “You probably won’t find anything specific on otterhounds,” my mother offered before saying good-bye for the day. “But I’m sure there will be something on basic training in the library.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I hope so.” I walked onto the bus and shared my dog-training plans with Maddie.

  “Finch will have something,” she said, eager to help.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And she’ll know right where it is.”

  Maddie laughed. “I know! She’s like a robot or something. She knows where every single book is and its stupid number.”

  “I know!” I said, nodding my head. “Who memorizes stuff like that?”

  “She kind of freaks me out,” Maddie snarled.

  “Ha-ha! You can say that again.”

  The morning dragged as I waited anxiously for lunch. I decided to eat as quickly as possible and take the extra time before class to go to the library. Summer break would be here before I knew it, and I wanted to have plenty of time to read the book before school let out. Miss Finch, the librarian, was a real stickler about returning books on time, and I knew she’d be particularly anxious with the end of the year so close. Ordinarily, I would have searched for the book on my own rather than bother her. But having limited time before lunch break would be over, I decided to ask Miss Finch for help.

  Standing stoically behind the circular counter that served as an office, computer station, and information center, Miss Finch was too deeply engrossed in whatever task was at hand to notice me. A short, thin, plain-looking woman with perfect posture and angular features, she had a habit of peering at you over a pair of reading glasses that were perpetually perched upon the bridge of her pointy nose. She considered library science to be among the greatest advancements in history and viewed her occupation to be on par with that of a great surgeon, scientist, or world leader. She was very proud of her occupation and took it, as well as herself, quite seriously. Too seriously, if you asked me! In all the years I had been going to the school library, I never once saw her smile. Nor had I ever heard her call anyone by their name. She chose instead to glare at people from over the top of her frames as though you had just interrupted her. It was very disconcerting and seemed unnecessarily rude to me.

  “Perhaps she is memorizing the Dewey Decimal System,” my mother joked after one of my full-on rants about Miss Finch’s lack of personality.

  “I don’t think she’s even human,” I protested. “She never says hello or thank-you or even you’re welcome! It’s like she’s from another planet.”

  “Well,” my mother said, chuckling, “not everyone can be bubbling over with personality, you know. It takes all kinds to make the world.”

  But Miss Finch’s kind was one that I would rather do without as I stood under the sign that gave the promise of “Information,” trying to get her attention. After clearing my throat for what felt like the hundredth time, she shifted her gaze up and over her eyeglasses without ever moving her head.

  “May I help you?” she whispered indignantly
.

  “Yes, please,” I said quietly. “I’m looking for a book on dog training.”

  “Dog training would be classified under 636.70835, in aisle ten. Is this a school project?”

  I hesitated before answering, fearing she might put a halt to my quest for knowledge if it wasn’t a requirement. “No, ma’am. It’s personal.”

  My comment caused her to stand even more erect as she tilted her head backward and looked at me through thick glass with an owl-like gaze.

  “You realize that school ends for the summer in exactly nine and one-half days? School days, that is. Not personal days.” She drew her eyebrows upward until they nearly reached her hairline. “Books that are borrowed from the library for any reason must be returned within ten school days. But because the school year will be ending in nine and one-half days, any book you borrow today must be returned two and one-half days prior to the end of the school year, which means it must be in the library by the end of the school day on the twelfth day of June. Do not presume that because you are borrowing a book for personal reasons that the rules do not apply. If it is not returned by the end of the school on the twelfth day of June, you can expect a fine of thirty-six cents per day per book to be applied until the book or books are returned. You’re aware of that rule, are you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m aware of the rule,” I lied.

  “And should you fail to return the book before the school year ends, the fine will continue through the summer and will include not just weekdays but weekends as well. At thirty-six cents per day, the fine would be quite significant. Do you know how much this one book will cost you for your personal use if it is not returned on time?”