Indeed, she would. Lucie joined her and perched on a tiny chair. “What do you have, Miss Josephine?”
“I wrote you a story.” She handed it to Lucie.
Colorful drawings and a few scrawled letters covered the pages. “Oh my! Look at the lovely colors.”
“Grandma Aubrey sends me crayons from Am—am—”
“America?”
“Yes.” Josie wiggled one finger like a worm. “Sometimes they’re melty and bendy, but I like them that way.”
“I would too.” Lucie turned the pages. Such craftsmanship for such a young child. The story featured a fantastical girl with wings and a horn like a unicorn, and with curly hair that changed color on each page. There was also a black-and-white-striped cat. Lucie gasped. “Is that Monsieur Meow?”
“It is!” Josie’s smile opened wide.
Should she pull out the puppet? No, Lucie didn’t want to detract from Josie’s artwork. “Monsieur Meow is taking a nap, but he’ll be so excited. He’s never been in a storybook. Would you read the story to me, please?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucie saw Josie’s father lean against the wall beside the table, a column of gray wool, his hat in hand, his ankles crossed.
Josie scowled. “The rock-monsters stole all Monsieur Meow’s food, and he was so hungry.”
Lucie pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Poor Monsieur Meow. He loves his tuna fish.”
“Feenee was very angry.” Josie pointed at the winged girl. “She said, ‘You rock-monsters are mean. You can’t take all the food.’”
“No. That isn’t nice at all.” Lucie turned the page.
Josie put her hand to her forehead like a unicorn’s horn. “So Feenee poked her horn in the rock-monsters’ house, and she flapped her wings very hard, and the walls fell down, and Feenee gave all the food to Monsieur Meow and the other kitty-cats.”
“Feenee is very brave.” Lucie flipped pages as she followed Josie’s narration. “And kind.”
“She is. She’s in all my stories. She’s never scared.”
Lucie traced the purple hair on the Feenee on the last page. “Is Feenee short for Josephine as Josie is?”
“Uh-huh. She’s my friend.”
Her father sucked in a loud breath, and Lucie looked up to him. To the surprise in his expression. The embarrassment. He hadn’t known where the name Feenee came from, had he?
Josie twirled a curl around a finger. “No one plays with me, but I have Feenee.”
No one? Impossible for a child so cute and imaginative. “Oh, I’m sure you have lots of friends.”
A shadow fell over Josie’s brown eyes. “I have Feenee.”
Mr. Aubrey gave Lucie a brisk shake of his head, his lips folded in. Hadn’t Lucie seen the parents pulling their children away from Josie at church? And Josie’s tears?
Those tears soaked Lucie’s heart, and in that dampened soil a flower bloomed, then another and another, and Lucie gathered them into a bouquet of an idea.
She sprang to the box of puppets. “Monsieur Meow is your friend too. He told me an idea the other day. Let me wake him up. Monsieur Meow? Josie’s here to see you.”
After she wiggled into the puppet, Lucie put on her kittyvoice and spread the puppet’s paws wide in delight. “Josie! Hooray!”
“Hi, Monsieur Meow.” Josie bolted to her feet and hopped. “I missed you.”
Lucie had the puppet hug Josie, then she put him to her own ear. “Yes, I’ll tell her your idea.”
“What idea?”
