But the voice held less conviction every day.
“Pick up the beans, Jewel, and put them back into the bag.” Ivy resisted helping, reminding herself once again that this was another exercise in small hand movements. She watched patiently, and, as soon as all the beans were returned to the bag, gave Jewel back herG. “Let’s walk.”
They meandered down the path and around a broad bur oak.
“Look, Jewel.” Once again, Ivy crouched beside the path where a cluster of purple crocuses bloomed, their petals still beaded with snowmelt. “Do you remember what these are called?”
Jewel squatted beside her, the posture she adopted whenever something fascinated her—knees wide, bottom hovering just above the ground, her whole body inclined forward as if trying to get as close as possible to the object of her attention. “Cuh-ro-cus.” She reached to touch a petal with one careful finger, the same gentleness she usually used with Brave and her felt letters.
“That's right. And what sound doescrocusstart with?”
“Cuh!” Jewel's face split into a grin. “Cuh for Cee!”
“Exactly right.”
They spent the morning in the meadow near Hank’s home. Ivy taught Jewel the names of birds that she’d learned from Torin—the western meadowlark with its loud, flute-like notes, the mountain bluebird that flashed sapphire between the aspens, the black-capped chickadee with its cheerful two-note song. Jewel repeated the names in her own way: “Med-lark, Blue-buhd. Chick-dee.” She gathered wildflowers with the devoted attention of a botanist, presenting each one to Ivy for identification, even if she couldn’t yet retain most of the names.Thank goodness, Torin has a copy of Lily Dunn’s illustrated books on the flora and birds of Montana.
“Shooting star,” Ivy said, holding up a pink bloom with swept-back petals. “See how the petals fly backward? Like a star falling through the sky.”
Jewel studied the flower with great seriousness. “Star fall down?”
Well, that was the wrong analogy.“Not a real star, sweetheart. The petals just look like one.”
“Pretty.” Jewel pressed the bloom to her nose. “For Papa.”
The child had a generous spirit. She was always gathering things for Papa, never for herself. Pebbles, feathers, flowers, leaves, interesting sticks.
Torin received each offering with the same grave courtesy, as if his daughter had handed him a bar of gold. He displayed them on the mantel in the dining room, swapping out the collection when the new objects threatened to overwhelm the space. He stored them in a basket he kept under his bed, to be brought out and carefully examined and discussed on days when the weather kept them indoors.
Just about the time Ivy planned to return to the house, she saw Torin quietly joined them. Unnoticed by Jewel, he watched from a few paces back, his expression soft in a way he probably didn't realize. He'd taken to walking slightly apart from them during their outings, close enough to observe, but far enough to give Ivy room to teach.
She'd come to understand it wasn't distance Torin sought, at least not the defensive distance of those first difficult days. He wantedperspective—one he hadn’t had much of a chance to use before, when he always had to be so physically close to Jewel.
I’m so glad I can provide him with a different viewpoint.
Sometimes Ivy’s spirit quailed when she thought of all the changes she and his friends wanted him to make so he could come out in society.Patience, she reminded herself.Just like with Jewel.
But the truth was, she had far more confidence in her pupil’s open-hearted growth than she did for Jewel’s closed-off father.
As April eased into May,and May crept toward June, the wildflowers arrived in earnest. Shooting stars—delicate pink blooms on slender stems—dotted the meadow near the lake. Glacier lilies appeared on south-facing slopes, bright as drops of liquid sunshine, their petals curving backward like tiny dancers.
“Fair-ees!” Jewel declared when she first saw them, cupping one gently in her hands. “Fair-ee flow-ers!”
Ivy couldn't argue with the uncanny resemblance. “Fairy flowers,” she agreed, falling into whimsy. “At night, they must leave their stems and go dancing under the starry sky. What sound doesfairystart with?”
“Fuh! Fuh for Eff!”
Where snow had been were grasses reaching for the sun, spangled with the first brave wildflowers—buttercups and shooting stars and the tiny white blooms Ivy had learned were called spring beauties.
Bitterroot crept along the rocky ground in shades of rose and white. Lupine filled the clearings with purple spikes that attracted bees and butterflies, sending Jewel into raptures of excitement and giving Ivy an excellent opportunity to practice the letterLwith her.
Each new bloom became a lesson. Each walk, a classroom. The forest was more than a textbook. Nature offered an experience that engaged all of Jewel's senses—the rough bark of the pine trees she liked to touch, the sweet fragrance of the glacier lilies she buried her nose in, the bright colors that made her clap her hands in delight.
The felt letters accumulated on the shelf Torin had built in Jewel's room—a growing rainbow of colors and textures that told the story of the girl's progress. OnlyYandZwere left.
Each evening before bed, and often during the day, Jewel would stand before the shelf and touch each letter in order, reciting the sounds with the solemnity of a child saying her prayers. “Aay. Bee. Cee. Dee….”All the way through to whatever letter they'd reached that day, her small finger tracing the shapes.
Iwas for Ivy. When she learned that letter, Jewel had looked at Ivy with such sweetness that Ivy had to turn away to compose herself.
