Author/Uploaded by Wendell Steavenson
Cover Title Contents Part I. Beginning Part II. Intermediate Part III. Advancing Acknowledgments Also by Wendell Steavenson Copyright iii v 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
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Cover Title Contents Part I. Beginning Part II. Intermediate Part III. Advancing Acknowledgments Also by Wendell Steavenson Copyright iii v 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 i ii iv MARGOT A NOVEL WENDELL STEAVENSON W. W. NORTON & COMPANY Celebrating a Century of Independent Publishing For my brothers, Misha and Xander. A sister could ask for none better. PART ONE BEGINNING 1 MARGOT PULLED HERSELF UP. THE RUNGS OF THE ROPE ladder sagged under her Mary Janes. Don’t look down! Below, the mossy planks of the old treehouse; above the blue sky, laced with leaves. Stevie said there was a nest with three blue eggs inside. The trunk of the oak was crumpled up and hollowed with squirrel hidey-holes. Catkins, dangling yellow and powdery, splotched her hands like finger paint. The leaves made whispering sounds like the seashore. Some of the leaves had ragged edges, Margot saw a fat caterpillar with green stripes eating them. She reached out to touch his soft bristles. A gust of wind blew up. The rope ladder swayed and banged against the trunk, her knuckles scraped on the bark and Margot let go—felt herself fall. Heard a loud CRACK, right inside her head. Her first thought was: Perhaps I am dead now and Mother will be mad at me for gallivanting. But then Margot realized her thoughts were still thinking, so she must be alive. She began to count to ten for when the pain came, but by the time she got to six, her vision blacked out. Assessing this development, Margot wondered if she could stand. Her mother would be furious if she had gone blind and had to miss Trip Merryweather’s birthday party. She tried to sit up, but felt seasick. If she threw up, her mother would say she had done it on purpose because she didn’t want to go to the party. She spread out her palms to steady herself. The stone path was cold to touch. She put one hand up to her face, it was warm and sticky. “Help!” Tried again to shout, more urgently, “HELP!” But the Big House was on the other side of the hill, it was unlikely anyone could hear. She decided to try and crawl. Her fingers grubbed between the flagstones of the old path, knotted roots, mulchy leaves, dirt. Shuffled slowly on all fours, grazing her knees on twigs and acorn caps. The very dark behind her eyelids began to lighten reddish, then dissolved into a blur as her vision cleared. The sky fizzed. She managed to limp back and push open the great big front door. Her mother was standing in the hall, sorting the pile of mail on the silver salver. A diamond flashed on her finger, the hardest of all minerals; her carmine lipstick drew a thin red line, her hair was lacquered into a Trojan helmet. She turned and stopped. “Margot! Oh for heaven’s sake!” Margot looked down and saw that her new dress was ruined with mud and blood. She felt the fear-tears gathering and pressed her lips together tightly to stop them from falling. “Don’t make that face at me, young lady!” Her mother encircled her neck with her hand and tilted her head backwards to inspect the damage. “Nanny Hastings!” Nanny Hastings appeared in all haste. “Look at the state of the child! Her dress is a write-off and her hair looks like she’s been dragged backwards through a hedge.” Her mother’s fingernails pinched like clothespins. Margot felt her nose fill up, stinging, briny. “Margot, I have told you before about your selfish behavior. You are eight years old. Old enough to know better! And Nanny Hastings, I have made it very clear she is not to go running off like some kind of feral goat.” “But Mrs. Thornsen, children need fresh air and—” Margot watched her mother’s nostrils flare. She said, “It was my fault, Mama, I wasn’t thinking.” “You never think! You never think of anyone but yourself !” Nanny Hastings opened her mouth but no sound came out. “Take the child upstairs and clean her up.” Her mother looked at her watch. “I’ve told James to bring the car around at ten to three sharp”. Margot put her quivering hand in Nanny’s. Her shoes squeaked on the marble hall where she was not allowed to play hopscotch
Author: Stephanie St. Klaire
Year: 2023
Views: 23434
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