Grandfather's Dance by Patricia MacLachlan

1
    S pring. School was hard in the spring. Even fourth grade was hard. The windows of the small school were open and the sweet smell of new grass blew in. I couldn’t pay attention. Neither could Ian or Min or Grace. Will was half asleep, and Isabel looked out the window. There were only six of us in school, from first grade to fifth. Mr. Willet read out loud to us, but no one seemed to hear. One of the horses whinnied outside and we all looked out the window. Finally Mr. Willet put down his book and looked out the window, too.
    “Let’s go home,” he said softly.
    Ian, the youngest of everyone, only six, clapped his hands, making Mr. Willet laugh.
    “Go home, go on home,” he said, still laughing. “We’ll try again on Monday.”
    I gathered my books and helped Ian with his. I made sure he got home every day. Today I’d ridden Molly, and I gave Ian a leg up. We rode together, Ian’s arms around my waist.
    “Caleb and I used to ride home from school just like this,” I said.
    “Caleb’s big now,” said Ian.
    “Yes. He’s big. Away at school.”
    “Do you miss him?”
    “Yes. I miss Caleb.”
    “Does he tease you?” asked Ian.
    “Yes, Caleb has always teased me.”
    “I tease my little sister every single day,” said Ian.
    I heard him yawn behind me, and I turned and wrapped a long scarf behind him and tied it in front of my waist. Sometimes Ian fell asleep on the way home. I didn’t want him falling off Molly.
    “Lily loves me even if I tease her,” said Ian matter-of-factly.
    “Yes.”
    “Let’s do twosies,” said Ian.
    “Okay. Two times two is . . . ?”
    “Four.”
    “Two times three is . . . ?”
    “Six.”
    Ian laid his head against my back and Molly walked slowly down the road to his house.
    “Two times four?”
    Ian didn’t answer. I smiled. He’d fallen asleep, his breath warm on my back.
    Way off in the fields, meadowlarks flew and the smell of prairie spring followed us home.
     
    “Cassie! Cassie!”
    Jack ran out of the barn, Papa and our dog Lottie following him. His pale hair was long and curly around his face. Mama once said he looked like an angel. Grandfather said most times he didn’t act like one.
    The surprise was that Jack did act like an angel around Grandfather. He never frowned at Grandfather. He never showed Grandfather his temper. Every evening he sat on Grandfather’s lap and made him tell a story, made him sing. From the very beginning, Grandfather had been Jack’s favorite.
    Papa lifted Jack up to sit with me on Molly. Jack leaned down and kissed Molly on her neck, and we went into the barn.
    “Doggie,” said Jack.
    I smiled.
    “Horse,” I said to him. “Molly’s a horse.”
    Jack turned and frowned his fierce frown at me.
    “Doggie,” said Jack, making me laugh.
    I kissed the top of his head. It was warm and sweet smelling.
    “All right,” I said. “Doggie.”
    “Horse,” said Jack, smiling back at me.
    “A joke!” I cried. “You made a joke, Jack.”
    I got off Molly and reached up and slid Jack down beside me.
    “Doggie,” whispered Jack.
    I laughed and took his hand. We walked out of the cool, dark barn into the light. He jumped up and down beside me as we walked.
    His hand was tiny and warm in my hand.

2
    W e ate stew for dinner—Grandfather, Mama, Papa, Jack and I, Jack in his wooden high chair.
    “You came home early today, Cassie,” Mama said.
    I nodded.
    “Spring came in the window,” I said.
    “Now, there’s a poem,” said Mama, smiling at me.
    “Mr. Willet said that he couldn’t pay attention, either. So we all came home.”
    “And Ian?” asked Mama.
    “Fell asleep in the middle of twosies,” I said.
    “There’s a poem again,” said Grandfather.
    “Doggie wants stew, please,” said Jack.
    Everyone laughed.
    “That’s a nice ‘please,’ little Doggie,” said Papa, spooning some stew into Jack’s bowl.
    Papa took a letter out of his jacket
pocket.
    “I forgot, Sarah. This came today from your