Mid-afternoon on Angel Island.
Four women sat in the Honeymoon House, sewing. Outside the world still
lay in sunshine, the land cut by the beginning of shadow, the sea
streaked with purple and green.
“Why didn’t you bring the children?” Julia, asked.
Lulu answered. “Honey and Frank were going in swimming this morning, and
they said they’d take care of them. I’m glad to get Honey-Boy off my
hands for an afternoon.”
“And why hasn’t Peachy come?” Julia asked. I stopped as I went by,” Lulu
explained. Oh, Julia, I wish you didn’t live way off here - it takes us
an hour of crawling to pull ourselves along the path. Angela hadn’t
waked up yet. It was a longer nap than usual. Peachy said she’d come
just as soon as she opened her eyes. I went in to look at her. Oh, she’s
such a darling, smiling in her sleep. Oh, I do hope I have a girl-baby
sometime.”
“I do, too,” said Clara. “Peterkin’s fun, of course. But I can’t do the
things for a boy that I could for a girl.”
“I’d rather have boys,” Chiquita said; “they’re less trouble.”
“Would you rather have boys or girls, Julia?” Lulu asked.
“Girls!” said Julia decisively. “A big family of girls.”
“Then,” Lulu began, and a question trembled in her bright eyes and on
her curved lips.
But, “Here’s Peachy!” Julia exclaimed before she could go on.
Peachy came toiling up the path, pulling herself along, both hands on
the wooden rail. She tottered, but in spite of her snail-like progress,
it was evident that she hurried. A tiny bundle hung between her
shoulders. It oscillated gently with her haste.
“Let me take Angela,” Julia said as Peachy struggled over the threshold.
“Wait!” Peachy panted. She sank on a couch.
There was a strange element in her look, an overpowering eagerness. This
eagerness had brimmed over into her manner; it vibrated in her trembling
voice, her fluttering hands. She sat down. She reached up and lifted the
baby from her shoulders to her lap. Angela still slept, a delicate bud
of a girl-being. But Peachy gave her audience no time to study the
sleeping face. She turned the baby over. She pulled the single light
garment off. Then she looked up at the other women.
The little naked figure lay in the golden sunlight, translucent, like an
angel carved in alabaster. But on the shoulder-blades lay shadow, deep
shadow - no, not shadow, a fluff of feathery down.
“Wings!” Peachy said. “My little girl is going to fly!”
“Wings!” the others repeated. “Wings!”
And then the room seemed to fill with tears that ended in laughter, and
laughter that ended in tears.