Bridge to Terabithia

That night the glow of the afternoon stayed with him. Even his sisters’ squabbling about when presents were to be opened did not touch him. He helped May Belle wrap her wretched little gifts and even sang “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” with her and Joyce Ann. Then Joyce Ann cried because they had no fireplace and Santa wouldn’t be able to find the way, and suddenly he felt sorry for her going to Millsburg Plaza and seeing all those things and hoping that some guy in a red suit would give her all her dreams. May Belle at six was already too wise. She was just hoping for that stupid Barbie. He was glad he’d splurged on it. Joyce Ann wouldn’t care that he only had a hair clip for her. She would blame Santa, not him, for being cheap.

He put his arm awkwardly around Joyce Ann. “C’mon Joyce Ann. Don’t cry. Old Santa knows the way. He don’t need a chimney, does he, May Belle?” May Belle was watching him with her big, solemn eyes. Jess gave her a knowing wink over Joyce Ann’s head. It melted her.

“Naw, Joyce Ann. He knows the way. He knows everything.” She squenched up her right cheek in a vain effort to return his wink. She was a good kid. He really liked old May Belle.

The next morning he helped her dress and undress her Barbie at least thirty times. Slithering the skinny dress over the doll’s head and arms and snapping the tiny fasteners was more than her chubby six-year-old fingers could manage.

He had received a racing-car set, which he tried to run to please his father. It wasn’t one of these big sets that they advertised on TV, but it was electric, and he knew his dad had put more money into it than he should have. But the silly cars kept falling off at the curves until his father was cursing at them with impatience. Jess wanted it to be OK. He wanted so much for his dad to be proud of his present, the way he, Jess, had been proud of the puppy.

“It’s really great. Really. I just ain’t got the hang of it yet.” His face was red, and he kept shoving his hair back out of his eyes as he leaned over the plastic figure-eight track.

“Cheap junk.” His father kicked at the floor dangerously near the track. “Don’t get nothing for your money these days.”

Joyce Ann was lying on her bed screaming because she had yanked the string out of her talking doll and it was no longer talking. Brenda had her lip stuck out because Ellie had gotten a pair of panty hose in her Christmas stocking and she had only bobby socks. Ellie wasn’t helping matters, prancing around in her new hose, making a big show of helping Momma with the ham and sweet potatoes for dinner. Lord, sometimes Ellie was as snotty as Wanda Kay Moore.

“Jesse Oliver Aarons, Jr., if you can stop playing with those fool cars long enough to milk the cow, I’d be most appreciative. Miss Bessie don’t take no holiday, even if you do.”

Jess jumped up, pleased for an excuse to leave the track which he couldn’t make work to his dad’s satisfaction. His mother seemed not to notice the promptness of his response but went on in a complaining voice, “I don’t know what I’d do without Ellie. She’s the only one of you kids ever cares whether I live or die.” Ellie smiled like a plastic angel first at Jess and then at Brenda, who glared back.

Leslie must have been watching for him because as soon as he started across the yard he could see her running out of the old Perkins place, the puppy half tripping her as it chased circles around her.

They met at Miss Bessie’s shed. “I thought you’d never come out this morning.”

“Yeah, well, Christmas, you know.”

Prince Terrien began to snap at Miss Bessie’s hooves. She stamped in annoyance. Leslie picked him up, so Jess could milk. The puppy squirmed and licked, making it almost impossible for her to talk. She giggled happily. “Dumb dog,” she said proudly.

“Yeah.” It felt like Christmas again.

SEVEN

The Golden Room

Mr. Burke had begun to repair the old Perkins place. After Christmas, Mrs. Burke was right in the middle of writing a book, so she wasn’t available to help, which left Leslie the jobs of hunting and fetching. For all his smartness with politics and music, Mr. Burke was inclined to be absent-minded. He would put down the hammer to pick up the “How to” book and then lose the hammer between there and the project he was working on. Leslie was good at finding things for him, and he liked her company as well. When she came home from school and on the weekends, he wanted her around. Leslie explained all this to Jess.

Jess tried going to Terabithia alone, but it was no good. It needed Leslie to make the magic. He was afraid he would destroy everything by trying to force the magic on his own, when it was plain that the magic was reluctant to come for him.

If he went home, either his mother was after him to do some chore or May Belle wanted him to play Barbie. Lord, he wished a million times he’d never helped buy that stupid doll. He’d no more than lie down on the floor to paint than May Belle would be after him to put an arm back on or snap up a dress. Joyce Ann was worse. She got a devilish delight out of sitting smack down on his rump when he was stretched out working. If he yelled at her to get the heck off him, she’d stick her index finger in the corner of her mouth and holler. Which would, of course, crank up his mother.

“Jesse Oliver! You leave that baby alone. Whatcha mean lying there in the middle of the floor doing nothing anyway? Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t cook supper before you chopped wood for the stove?”

Sometimes he would sneak down to the old Perkins place and find Prince Terrien crying on the porch, where Mr. Burke had exiled him. You couldn’t blame the man. No one could get anything done with that animal grabbing his hand or jumping up to lick his face. He’d take P.T. for a romp in the Burkes’ upper field. If it was a mild day, Miss Bessie would be mooing nervously from across the fence. She couldn’t seem to get used to the yipping and snapping. Or maybe it was the time of year—the last dregs of winter spoiling the taste of everything. Nobody, human or animal, seemed happy.

Except Leslie. She was crazy about fixing up that broken-down old wreck of a house. She loved being needed by her father. Half the time they were supposed to be working they were just yakking away. She was learning, she related glowingly at recess, to “understand” her father. It had never occurred to Jess that parents were meant to be understood any more than the safe at the Millsburg First National was sitting around begging him to crack it. Parents were what they were; it wasn’t up to you to try to puzzle them out. There was something weird about a grown man wanting to be friends with his own child. He ought to have friends his own age and let her have hers.

Jess’s feelings about Leslie’s father poked up like a canker sore. You keep biting it, and it gets bigger and worse instead of better. You spend a lot of time trying to keep your teeth away from it. Then sure as Christmas you forget the silly thing and chomp right down on it. Lord, that man got in his way. It even poisoned what time he did have with Leslie. She’d be sitting there bubbling away at recess, and it would be almost like the old times; then without warning, she’d say, “Bill thinks so and so.” Chomp. Right down on the old sore.

Finally, finally she noticed. It took her until February, and for a girl as smart as Leslie that was a long, long time.

“Why don’t you like Bill?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Jess Aarons. How stupid do you think I am?”

Pretty stupid—sometimes. But what he actually said was, “What makes you think I don’t like him?”

“Well, you never come to the house any more. At first I thought it was something I’d done. But it’s not that. You still talk to me at school. Lots of times I see you in the field, playing with P.T., but you don’t even come near the door.”