Read The Longings of Wayward Girls for Free Online Page A

eyes fill with tears.
sadie knows they are remembering when she was in the hospital and Craig appeared—a glaring irregularity—at their respective schools to pick them up. she is exhausted, suddenly, from the effort of waylaying their fears.
“I’ll only be gone a little while,” she tells them. “I’ll pick both of you up at the usual time!”
Craig exhales and closes the refrigerator door without retrieving anything.
“I’m glad for you,” he says. “sounds like a nice distraction.”
He leans in to kiss her as he knots his tie, his breath tinged with the mint of his toothpaste. sadie suspects Craig and the grief counselor of colluding against her. she feels the urge to slap him, to let him know how feeble this volunteering adventure will be in the face of the things she cannot forget and the things she’s forgotten to remember. she and her mother have shared the same age for the last year, but now sadie, at thirty-six, has moved into a space of time her mother never inhabited. There are no longer marked paths to avoid.
sadie loads the children into her sUV and backs out of the driveway. It is a crisp fall day. The sun slips through the trees surrounding Gladwyn Hollow, a neighborhood of Capes and Colonials and imitation saltboxes, all built within the last five years. The front yards are still only grass and shrubs. behind the houses on either side stretch the woods, where the trees bend and wave and toss their leaves to blow in eddies down the street and fill the lawns with color. After she drops sylvia at the elementary school, sadie takes Max to the Congregational church in the center of town on the green. His classroom is warm with children’s bodies, and the teacher looks up and sees her in the doorway and then pretends she hasn’t, as if she has seen as well the shadow presence of lily in her carrier at sadie’s side and is awkward with sadness for her. Max joins a group of playing children, casting only one quick, doleful glance back.
sadie climbs the stairs to the church offices, expecting to be of help stapling or photocopying the historical society newsletters. Harriet greets her, a small, energetic woman with gray hair like a cap and bright eyes below her bangs. she announces they are going to go through the church death records and then visit the old latimer cemetery and match the names with those on the stones. sadie realizes that Harriet, like ray, knows nothing of her loss, and she accepts the projected task quietly, with trepidation. This is how you face your fears, she thinks. The church records are on heavy, crumbling paper, the ink blood-colored and difficult to decipher:
    Elisabeth Cadwell, daughter of Matthew died 3 Nov 1764, in her 15th year, “She dropped down dead almost in an Instant at Dinner.”
    Sarah Burr, wife of Samuel died 25 Feb 1806, age 76, after a long state of derangement.
Isaac Eggleston, died 2 Oct 1811, age 67, “in consequence of the tearing off of his fingers in a Cyder Mill.”
Abigail Gillett, daughter of Jonathan died 25 Feb 1752, age 5 years 11 months, 5 days, drowned (buried in coffin with brother, Stephen).
Stephen Gillett, son of Jonathan died 25 Feb 1752, age 3 yr. 8 mo., drowned (buried in coffin with sister, Abigail).
    They spend the first morning writing down the family names, the ages and years, in notebooks. sadie immerses herself in the work, the copying and matching of names from the church records. she fills pages with rough family trees that chart the demise of generations—bigelows, Prossers, Cadwells, burrs—and before long she must leave to pick up the children. she’s enjoyed Harriet’s company. They’ve made tea, taken their warm cups into the little records office, and chatted about the early town families. As sadie leaves Harriet catches her in the hallway and hands her a book—the diary of Mary Vial Holyoke, who lived in new england during the eighteenth century.
    “you seem so interested in the period,” she says. “This will