The Point of Vanishing by Maryka Biaggio (best e ink reader for manga .TXT) 📕

“No, Daddy, it’s Eepersip. I have to publish it.”

Her father’s weight trapped her, squeezing her ribs.

“I’m losing my books, too,” he said. “And everything else in my study.”

Barbara thumped her forearms against her father’s chest. “But you said I’d be famous.”

CHAPTER FOUR

SEVEN MONTHS EARLIER—BARBARA TURNING NINE

New Haven, March 1923

With Barbara’s ninth birthday mere days away, she couldn’t keep herself from dropping hints to her mother.

“Remember my birthday last year, Mother, when I gave you drawings of all those different wildflowers? Well, this year I have a very special present for you.” Barbara had turned the idea of birthday gift giving upside down. It seemed so ordinary to let others give her presents. So she’d made a tradition of giving Mother a gift on her own birthday, which sweetened the anticipation ever so much.

Finally, when Sunday, March 4, rolled around, Barbara gathered her mother, father, and grandmother in the sitting room and ordered them to close their eyes. She trotted down the narrow hall to her bedroom.

The family had moved into this cramped apartment on Orange Street last fall. Barbara hated it and had named her bedroom “the dungeon.” After squeezing her bed, dresser, and desk into the small room and standing her violin case in the corner, there was no space for her bookshelf. It had to be kept in the room Grandma Ding stayed in, which greatly displeased her.

Barbara reached under her bed, pulled out her manuscript, and padded into the sitting room. “Keep your eyes closed.”

She sat on the other end of the sofa from her mother, who leaned into its corner and stretched her legs out. Her mother was going to give her a baby brother or sister in the summer. Her belly looked like a perfectly round hill, and it grew a little steeper every week.

“Hold out your hands, Mother.” Barbara handed the two-inch-thick manuscript to her. “Open your eyes.”

Her mother balanced the papers on her tummy and read the cover page, “The House Without Windows and Eepersip’s Life There.”

Barbara beamed. “It’s a story I wrote for you.”

“What a darling you are,” said her mother. “A story for me. And, I’m sure, an impressive story at that.”

Grandma Ding scooted forward in her wingback chair. She was even shorter than Barbara’s mother, and her eyes crinkled when she talked. Her grandma said to her mother, “I want to read it after you, Helen.”

Barbara asked her mother, “When will you start reading it?”

“Today. I can hardly wait. I’m so touched.”

“Daddy was my editor.”

Her father leaned back in his wrinkly leather chair and crossed one leg over the other. “She’s as much the perfectionist as I am.”

“Daddy said it’s an excellent story. And awfully well written.”

Her mother smiled at her. “So that’s why you had that ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign up all winter.”

Grandma said, “You composed and typed that whole thing? Heavens, it’s book-sized.”

“Daddy taught me how to estimate the word count. It’s about 35,000.”

“Goodness gracious,” Mother said. “You must have kept Eepersip quite busy.”

“Daddy thinks we should try to publish it.” Barbara twisted around toward her father. “Don’t you, Daddy?”

He smashed his cigarette out in the smoking stand. “I do. It’s damn good.”

Barbara looked at her mother. “Once you and Grandma finish it, Daddy’s going to reread it and make suggestions. Then I’ll retype it and send it to a publisher.”

“I’m sure it’s quite wonderful,” said her mother. “But I can give suggestions, too, you know.”

“I want to be a writer, Mother, just like Daddy. Except I want to write fiction.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her father, like she was annoyed with him. It made Barbara feel squirmy.

“I learned about metaphors and similes from you, Mother,” Barbara said.

Her mother wiped off her frown and smiled at Barbara. “Bar, you can do whatever you set your mind to. I see your talent and brilliance every day, in all the wonderful work you do in your lessons.”

Her grandma said, “The House Without Windows? That’s an unusual title.”

“The world is without windows, unlike houses. Don’t you see, Grandma?”

“How clever. So Eepersip is an explorer of the world?”

“Even more than that,” said Barbara, crossing her arms and nodding deeply.

Her father looked at Grandma, then Mother. “In many ways, Barbara is leagues ahead of the college students I tried to teach so many years.”

Barbara felt all shimmery, like buttercups in the sun.

“I know she is,” Mother said. “And she has plenty of time to master her writing.”

Grandma Ding said, “Why don’t you go lie down and read, Helen. I’ll finish the sweeping and start dinner.”

Mother pivoted around, sat up, and hugged Barbara. “You’re the best daughter a mother could have. Thank you for the present.”

“You’re welcome, Mother. I hope you like it,” Barbara said.

“I’m sure I will.” Her mother glanced at Daddy. “And I’ll speak to your father about how I can help you make it even more perfect.”

Her father said, “Multiple editors can confuse an author.”

Her mother scowled at her father. Barbara hated it when her mother and father were grumpy with each other. But she knew how to make them be nice again. She said to her mother, “Why don’t you read the first page? Then Daddy can hear how it sounds out loud.”

Mother peeled off the title page and read, “In a brown shingled cottage on the foothills of Mount Varcrobis, there lived with her father and mother, a little girl named Eepersip. She was rather lonely . . .”

Barbara liked how the beginning sounded. It’d been a long time since she’d written that. But she remembered the ending word for word because she’d carefully revised it just that morning. Silently, she recited: “She was a fairy—a wood nymph. She would be invisible forever to all mortals, save those few who have minds to believe, eyes to see. To these, she is ever-present, the spirit of nature—a sprite of the meadow, a naiad of lakes, a nymph of the woods.”

CHAPTER FIVE

HELEN

New Haven, August 1926

Helen paused