It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may take something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.’”
Excerpt from “Take Something Like a Star” from the book THE POETRY OF ROBERT FROST edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright © 1949, 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, copyright © 1977 by Lesley Frost Ballantine. Used by arrangement with Henry Holt and Company, LLC. CAUTION: Users are warned that this Selection is protected under copyright laws and downloading is strictly prohibited. The right to reproduce or transfer the Selection via any medium must be secured from Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
“What does it mean?” she asked Miss Liza. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do,” said Miss Liza. “I think you understand better than almost anyone I know how to manage when other people are blaming you or making fun of you or letting you down. I think you know to fix your mind on a star, to be strong and stand tall.”
Angel looked at the bent-over little woman, and the words “stand tall” seemed strange but true, and although she thought Miss Liza was giving her too much credit—Angel could think all too often of the times she had been weak and close to dissolving in despair—it was something to live up to, wasn’t it? No matter what other people did or failed to do, you could try yourself to be something like Polaris, shining strong and bright and fixed in a swirling world of darkness.
She asked Miss Liza to let her take the poetry book home. She wanted to read the poem over and over again. She might never understand it, she knew; still she wanted it to be inside her, a part of her star stuff.
***
As soon as Angel turned up the driveway, she saw the car. Not a brand-new one, but almost clean, not like most of the cars out here in the country. Her stomach did a flipflop even before she saw the middle-aged, neatly dressed woman sitting at the wheel. They’d found her. She almost made a dash for it, but it would be hard to get far carrying a book and a bag of groceries. Anyhow, it was already too late. The woman had spotted her and was getting out of the car.
“Hello, Angel,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Morris.”
Angel clutched Robert Frost more tightly in her left hand and propped the bulky bag she held in her right arm on her hip. “Hi,” she said.
“Here”—the woman reached out—“Let me help you with that load.”
“It’s okay. I can manage.” She could see out of the corner of her eye that Grandma was standing on the front porch and watching. “Did you want to see my grandma?”
“I’ve already met her. Actually, you’re the person I was waiting to see.” She looked around the junk-filled yard. “Is there somewhere we could talk—just the two of us? The sugar shack, maybe?”
Angel shook her head. Her mouth felt frozen. So this was the way it was going to be. She cleared her throat. “It’s...sort of filled with stuff. Storage, you know.” Does a messy shed count against you? One your daddy hid in?
“Would you mind just sitting in the car, then?”
She did mind. You never knew when you got into a social worker’s car, where you would end up, but the woman had already opened the rear door and was reaching for the groceries. “Here,” she said. “Why don’t you just set that heavy bag in here and then jump in the front seat with me? The law won’t fuss about a minor in the front seat as long as the car isn’t moving.” She laughed as though she’d made a joke.
Angel put the groceries in back and went around to the front seat. She left the door open. Not that she was going to make a run for it, but just so she wouldn’t feel trapped. She held on to Robert Frost the way Bernie used to hold on to Grizzle. To stay your mind on and be staid.
“What’s your book?” the social worker asked.
“Just some poetry.”
“That’s nice.” The woman was quiet for a moment, thrumping a silent rhythm on the steering wheel, looking ahead through the windshield. “We’ve got a problem here, Angel,” she began.
You’ve got a problem. I’m fine.
“Did you know your father said he walked away from his work crew because he was hoping to see you?”
Work crew? She didn’t try to answer. She might betray herself.
“Well, that’s what he told the police when they finally caught up with him—that he was trying to check up on you. He said that the reason he took off was that you had called him. You were all upset, he said, because your mother had taken your brother away and left you alone here with your great-grandmother.”
So that business about parole had been a lie. Angel bit her lip. She mustn’t speak. Not even to ask if they knew where Bernie was.