RACHEL'S SUMMER
65
but she said we must return to school the day after the funeral
because she wanted us all to get back to normal as soon as possible,
just as if nothing had happened. So we did. But it wasn't as if
nothing had happened, of course.
One morning about a week later the teacher called me up to
her desk and asked if I didn't want to look at a certain book she
had, with beautiful colored pictures in it. I said yes and thank
you and started to take it back to my seat. She said, "No, sit here
and look at it, at my desk;" and because it was an honor to sit at
the teacher's desk I sat down feeling proud and began to look at
the pictures, all the while thinking this was just part of her being
extra nice to me, as she had been all week, ever since I came back.
Then I began to realize that something was happening in the room.
The kids were all completely still, there wasn't even any whisper–
ing, and out of the corner of my eye I saw that something was being
passed from seat to seat, up one row and down another. "See, isn't
this
a nice one," the teacher said, leaning over my shoulder and
pointing to one of the pictures. I looked at it, wondering what was
happening in the room, what was going on. And then, somehow, I
knew.
It
was the card of thanks that Mother had had printed and
mailed to all the people who'd sent flowers when Rachel died, and
of course one had been sent to each class in school. Now it was
being passed around the room for the kids to read. I knew then
why everyone was so solemn and quiet, and why each one of them
looked up at me as he finished reading the card and passed it on
to the next one. I pretended I didn't know, though, and after a
minute I turned away from the book as if I had lost interest in it
and looked out of the window, staring into the sky with a sad far–
away look till the business of passing the card was finished and the
teacher said it was now time to take up geography.
This was the sort of thing that happened often after the
funeral, a lot of things like that the first few months, and longer,
even, so that for years afterward we were always kind of conspicu–
ous because of Rachel's death, and treated with special kindness
by people, or special attention. Most of all we were noticed by Mr.
Brittain, our minister, who always stopped us kids in the street
whenever we met him and wanted to talk with us. He would stand
there for some time, holding our hands and asking how Mother was
and how we were, though he must have seen us only a few days
