Just an Ordinary Day: The Uncollected Stories of Shirley Jackson Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Mommy,” Jeannie said absently, “will Tippie go to school someday?”
    “I suppose so. Who is Tippie?”
    “The little girl.”
    “If she’s a little girl she will certainly go to school. Where does she live?”
    “Around the corner. We go to see her all the time, me and Carrie.”
    Jeannie’s mother hesitated, frowning. “Another little girl around here?” she asked, and then, worried, “Baby,” she said, “have you and Carrie been crossing the street?”
    “No, no, not a toe,” Jeannie said, and giggled. “Tippie lives on our block. Around the corner. Past Mrs. Branson’s dark old garden.”
    “Which house, baby?”
    “On the corner, after Mrs. Branson’s garden. We start from our own front walk and we go to the corner and we go around and we go past the vacant lot and then we go around that corner and we go past Mrs. Branson’s and then on the next corner is Tippie’s house.”
    Mrs. Dawson put down the potato she was peeling and came to lean on the counter across from Jeannie; she put out one finger and touched Jeannie’s nose and both of them laughed. “Silly small thing,” Mrs. Dawson said. “That’s the Archers’ house.”
    “And Tippie lives there. We go and look up at the window and we see her playing but she doesn’t come outside. We go and watch her.”
    Mrs. Dawson stopped laughing and came around the end of the counter and gathered Jeannie up off the stool and then sat down with Jeannie in her lap. Jeannie curled herself up and sighed luxuriously. “Baby,” Mrs. Dawson said, “did someone talk to you about Mrs. Archer and her little girl? Maybe Helen, when she came to baby-sit?”
    “No,” Jeannie said, wondering. “But can you call Mrs. Archer and ask her can Tippie come over and play sometime?”
    “Baby,” Mrs. Dawson said, and stopped. Then she took a breath and asked slowly, “Baby, did you ever hear of people dying?”
    “Sure,” Jeannie said, surprised. “Great-grandmother died, and Carrie’s goldfish.”
    “Mrs. Archer had a little girl, and she died,” Mrs. Dawson said, still speaking very carefully. “You must have heard someone talking about it; it didn’t happen very long ago.”
    “Tippie stays in her room all the time. We watch her put her toys on the windowsill and take them down again. She has a Noah’s Ark and a doll in a blue dress and a yellow giraffe.”
    “Jeannie.” Mrs. Dawson gave her a little shake. “There is no little girl at the Archers’ house. There are no children there at all now,” and she held Jeannie tighter. “There are certainly no toys. I know.” She hesitated again. “I packed them away myself,” she said. “They gave everything away.”
    “Why did you have to pack the things if they belonged to Mrs. Archer’s little girl? Why didn’t Mrs. Archer pack them herself?”
    “Mrs. Archer wasn’t feeling very well. Carrie’s mother and Mrs. Brown and I went over to help her.”
    “That was nice of you.” Jeannie wriggled comfortably. “Helping her pack when she didn’t feel well.”
    “But you must promise me something, baby. You must promise me that you will never never say anything to Mrs. Archer about pretending to see a little girl—”
    Jeannie sat up indignantly. “It’s not pretending,” she said. “We go all the time and watch Tippie. It’s our third-favorite game.”
    Mrs. Dawson started to speak, and then stopped. Instead, she put her cheek down on Jeannie’s bright head. “Why do you call her Tippie?” she asked after a minute.
    Jeannie giggled. “We thought sometimes we could see just the tip of her head or the tip of her hand waving, so we called her Tippie. It’s a name we made up, Carrie and me.”
    “I see,” Mrs. Dawson said. Then she went on brightly, “You know, young lady, if I don’t get my potatoes peeled pretty soon, your daddy will come home and he’ll say ‘WHERE’S MY DINNER,’ and when there isn’t any dinner what do you think he’ll do?”
    “He’ll spank