More Perfect than the Moon Read Online Free PDF

name is that?” asked Grandfather.
    “It’s what we’ve got,” said Mama with a smile.
    Mama went off to the garden, followed by the goslings. Grandfather and I shoveled out stalls and laid down new hay for the horses. When we were done, I took my journal and sat in the meadow with Beatrice and Beatrice’s Mother.
     
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    Beatrice is beautiful and wise and will grow up to be an intelligent and imaginative sheep.
    Beatrice’s Mother is not smart.
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    When Mama brought us sandwiches and fruit for lunch, I read them this. Grandfather nodded.
    “I’m not sure sheep are known for their good sense,” he said.
    “Beatrice is unusual,” I said.
    The goslings saw Mama and ran over.
    “Madeleine, I believe you’re going to be the largest of the three of you,” said Mama. “And you, Margaret Louise, will always be the runt.”
    “Small and lovely, you mean,” said Grandfather.
    They bustled around Mama until, laughing, she shooed them away.
    “You know,” said Mama, “I’m going to go inside and rest. I feel tired.”
    “I’ll come in, too,” I said.
    “I’ll be in the barn,” said Grandfather. “I’ll come in later for a piece of cake.”
    “Cakes don’t last forever,” said Mama.
    “Not with Grandfather around,” I said.
    Inside, Mama sat at the table while I poured tea. I took out my journal.
    “Did you write in a journal when you were little?” I asked Mama.
    Mama smiled.
    “No, I never thought of it. You’re lucky, Cassie. That journal is like an old friend, isn’t it?”
    “Sometimes.”
    There was a silence.
    “Sometimes I write things in here that are nasty,” I said.
    “That’s what a journal is for,” said Mama. “To put down feelings. That way they don’t clutter up your head.”
    I waited for a time while Mama drank tea.
    “You know, I wrote something about you in here. And Beatrice.”
    “You did? Is that how you seemed to know her name?”
    I nodded.
    “I wrote that you did not have the terrible baby. You had a baby lamb named Beatrice.”
    Mama began to laugh. She laughed so hard that I began to laugh, too.
    Finally she stopped to catch her breath.
    “You know, it may be a good deal easier to raise that lamb than a terrible baby,” she said.
    Those words, “terrible baby,” sounded funny in Mama’s voice. It seemed to give me some courage.
    “And I wrote that you made Caleb take care of it because all it did was sleep and bleat. You said I was more beautiful than Beatrice. And smarter.”
    My voice got smaller.
    “And you loved me best.”
    Mama did not laugh. She reached over and touched my cheek.
    “And I do love you the best of all
the eight-year-olds in this very house,” she said. “And I have enough room in me, Cassie. If I can love three troublesome goslings, I will share some love with the terrible baby.”
    I smiled. I loved it when Mama said “terrible baby.” It was as if she had come over to my side. We would both have to deal with the terrible baby when it came.
     
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    “Oh no,” cried Mama. “Help me, Cassie! That terrible baby is rude and ugly and smelly and as dumb as a stick. And it cannot read or write. Take it away. Take it far, far away and come back and read to me.”
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    “Cass.”
    Mama’s voice was faint. I stopped writing.
    “Yes?”
    “Remember when I said I’d let you know when I needed you?”
    I nodded.
    “Well, I need you now,” said Mama. “I think it is time.”
    I almost asked time for what, and then I saw Mama’s face. It was pale and tight.
    “Go get Maggie,” said Mama. “I’m going to the bedroom to lie down, Cassie. The baby is coming.”
    I stood up, my journal falling off the table. I left it where it fell.
    “Someone has to ride over to get her. Her phone doesn’t work,” said Mama. “I think you’d better hurry.”
    Mama stood up and held on to the chair. She didn’t look like Mama all of a sudden. She looked like someone far away from me.
    “I’ll get Grandfather,” I said.
    I