Ship of Souls Read Online Free PDF Page B

captive?” I ask, but the bird only sighs. Then Mrs. Martin calls me, and I know I have to go downstairs or else she’ll come up to check on me.
    “Go and nourish yourself. I’ll rest while you’re gone.” The bird nestles against the soft towel and closes her eyes, which ends our conversation—for now.
    I go downstairs and try to act as normal as possible. Mrs. Martin’s got the baby carrier on the kitchen table, but Mercy’s starting to fret. That’s what she does before breaking into a full-blown wail. I’m about to ask if I can eat up in my room when Mrs. Martin asks me to rock the baby.
    “She’s been so unhappy today,” Mrs. Martin says with a yawn. “Up all night and then she wanted to be held all day long. Poor thing.”
    I use my hand to rock the carrier back and forth, but the baby’s screwing up her face, which means she’s about to bawl.
    “Not like that, D. Pick her up. She won’t bite.”
    Bite? This kid doesn’t even have teeth yet. It’s my eardrums I’m worried about. And what if her shrieks startle the bird—what if she decides to leave? Mrs. Martin’s standing at the stove watching me. I take a deep breath and pick up the wriggling baby.
    As soon as I put her body against mine, Mercy becomes still. She whimpers a bit, but quiets down when I bounce her a little.
    “That’s it,” says Mrs. Martin with a tired smile. “She likes you, D.”
    I can’t imagine having to hold a cranky baby all day. “Maybe we should order in tonight,” I suggest.
    Mrs. Martin pushes herself off the counter and jumps into action. “No, no—you’ve been working hard at school all day. You deserve a home-cooked meal. It’ll only take me a minute to warm this food up.”
    Mercy stays quiet for about two minutes, and then she starts to fret again. I keep bouncing her on my shoulder, and then I try walking around with her. But nothing I do seems to work, and before long she’s screaming. Mrs. Martin turns off the stove and takes over.
    “You can serve yourself, can’t you, dear?”
    “Sure,” I say, only too happy to swap a bawling baby for a plate of hot food. “Uh—would it be OK if I ate up in my room? I sort of have a headache.”
    “That makes two of us,” Mrs. Martin says with a sigh. The baby clutches Mrs. Martin’s sweater in her tiny fists and buries her brown face in the old woman’s wrinkly neck. Mercy quiets down after Mrs. Martin starts rubbing her back and humming softly in her ear. I watch them, and for just a moment I wish I were still small enough to be held like that. But Mercy’s the baby—not me.
    “Should I make a plate for you, too?” I ask.
    Mrs. Martin shakes her head. “I’ll eat later, once Mercy’s gone to sleep.”
    I stand where I am, not sure it’s really fair for me to leave Mrs. Martin alone with the baby—after all, she had to take care of Mercy all day. Mrs. Martin sees the guilt on my face and smiles. “Go on, dear. I’ll be fine. You can come down later and show me your homework—not that you’ll need my help. You’re such a bright boy. We can have a cup of cocoa together.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” I fix myself a plate and head upstairs, anxious to talk more with the bird. But when I reach my room, she’s fast asleep, so I just eat my dinner and get my homework out of the way. When I take my plate back downstairs, everything’s quiet. The can of cocoa’s on the kitchen counter, but Mrs. Martin has fallen asleep in the rocking chair with Mercy resting peacefully in her arms.
    For just a moment I feel like a ghost, an invisible intruder in some other family’s home. I clean up the kitchen as quietly as I can, and then head back upstairs to check on the bird.
    “Are you ready to retire?”
    “You’re awake!” There’s something different about the bird, but I’m not sure it would be polite to say anything. Her feathers are no longer white. They look kind of dingy, like water-stained paper.
    “I’ll need a deeper sleep soon,” she says,