We Are Seven

We Are Seven

Inspired by the poem of the same name, by William Wordsworth

I pull the thread through the fabric, finishing off the stitching on the purple flower. Sucking the end of one of my curls in my mouth, I admire my work. Jane is going to love it.

“Alice,” Momma calls from the kitchen. “Supper.”

“Coming,” I call back. I set down the handkerchief, poking my sewing pin into the little cushion as I hop from my stool. My socked feet pad across the cold, living room floor and into the kitchen. Momma turns from her place at the stove, setting down her spoon onto the edge of a big pot. Steam floats up above the food, and my stomach suddenly feels empty.

“Hungry?” she asks, smiling. I nod quickly, and climb onto a chair, and from the chair onto the counter. I sit on the edge, and swing my legs. Momma laughs lightly, and turns to spoon me a bowl of soup. She hands me a bowl, and then another one, and takes two for herself. “Let’s go, honey.”

“Wait!” I cry out, jumping from the counter. “I made a handkerchief for Jane!” I run into the living room, and snatch the pretty cloth from the table. Then I rush back, tucking it into my dress pocket. “Ok, I’m ready.” I pick up my bowls, and follow Momma out the back door, and into our backyard.

We walk through the tall grass, passing the small, abandoned church settled between the trees and flowers. Its colorful windows are all mostly cracked, and it's white paint is slowly fading to a dull yellow. Momma stops in front of a large oak tree, with yellow leaves from the cold weather.

She settles slowly into the grass, careful not to spill the soup over the sides of her bowls. I do the same thing, and Momma takes one of her bowls, and places it on a small, flat wooden plank with John’s name on it. I set mine on Jane’s wood-carved name, then start eating my soup.

“Have Matthew and David written yet?” I ask between bites of potato and chicken. The grass and weeds tickle the bottoms of my legs, and itch at my ankle. “Or Peter and Thomas?”

“Not yet, honey,” she answers gently. She touches the edge of John’s name. “They’re probably still far away from shore.”

“Hm,” I huff, scraping my spoon against the bottom of the bow. I tip the edge up to my lips, drinking up the last of the broth. “When are they coming back, Momma?” She’s quiet for a long time; long enough that I look up and set my bowl down.

“It’ll be a long time, hon,”she whispers. She leans towards me, and brushes some hair off my cheek. “I miss your brothers too, but they… they won’t be here for a while.”

I bite my lip. Tilt my head. “Ok,” I reply after a minute. “But you have me!” I rise up onto my knees and fall forward to hug her around the neck. “And Jane and John.” She hugs me tight, holding the back of my head on one of her hands.

“I have you,” she repeats. “I do.”

A few minutes later, once Momma’s inside, I crawl over the roots of the tree and look for ladybugs in the grass. I make sure not to step on Jane and John’s names; Momma always told me to be careful. Their soup still sits uneaten, but I know that by tomorrow morning, the bowls will be empty.

I hear rustling from behind me, and quickly pause my exploring to look at where the sound came from. Momma says to always listen for the noises of animals—coyotes and snakes and things. But when I peer past our yard, it's not animals causing a stir, but a man stepping past the church and over a broken picket fence. I suck on the end of one of my curls, and peer up at him. He’s big, with messy hair and a scraggly beard.

“Hello, little girl,” he says in a scratchy voice. “Where’s your mother? Your siblings?”

“My Momma’s inside cleaning,” I say easily, spitting out my hair. “And most of my siblings are away.”

“How many of you are there?” A ladybug lands on my wrist, and I suck in a small gasp, making sure not to move and scare it away.

I don’t look up at the man, but still answer, “There’s seven of us. With Momma, we’re eight.”

“But they’re not here?”

I point to the two wooden markers on the ground with my free hand. “Those are John and Jane. They’re always around. But my big brothers are gone right now.” The ladybug crawls up my arms, its tiny legs tickling my skin.

The man’s eyes follow my hand, and suddenly his face looks different. “Two of your siblings are dead, then? Then you only have four.” I hesitate, then shrug. The ladybug flies away, and I pout disappointedly.

“We are seven,” I insist lightly. I start balancing myself on the roots again, spreading my arms so that I don’t fall. “I spend time with Jane and John all the time. Here, look!” I stop moving so that I can pull the handkerchief out of my dress pocket. “I just made this for Jane today.”

The man shakes his head slowly, and I frown and put the cloth away. “How did she die?” he asks. I wince at the word, and jump down from the roots. I bite my lip, and sit down in the grass, next to her name.

“She got sick. It hurt her a lot, she was screaming all the time.” I look up at him. “The same thing happened to my brother a little bit later. But he wasn’t yelling, he would just whisper things. I think he could see things we couldn’t sometimes.” I pat his name next to Janes, and perk up. “But they always keep each other company. And Momma and I say hi all the time!”

The man frowns in a really ugly way, and throws up his hands. “Your brother and sister are dead! You only have four siblings—if that, because I don’t see any others.” My lips start to tremble. I don’t understand why he’s mad.

“No, sir,” I repeat. “We’re seven. Jane and John are right here,” I point to them, then put my hands on each piece of wood, almost protectively.

“What’s going on here?” Momma’s voice suddenly says firmly. I look over and see an expression I’ve never seen her have. “What are you saying to my daughter?”

The man waves a hand towards me. “Your daughter is deluded. She thinks that—”

“No,” my Momma interrupts softly. “You will leave. I don’t know what you want with my daughter and our family. But you will say no more to her. Leave. Now.” The man frowns again, but then just mutters to himself and turns back the way he came. Momma turns to me once he’s left, and opens her arms. “Come here, honey.” I run to her, and throw myself into her hug. She lifts me off the ground, holding me tightly against her waist. “Are you alright, love? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“He was just saying things,” I answer, pressing my face into her neck. “That Jane and John were—that they were—”

“Oh, honey. Hush, it’s alright.” She turns and starts walking, taking the two of us inside. She opens the door with one hand, and keeps holding onto me with the other. I hear the latch click once we’re in the house. “He’s gone now.”

“He wasn’t right, was he?” My voice shakes a little.

She sighs, crouches, and lets go of me so that I can look her in the eye. “No,” she shakes her head. “He wasn’t right. Your brother and sister will always be with us.” Her eyes start to water and she wipes at her eyes. “You will always be my seven babies.”