You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.

Rob never had a room at Silverfawn Children's Home, but he did have his own corner. It was a quiet gray place against his dorm window, where the sun could light his face enough to read by.

He was nine years old this year. He didn't know if it was a particularly significant age, but he felt more responsible than he did at eight, like there were great things coming for him.

Rob didn't want great things. He wanted to be alone, with his book, in Mole's house. The sisters would insist on turning the lights on, but he would walk right over and turn them off after they had gone.

First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms.

The lights were bright and lifeless and reminded him of streetlamps on sidewalks, of questions asked by adults in a loud echoing room. The shade was quiet and cool and reminded him of nothing, which was exactly what he wanted.

Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.

And when he sat beside Bryce Johnson's bed and ducked his head down, no-one was tempted to come in and find him.

It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and —

"Rob."

Rob had many books, but the one Pattie had bought him was the one he loved best. It was an abridged version of The Wind In The Willows, which he was reading right from the start. He took it to all classes, even Religious Education, and cherished it like the Bible. To him, Toad and Badger and Mole and Rat were real people, although his favorite was Mole. Mole never got into trouble like Mr. Toad, and he didn't steal motorcars either. He lived a comfy life in his comfy clean hole.

Rob knew by now that his parents were never coming back, but he thought that a comfy life was something that seemed quite good to aspire to.

"Hey, Rob."

If he stayed here forever, then they wouldn't need to send him back.

"Hello, Earth to Rob!"

The volunteer girl poked her head in front of him, blinking until he realized that it was that one volunteer girl. Terry. Her hair was as short as always, which was strange, because he had grown accustomed to the sisters' wimples, and adult women with short hair made him feel even younger than he was. She was wearing her blue-silver Silverfawn shirt and her lanyard, which had her name-card hanging from it like an acorn.

"I just wanna know, Rob. Why are you so down all the time?"

Teresa Larkins was eighteen, twice his age, which was young enough to make her annoying and just old enough to take her out of his realm of understanding. He looked up at her, then turned back to his book. He had learned a long time ago that answering a question honestly only led to teasing.

"I don't know, Terry," he said. "Why do you think I'm down?"

"Because of your eyebrows, silly," she said. "Here."

Terry slid down beside him, looking over his shoulder at the book. He shifted away and shut it, suddenly embarrassed.

"Whatcha reading?"

"The Jungle Books," he lied. "It's not polite to read over other people's shoulders."

Terry grinned. She was always so... what was the word?