Child of Spring Read Online Free Page A

moved about like lightning in the kitchen, now chopping, now stoking, now stirring. The bangles on her wrists tinkled as she worked, and the hissing fire made her forehead glisten.
    “I’ll sweep the rooms,” I said, going for the willow broom, but my mother stopped me.
    “Little Bibi’s breakfast is ready. Take it to her now.” She handed me the fully laden tray. “Don’t dawdle.”
    “And if she questions me, what shall I say?” I asked.
    “Hmm?” Amma draped a cloth over the food to keep the flies at bay.
    “What will I say if Little Bibi asks about the ring?”
    “Remember to mind the chickens along the way.”
    “Pay attention, Amma! What will I say to her if she asks about the ring,
hanh
?”
    “Tell her you’ll keep your eyes peeled for it!” Amma snapped. “What else is there to say?”
    I turned to leave.
    “Go carefully.” For good measure, she added, “And do not trip.”
    “Okay, okay,” I muttered. “Stop worrying so much.”
    No, I would make sure that I did not trip. There would be no more spills today!
    I walked down into the Big Courtyard between the kitchen and the Big House, one stone step at a time, dodging hens the whole way. The tray was heavy, the food was hot, and Little Bibi was waiting.
    The smell of egg and roti made my stomach rumble.On some days, I got to have a bite from the leftovers, but I wasn’t counting on such good luck today. Little Bibi would probably polish off her breakfast this morning and leave nothing for me.
    Carefully, I climbed up the stone steps leading into the rear of the Big House. I had almost made it without stumbling or spilling anything, but my heart still thumped. Each step was taking me closer to her angry eyes.
    “What will I say when she asks?” I wondered for the one hundredth time.

    Little Bibi didn’t say a word about the ring. She tilted her chair onto its back legs, crossed her arms, and waited to be served.
    I set the tray down before her. “Did you find your ring, Little Bibi?” I asked.
    There! It was out. A real thief wouldn’t bring up the subject, would she? Might Little Bibi change her mind when she heard the concern in my voice?
    But before my young mistress could reply, her mother said, “Don’t talk when you are serving food!”
    I bit my lip. I had forgotten about that rule. It was one of the many things I wasn’t allowed to do in the Big House. I wasn’t allowed to sit in a chair and I couldn’t eat off a nice dinner plate nor sip from a crystal glass. I wasn’t allowed to call Little Bibi’s mother anything but
memsaab,
the politeaddress for a woman of her high station. I wasn’t allowed to call Little Bibi by her real name, Munni, either.
    I ducked back against the wall and waited for Little Bibi’s reply. But my young mistress just pushed the omelet around on her plate, not even taking a bite.
    “Your ring, Little Bibi?” I tried again from a safer distance.
    “Enough about the ring!” she barked.
    Oo Maa!
Her words were like the thunderclap in the middle of the monsoon season.
    “I only—”
    “Fetch me a glass of water!” Memsaab commanded. “Go quickly!”
    I scampered over to the étagère, where the earthen pitcher sat on the middle shelf. I tried to tip it gently by its long neck, but despite my efforts, water sloshed onto the floor.
    “Careful! Careful!” admonished Memsaab.
    While I was mopping up the spill with a rag, Little Bibi pushed away her unfinished plate and stomped out of the room.
    “Clear the table,” Memsaab instructed. Then, half to herself, she added, “I’ll have to see about getting her a nice new ring for her birthday.”
    A nice new ring.
That is exactly what she said. I heard her, plain as day.
    After I cleared away the breakfast things I ran outside. I would find a rickshaw to take Little Bibi to schoolfor a good price; then her frowns would surely change to smiles. “How clever you are to get a rickshaw for only two rupees!” she would say. And she might even