Alfred and Izzy huddled like old friends on the distressed sofa. Izzy touched his weathered cheek. and his bristly white beard. "Your face is all chapped grandpa."

"It's nothing. I just spend a lot of time outdoors is all."

"Doing what?" Izzy removed his well worn, tweed coat and placed it on the back of Peter's favorite leather chair.

"Walking mostly."

"You're looking for him, aren't you?" Alfred nodded.

"Oh, grandpa, you should move back in here with us. I'd be happy to share Bell's room again. You look all thin. Have you been eating?"

"I'm fine, dear." He was lying, of course, so he changed the subject. "I'm not here to discuss my eating habits."

The two sat together quietly for a moment. Izzy held her grandfather's icy hands to warm them and imagined it was last year, her father was still home and Bell was in her room simply reading as always. Her daydream was quickly interrupted when Ella bustled through the swinging door like a saloon maid. She carried a wooden tray full of tea and toast.

"Since you're here, Alfred, you may as well have some hot tea to warm you up." Ella slammed the silver tray on top of the oval, wooden coffee table. If it weren't for her pinched appearance, she'd be quite pretty. "Just because you two have lost your manners doesn't mean I have as well. Go ahead and eat your toast while it's still warm. We're out of jam." In another huff Miss Manners left the room to tend to Bell.

"That was a close one," said Alfred, stuffing his mouth full of bread.

"Her bark is far worse than her bite." Izzy left her slice for her grandfather. "I think she's softening up to you. She did feed you, after all."

"Well, my dear, you should know your mother would be just as nice to a burglar---if such things were taught in Miss Elliot's Etiquette handbook!"

Izzy giggled. "I suppose. But, grandpa, it's so good to have you home. I'll hide you under my bed if I have to. Did you know Tommy Thompson hid in my closet for three days last summer to avoid a well-deserved beating?"

"Yes, dear, I knew he was there. I could hear you talking through the wall."

"Why didn't you rat me out?" As she chatted she picked crumbs out her grandfather's full white beard.

Alfred replied, "You were helping out a friend. Did you know, a true friend is closer than a brother and will lay down his life for you?"

"Then I'm not such good a friend to dumb old Tommy!" Izzy laughed and Alfred joined her. They would gladly lay down their lives for one another. She huddled closer to Grandfather and drew her knees under her white cotton nightgown to stay warm.

Alfred cleared his throat, and cautiously asked, "Seriously though how is my sweet Lily Bell?"
The laughter left Izzy like a candle blown out by an icy breeze. "She is gravely ill. They say she hasn't much time. But she still has her wit, and when her nasty wheezing subsides she can still sing as lovely as any songbird."

"This is all wrong." Alfred stood and slowly paced the small room. "All of this could have been prevented... if only we..."

Izzy tried to match her grandfather step for step, careful not to hit her shins on the table. She did not like secrets and considered people who told stories far too slowly to be hiding something.

"What is it, grandpa? If only what?"

Alfred sunk into the sofa, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

My fault, my fault, my fault... Izzy quickly went to his side. Why is it I always seem to ask the wrong questions? Will my mouth ever be in subjection to my brain? "I'm sorry! Please feel free to keep your if-only to yourself. I for one have oodles of if-onlys: If only I hadn't left my rusty bike on the train tracks, if only I hadn't told Micky Brights I loved him in 4th grade, if only I hadn't replaced Mom's sugar with salt, if only I were sick instead of Bell..."

"Don't say such a thing Izzy. We can't change what is with words, but we can change what will be with the Author's Word."

"You're not making any sense grandpa. Maybe you should speak of your if-only instead. I'll get used to your crying. Although it's not very manly, if I may be quite frank."

"Can you be anything else, my dear?" Alfred smiled again. Izzy's delightful chatter was a soothing ointment to his spirit.
---

Bell lay on her side, facing the window overlooking 14th Street. Across the way was a distressed playground. A graffiti mural tinted with smeared blood was the backdrop to a rusty carousel and other abused equipment marked for demolition. It was, like the children who played there--neglected. Still, the voices of her former playmates floating up to her were comforting.

When Ella tapped her softly on the shoulder, Bell jumped. Immediately she began her ruse and sang, "Revive me, revive me..."

"Oh, please, my dear. whom do you think you're fooling? Your sister told us how you warned her of our disagreement. You may be dying but nonetheless you find it in your heart to trick your mother, and in such a cruel way." With the precision of a pit crew Ella changed her daughter's sheets while placing a bedpan beneath her bottom as if she were performing an oil change.

"Well, Mother, would you prefer I trick you or truly be mentally incapacitated?"

"Honestly, Daughter, I'm not sure. In one way you are paralyzed mentally and in another, morally." Old pink flowered nightgown off, new blue flowered nightgown on.

"Oh, Mother, you shouldn't speak of moral paralyzation, because you're the one who's paralyzed."

"First of all, Miss High-IQ, paralyzation is not a word. You made it up. And secondly, how am I paralyzed morally?"

Soiled pillowcase off, clean pillowcase on.

"By your unwillingness to forgive---anyone. You're still angry with Father for leaving, you're angry with Grandfather for allowing it, you're angry with Izzy for telling it like it is, and you're angry with me for dying"

"Nonsense!" Ella screeched. She blushed and began dusting, with an old rag, to cover up the truth..

"Is it?" Bell's voice softened. "Mother, I love you and there's nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. Sometimes I don't like you but I'll always love you."

Something in Ella broke and she sobbed uncontrollably. It scared Bell, who thought she had been even more impertinent than Izzy. "Oh, Mother, I'm so sorry. I was out of line---"

"No, my dear daughter. I'm not crying because of your rudeness but because of your love."

"Mother, sometimes you don't make any sense at all. Is it your hormones again?" Bell blushed.

"No Bell, it's not, and it's rather rude to speak of another's hormones. But I'll overlook it, considering..."

Bell blurted, "Considering my impending doom?"

Ella turned and threw the dust rag into the air. "Must you, Bell? Must you constantly remind me you are soon to pass?"

"Pass? You say it as if I'm passing gas or passing someone on the street. Why don't you call it what it is, Mother? I am dying and it could be as early as next Tuesday!" In defiance Bell crossed her arms. With the weight loss she appeared a spoiled nine-year-old who was not getting her own way.

Ella looked at her daughter, wanting to scoop her up in her arms and run fast enough to escape death. But she knew better. You can't outrun death and you can't make someone stay who wants to leave. Ella tossed off her true feelings and wiped her daughter's brow with a cool, clean rag. Next she picked up an antique silver brush with soft white bristles and began brushing her daughters long blond hair. Bell suggested her mother cut it as short as Izzy's to make it easier but Ella wouldn't hear of it. A true lady never cuts her hair. After brushing it 100 times she appeased Bell by making two french braids. She tied off the braids with tiny blue ribbons.

"I heard you arguing with Grandfather Alfred in the living room. Is it about Father? Has he been found?" She sat up hopefully.

"No, your father hasn't been found, and he's not lost as you would lose a shoe or a toy. He purposefully left. Shoes don't walk away of their own accord." She bent down and picked up the dust rag.

"How do you know?" Bell teased.

"Daughter, you must be delirious. I'll consider your visiting with Alfred if you promise to take a nap." Ella balled up the dirty sheets and shoved them into the soiled pillow case.

"Then you're allowing him to stay with us?" Bell asked hopefully, sitting up even higher on her pillow.

"No, I've only had a weak moment," Ella answered in a brittle tone. She poured a spoonful of sticky medicine and held it up to Bell's mouth. "Open up and take your medicine."

Bell was annoyed. "If my death is so imminent, Mother, then why must I ingest this dreadful concoction?"

"Why, you ungrateful girl!" Ella spilled a bit of red liquid on the pink quilt. "Don't you know we are fortunate indeed to have this dreadful concoction? People all around us are starving, most people don't even have safe water to drink, and yet somehow you manage to complain about the taste of your medicine?"

Bell whispered, "Forgive me, Mother. It just seems as if this medicine is wasted on me then. Why not give it to a child who will not die?"

"Because you are my child."

"Very well, Mother. If this is how you wish to show your love for me then I will gladly swallow it." Bell opened her mouth, looking very much like a baby bluebird.

Dropping the medicine into the bird's mouth Ella screeched, "You foolish girl! You speak of love as easily as you speak of gas." She replaced the cap on the bottle and poured Bell a glass of water. "You may as well learn it now. Love is a concept which has long since passed." She balled up the dirty laundry, turned on her heel and left the room..

"Oh, poor Mother. You're wrong. Love hasn't passed. We've only forgotten it somehow."

Bell glanced out her foggy bedroom window. She could not make out who was on the playground, but she listened. The squeaking of the one swing still intact reminded her of music, and she softly sang a forbidden song. "When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, we've no less days to sing..." Before she could finish the verse, she fell asleep, exhausted by the morning's events.

---

-End of Chapter 6-

Author's note: I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Please vote, comment, follow and add The Wasting to your library. If you've got a book you'd like me to check out—I'd be delighted.