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Show Moon - 3 Susan, who emerged from babyhood not right. Her features were slack and thick, her eyes dull. Speech came to her slowly and she never smiled. Her name was Poor Susan, but not for long, because at three she died of a lung infection. Then, finally, came Esther, the only redhead. A child always in motion, she gave off sprays of color like a waterfall. Michael, the one living son, was held up at the center of the family like a young Apollo. "He is the light of my life," Ruth would say. "He is good to his very soul." Anne watched him rake up the leaves, studied the play of muscles on his arms, the cling of trousers. He didn't seem to notice her much, was too much a man before she was even a girl anyone would notice. But his eyes were like dark ripe olives, and his hands, when they absently tousled her hair, were like the first summer sun descending. What no one knew but Anne was that Michael stole things. He stole her collection of pretty stones, her ribbons. She didn't tell her parents, nor did she speak to him about it, for she loved him helplessly, and it puzzled her why a large boy would want her things. Then he stole the pennies she'd saved for over a year, and that was too much. She stormed into his room where he lay reading one of his father's books. Her face was flushed and brilliant, anger for once snapping the sweetness out of her eyes. He sat up and his face was cold, as if she had no right. He would not agree to return the pennies he'd stolen. And so she told Ruth what he had done. When their father returned from the New York office later that week-he was often away, almost a stranger to them-he took Michael into the basement and you could hear the shrieks. Anne crouched in the swing, her eyes squinted against the writhing leaves in the tree. That night, when everyone else was |