High Spirits [Spirits 03] (34 page)

      
“Ma and Aunt Vi, come here!” I called.

      
They did.

      
So I stood back, planted my fists on my hips, smiled hugely, and told Billy, “Open it.”

      
Paper crackled before the first gasp went up. It went up from the men, since neither Ma nor Aunt Vi knew what Billy had just revealed. I wouldn’t have, either, if I hadn’t listened to the men in my life ooh and aah over radio signal receiving sets for a couple of years now. This one was a beauty, too, made by a company called Westinghouse, and came complete with a wooden cabinet and a head seat so that Billy could listen to whatever was being transmitted. I still couldn’t quite figure that part out.

      
“The man at the store said that pretty soon more than one person will be able to listen at a time. This thing here ...” I pointed at what I hoped was the proper place on the machine. “. . . is where you’re supposed to be able to plug in what he called a microphone. He said that invention is only months away. That means that everyone in the room will be able to listen.” To what, I hadn’t a single, solitary clue.

      
Silence greeted this announcement. I stood there, nervous as a cat, although I’m not sure why. Worried that my gift wouldn’t be appreciated, I reckon.

      
“My God, Daisy,” Billy whispered, awed. “I don’t know what to say except ... thank you.”

      
I relaxed. He liked it. That was the only important thing. I didn’t care what anyone else thought, although, I noticed, as I glanced around the room, everyone else looked to be pretty much in awe, too.

      
“Wow,” said Pa.

      
“How kind, Daisy,” said Ma uncertainly.

      
“Laws a mercy,” said Aunt Vi. I think she’d said that one before.

      
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Sam Rotondo.

      
He would.

About the Author
 

In an effort to avoid what she knew she should be doing with her life (writing—it sounded so hard), for several years
Alice Duncan
expressed her creative side by dancing and singing. She belonged to two professional international folk-dance groups and also sang in a Balkan women’s choir. She got to sing the tenor drone for the most part, but at least it was interesting work. In her next life, she’d like to come back as a soprano—and maybe as someone who longs to do something that makes money.

      
In September of 1996, Alice and her herd of wild dachshunds moved from Pasadena, CA, to Roswell, NM, where her mother’s family had settled fifty years before the aliens crashed. She loves writing because in her books she can portray the world the way it should be instead of the way it is, which often stinks. She started writing books in October of 1992 and sold her first one in January of 1994. That book,
One Bright Morning
, was published by HarperCollins in January of 1995 (and won the HOLT Medallion for best first book published in 1995). Alice hopes she can continue to write forever!