"But that's impossible, Mrs Morris. As you know, her arms and legs are paralyzed, and she's only seven years old. Are you suggesting that Julie went all the way across the room, and drew it with her mouth? That's the Eiffel tower scratched on the wall! And my daughter has never seen a picture of it, to my knowledge." the baffled mother protested, as a young girl looked on with a serious expression.
"In any case, there it is. And it wasn't there when I took care of her last night. Mr. Morris locks the doors and windows at night, from what I understand?" asked the private nurse, her starched uniform gleaming, and her demeanor professional.
"Yes, why?" she asked curiously.
"Well it was only you, I, Mr. Morris, and little Julie who were in here, with the house locked up tightly. The servants can't get into the main house from their quarters, I saw that when I went to discuss my breakfast with the cook. Who are you suggesting did it?" asked the nurse. As she did, the girl glanced at a large nail, which held a painting of a rocky beach on her wall.
"I honestly don't know. It's as much of a mystery to me as it is you." she said, defeated.
Mrs. Morris went to her daughter. "Would you like some warm milk and oatmeal for breakfast, Honey?" she asked.
"Yes, Mama. I would love to have a book too." whispered Julie.
"Why would you want something like that?" she asked curiously.
"I can't play like other girls my age, and it's so boring just sitting here all day. I would like very much to learn more about the world." she replied sadly.
"But you can't read. You can't even turn the pages." Mrs. Morris pointed out.
"I can listen. Other kids have private tutors, perhaps a tutor could read to me, and then turn the pages for me after I have learned how to read." she suggested hopefully.
"You are a girl, and girls don't study such things. If you want classes, we can start early with etiquette." offered Mrs. Morris.
"No thank you, Mama. I will never be able to dance, or even use silverware." she replied, a tear sliding down her right cheek.
"What good would you hope to get from the book learning?" she asked gently, as she produced a fine lace handkerchief.
"I'm not sure yet. But I do want to learn, so dearly." she replied, her voice shaking.
As an afterthought, Mrs. Morris asked "Julie, do you know who drew that?" as she pointed towards the seven foot high structure scratched roughly onto the wall facing the bed.
"I think I did... At least I remember dreaming that I did. Am I in trouble?" she asked reluctantly.
"Of course not, Dear. How did you get up so high? And how do you know about that place?" she asked, in awe at the thought that her bed bound daughter may have been capable of such a feat.
"I don't really remember. It's all sort of fuzzy." she replied.
"That's all right, Julie. I'll bring a doctor right away. We will have you using your arms and legs in no time!" Mrs. Morris said, tears streaming down her face, as she embraced the small child.
"Oh no, what are they going to think if they find out how I did it? I can't move my arms or legs." Julie thought, despite partially allowing herself to enjoy the moment of attention from her mother.
The next day:
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morris. There's no change." the doctor said sadly.
"But what about that?" she asked, in an insistent voice, pointing towards the massive drawing.
"I don't know... Maybe someone got in, and did it? No child could have done that." he said, leaving the rest unsaid.
"I guess you are right. And she did say she was dreaming. But who would bother to break in to draw a picture?" she wondered.
"I don't know, but it was a cruel trick." replied the doctor.
Three weeks later:
Yawning, Julie awoke to moonlight streaming into her room. Remembering the last time the moon was so bright, she concentrated on the picture, and the nail in the wall.
With her mind, she pushed the picture hard against the wall, and pulled out the nail. Then she gently allowed the picture to slide to the floor.
"I'd better not do anything they'll notice any more." she whispered, instinctively knowing that it was vital to keep her skills a secret.
After a few experimental scratches on her drawing, she put the picture back as it was. Then she concentrated on the door. It was harder because she didn't know how the latch worked, but after some thought she first opened, then closed it.
"I wonder if I can get a book..." Julie thought to herself, remembering the flyer she had snagged from the floor of her room last month. The one with the big tower on it, which Mrs. Morris had dropped when introducing her to the new nurse. It was safely hidden under her mattress.
Julie pictured the way downstairs, then the big double doors leading to the library, which was always open. Remembering where the books were, she blindly "grabbed" one.
She clumsily brought it up, hitting walls several times. She held her breath each time, but luckily, nobody woke up. She then opened the door to her room, and the book gently floated to her.
"Oh my, that white whale is almost as big as the ship!" the young child whispered, amazed. However, she was quickly frustrated.
"No pictures, except for the cover." she mourned, and sent the book back downstairs, much easier (and quieter) than before. Not knowing how to put it back, she left it on the large oak table beside the library window.
Ten days later:
"Please don't go, Mama." pleaded Julie, almost in a panic.
"But wouldn't you like for me to bring a wardrobe of beautiful dresses back for you, custom made in Paris?" asked Mrs. Morris, frowning.
"No!" she yelled, almost in a tantrum, for perhaps the first time in years.
"Well then, what would you like me to bring back?" asked the flustered mother, trying to keep her composure.
Instantly, despite her panic, Julie realized that this might be her only chance to learn about the world. She fought hard to suppress her emotions, and several minutes later said in a calm, respectful voice "A tutor, please?"
"Very well. I can hire one before we leave, or do you want me to bring someone back from France?" she asked.
"I would like to begin now, please." replied Julie, almost whispering.
Fifteen years later:
Julie sat in the parlor, sun streaming into the big bay window. She concentrated on the door and it closed, then with a small click, locked.
Then she looked at the book which was on a small end table nearby. The big white whale was visible despite the awkward angle. She smiled, and soon the book was in her lap, open.
Cover image made in Canva using their gallery