Kristin Butcher... has novel ideas

Everything is going well in eleven-year old Annie's ordered life -- until she finds out that her ailing grandmother is coming to live with the family. A virtual stranger, her grandmother takes over Annie's room, smokes in the house, runs her mother ragged and turns Annie's whole world on end.

In an attempt to help her cope with the changes, Annie's parents enroll her in a local genealogical society, where she grudgingly embarks on a journey to discover her family tree. In the process, she learns not only that her grandmother has a wealth of knowledge and stories about their shared family history, but that she was not always the angry old woman she seems to be.

(Excerpt from Chapter 5)

I opened the front door as quietly as I could and tip-toed into the house. Then I listened. There was no television noise. No voices either. I sniffed the air. It reeked of stale cigarettes, but there was no smoke. I crossed my fingers. Maybe my grandmother was napping.

I hoped so. I wasn't in the mood for her daily interrogation. Not that it ever lasted long. Gramma didn't seem very interested in my activities -- or me, for that matter. Just the same, those after school 'talks' always left me feeling sore, as if I'd been poked all over with a knitting needle.

I tried to peer into the living room without being seen. But I couldn't see around the corner. I leaned in a little further.

"Ann Elizabeth? What are you doing skulking in the hallway?"

Rats! Reluctantly I let myself into the room. The last thing I felt like doing was smiling, but I tried.

My grandmother eyed me suspiciously. "You look like you're in pain, child," she said. "Do you have a stomach ache?"

I shook my head and sat down on the chair across from her.

"No homework?" She reached for a cigarette and matches.

"Not today, Gramma," I said. My voice sounded dead, even to me.

"Why not?" My grandmother didn't waste any time getting on my case. "There's always something you could be learning. Are you so smart that you don't need to study? The devil finds mischief for idle hands, you know. That's what my dead father used to say." Then she struck a match and put it up to the cigarette in her mouth. But, as usual, she held it too far away, and though she puffed and puffed, she couldn't get the cigarette to light.

I watched the match burn away.

"Blasted thing!" Gramma exclaimed, as it singed her fingers. She let it go, and it fell to the rug.

I jumped off my chair and snatched it up. The flame had gone out and a ribbon of smoke spiraled from the shriveled black stem. I dropped it into the ashtray and knelt down to gather up the charred remains of a number of other matches.

I held out my hand. "Look at these," I frowned. "There have to be six or seven dead matches here, Gramma. Do you know how dangerous that is? You could light yourself on fire. You could light the whole house on fire!"

She didn’t seem to care. "Nonsense and poppycock." She waved me away and reached for a new match. "I've been smoking for over sixty years, and I'm still here, aren't I? They just don't make matches like they used to."

"Well, then why don't you use the lighter Dad gave you?" I asked, looking around the table for it. "It's a lot safer than matches."

"I can't get it to work. It's one of those new-fangled gadgets," she scowled.

"It's child-proofed," I explained as I flicked it and lit her cigarette. "Look. I'll show you how it works."

But Gramma pushed me away, and there was irritation in her voice as she growled, "I'll never remember that."

I put the lighter back on the table. What was the use? Nothing I said was going to make my grandmother change her mind. Not only was she the grumpiest person I'd ever met, she was also the most stubborn. A bit set in her ways -- that's how my mother put it. But all the sugary words in the world couldn't change the facts. Gramma Granville was a cranky, bull-headed old woman.

Nothing seemed to make her happy, and I couldn't help wondering if she had to work at being in a bad mood all the time. She seemed to find fault in everything and everyone -- especially my mother. That really bugged me, because my mom tried so hard to please her.

"You don't have much to say for yourself today," Gramma remarked. As usual, it sounded like a criticism. If I'd been full of news, she would have jumped all over me for talking too much. I couldn't win.

"I'm a little depressed, I guess," I mumbled. It was true, but I had no idea why I was telling my grandmother. It was almost guaranteed she wouldn't be sympathetic.

"Depressed! Ha!" she cackled, and I instantly regretted my confession. "Little girl like you -- what do you have to be depressed about? You have your whole life ahead of you. That's the trouble with you young people -- you don't know when you're well off. To you, life is one big holiday. You have no responsibilities, no worries. Fast this, fast that. You want something, your parents buy it for you. You don't have to work at anything. But stub your toe and suddenly you're depressed." Then she wagged her finger at me. "Don't talk to me about depression. Wait until you get old. Then you'll have something to be depressed about."

As she spoke, I could feel anger bubbling up inside me until I was like a volcano about to erupt. Gramma Granville was so mean and insensitive! A person didn't have to be old to have problems. Didn't she know that? I wasn't even twelve yet, and I had more troubles than I knew what to do with -- like losing my bedroom and being forced to give up my gerbils. And now, the best teacher I'd ever had was gone, replaced by someone I couldn't stand! But my grandmother wouldn't care about that.

For a few very long seconds, I gripped the arms of the chair with all my might as I fought to hold my feelings inside. Then when I thought I could speak without screaming, I stood up and said, "I better let Mom know I'm home," and ran out of the room.