A Riddle for Rosie

Rosie jumped into bed. Tomorrow would be an exciting day because her new cousin Karen was coming to stay with them. “We will have fun even if it is raining,” Rosie said to Mom, snuggling into her blankets. “We can play with Legos or dolls or maybe I can read to her. How old is she?”

“Karen is six, but she is autistic,” Mom told Rosie. “She doesn’t think like other children do and it is easy for her to get angry.”

“What will she do?” Rosie asked.

“I really don’t know. Aunt Sharon said that she thinks no one likes her. She is very sensitive about what people say. You will have to be especially kind to her.”

“I will,” Rosie promised. “God loves her and we do, too.”

The next morning it was raining. Rosie had finished her chores and was coloring with Emma and Kyle at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” she said, jumping up.

“Why, here is your cousin Rosie!” Aunt Sharon said as she led Karen into the living room. The little dark-haired girl stared at Rosie and clutched a purple lunch box.

“Do you want to color with us?” Rosie asked. She smiled, but Karen shook her head.

“Come on,” Aunt Sharon coaxed. “See what Emma and Kyle are doing. Oh, look at this kitten. Doesn’t it look like Pumpkin? You can color it orange.”

“I don’t want to color,” Karen said, and stomped her foot. “I want to go home and play with Pumpkin.” Emma and Kyle looked at her in surprise, but Rosie ran to the bedroom. In a minute she was back with a stuffed little tiger.

“This is Tigger. You can hold him,” she said, holding out the toy to Karen.

“Oooh!” cried Karen, dropping her lunch box. She hugged the fuzzy orange body and smiled.

Aunt Sharon smiled and handed the lunch box to Mom. “I packed her a lunch because she is very picky about her food. If she throws a fit, it usually is best just to leave her alone until she calms down.” Rosie looked at Karen again. She was still squeezing Tigger. I am glad she likes him, anyway, Rosie thought. I hope she will like us, too.

After her mom left, Karen crawled on a chair and watched Emma color. “Do you like kitties?” Emma asked.

“I like Pumpkin,” Karen said. “I like this kitten, too. He has stripes like a real tiger.”

“I’ll read you a story about a kitten with stripes,” Rosie said. She found the book and sat in Daddy’s chair. Kyle climbed into her lap. “Once there was a little kitten. He had a striped tail and four white paws,” Rosie began. Karen looked at the picture and held Tigger tightly. Rosie smiled and went on.

It wasn’t a long book, but Rosie did her best to make it interesting. Kyle laughed when the kitten tumbled down the hill and fell into the pool. Rosie smiled and held up the picture to show Karen, but she wasn’t there. Neither was Emma.

“They went off to the bedroom to play dolls,” Mom said, looking up from her desk. “Maybe after you finish the story you can see how they are doing.” When Rosie finished the story Kyle wanted her to read his favorite book: The Little Engine That Could. So Rosie read it to him.

When she finally skipped down the hall, the girls’ bedroom was empty. “I wonder what they are doing?” Rosie said to herself as she followed the girls’ voices to the back bedroom. They were sitting on the floor next to Mom’s sewing machine cabinet.

“Emma? Karen?” Both girls looked up quickly and something silver flashed as it disappeared under Emma’s skirt. Rosie frowned. “What are you doing with Mommy’s sewing basket?” she asked Emma.

“I’m sewing, ’cause Karen wants to—to make Tigger a coat,” Emma said. Rosie looked at Karen. She was holding a bright piece of cloth around the stuffed animal and was frowning.

Rosie hesitated. “You need to ask Mommy—”

“No! No, you don’t!” Karen said and glared at Rosie. “It’s a surprise!”

“I—I can sew by myself,” Emma whispered.

“What do you have under your dress?” Rosie asked. Emma looked frightened as she pulled out Mom’s large sewing scissors.

“Nothing. Nothing your business!” Karen hissed and kicked Rosie. “You are a snoopy and I don’t like you!”

Rosie didn’t know what to do. Aunt Sharon said to leave her alone if she has a fit. But Mom said we have to ask before we take things, and Emma is not supposed to play with scissors, she thought with a frown. If I tell Mom, that’s tattling. I don’t want to be a tattletale. She looked at Karen. “I don’t want to be a tattletale, but you can’t play in here,” she said as firmly as she could. “You can’t use Mommy’s scissors.”

“No, no, no! Go away!” Karen said and jumped up. She pushed Rosie so hard that she nearly fell over.

Rosie felt like crying. How could she be kind to Karen? She felt like going away and letting them play. But should she? Or should she tell Mom? It was all confusing to Rosie. I must tell her, Rosie decided at last. Mommy will know what to do.

Mom looked up from her writing when Rosie handed her the scissors. “What is the matter?” she asked quickly. “Why is Karen yelling?”

“I don’t know what to do—I tried to be kind, but Karen is mad at me,” Rosie said, blinking back tears.

“What happened?” Mom asked.

“They are trying to sew something, and I told them they had to ask first, and then she started kicking me and throwing a fit—and when I said they couldn’t have the scissors, she pushed me!”

“Thank you for telling me, Rosie,” Mom said quietly. She gave Rosie’s arm a squeeze and got up. “I’ll take care of it. You were right. They shouldn’t have the scissors—Karen especially. Even though she doesn’t think so, you have been truly kind to her. She could have hurt herself. You have done the right thing.”

Rosie let out a long sigh. I am glad I told Mom. Maybe I can find something else to do with Karen, she said to herself. Something she can do.