THREE

December 1984

Noorah had the best months of her life after the day she and Ya’qoob became friends. It was the most fun she’d had since school started and she no longer felt lonely and neglected. Every single day, before the first bell rang in the morning, Ya’qoob invited her to play with him, and sometimes he showed up with a treat for her, too; and at recess, he always came looking for her. He didn’t mind that she never spoke and she didn’t mind that he never stopped. Miss Alice and her parents seemed less worried about her now that she had someone to play with at school, even though he tended to pull her into risk-taking activities that they would have preferred he didn’t—like climbing things not meant for climbing.

When Noorah woke up on the first day of winter break, she felt sad not to be going to school. No school meant no Ya’qoob. She had spent every single school day playing with him during recess and morning free play. At home, she would only have Mukhtâr to play with, and he wasn’t interested in playing with her much since ’Itbân came over frequently. She had no one to come over and play with her. Her only friend was Ya’qoob, and she didn’t think he knew where she lived.

As daylight peeked through the curtains at her bedroom window, she climbed out of bed to face a day that probably wouldn’t be very much fun. Dressed in her thick sleeper, she padded across the hardwood floor to the window and pulled aside the curtain. Everything was covered in white, including her father’s cherry trees. It would be fun to go out to make a snowman after breakfast. She hoped Mukhtâr would be willing instead of abandoning her to play with his best friend as usual. She wouldn’t count on it though.

She could already hear voices from the direction of the kitchen, telling her that her parents were already up. Her mother’s soft-spoken, lilting voice and her father’s warm baritone reached her ears. She didn’t hear Mukhtâr, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was still asleep. More often than not, he was shoving so much food into his mouth at one time that she thought he started to resemble a chipmunk. She’d seen chipmunks fill their cheeks with nuts until their faces bloated. Chubby cheeks looked cute on a chipmunk. On her brother, not so much. When one of their parents finally noticed his eating, they usually scolded him and reminded him to eat like a human.

Noorah was habituated enough to a morning routine to know that the first place to go wasn’t the kitchen. When she made her way out of the bedroom, she went to the hallway bathroom she and her brother shared. The door was open and it was empty. She remembered to say the du’â her mother had helped her memorize before she went inside.

She closed it but didn’t lock it. The one time she’d done that, she had gotten stuck and her father had had to break down the door to get her out. It was an experience she was in no hurry to repeat.

She unzipped her sleeper as she reached the toilet seat and pushed it down to her legs. She had a long-sleeved undershirt and thick leggings on underneath, but she still felt the cold. Pulling down her pants and underwear made her feel colder. The toilet seat was freezing when she sat down. It had been fairly recently that she’d started going to the bathroom by herself. Her mother still helped when it came to bathing.

When she was done, she reached for the hose to wash herself. The heater had warmed the water so that it didn’t freeze her sensitive skin. She remembered to hold the hose in her right and wash with her left. Right hands were for eating and clean stuff. Left hands were for washing yourself and dirty stuff. Shaytân ate and drank with his left. That sounded gross.

She slid off, returned the hose to its place, and then flushed the toilet. That was important. Otherwise, the whole bathroom started smelling like your pee or poop. Mukhtâr always seemed to forget and left nasty smells behind. Then Mami and Papi yelled at him. Noorah always tried to remember. It wasn’t nice to leave yucky smells behind that made other people feel sick.

There was a stool next to the sink for her use since she wasn’t tall enough to reach the taps on her own yet. It might be a long time before that happened. She was the smallest one in her class. She picked it up and moved it to the front of the sink. Then she climbed up to reach the taps.

First, she washed her hands with soap. Then she reached for the cherry-flavored toothpaste she and Mukhtâr shared and her toothbrush, which was a light pink. Mukhtâr’s was blue. She rinsed it, squeezed toothpaste onto the bristles, and then brushed, up and down, left and right. She spat out the accumulating toothpaste in her mouth and brushed more. Then she gargled water to rinse out her mouth and washed the brush.

After she was done, the toothbrush was returned to its place, as well as the toothpaste. She washed her face free of any toothpaste residue and then turned off the water and stepped down. As she left the bathroom, she recited the du’â for leaving it.

When she entered the kitchen, her teeth brushed and face washed but still dressed in her pajamas and her hair rumpled from sleep, Mahmood and Mukhtâr were already at the table. The strong scent of coffee mingled with the aroma of cinnamon and oats. Her father was sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper as usual and Mukhtâr, in a sleeper just like her, was reading one of his mystery stories. He loved to read. Naseerah was at the stove, still cooking.

“You remembered to flush the potty,” Noorah said to her brother as she took her place beside him. “The bathroom didn’t smell.”

Mahmood chuckled and Naseerah laughed. She wasn’t sure what she’d said that was funny. Her brother apparently didn’t either, because he glared at her. She wasn’t sure why. She’d been praising him for an improvement.

Naseerah brought bowls of thick, creamy cinnamon-flavored oatmeal to the table, setting one before each place. Then she brought spoons. She also served mugs of spicy, cinnamon-flavored hot chocolate. It was the perfect meal for the cold, wintry day. Then she sat down, the signal that it was time to eat.

As Mukhtâr closed his book and set it aside and bismillâh was said over the food, Noorah reached for her mug, which was plastic rather than the ceramic used by her parents. She took a small sip of the sweet and spicy drink and then picked up her spoon to began eating her oatmeal. Beside her, Mukhtâr was shoving food into his mouth as fast as he could, or at least that’s what it looked like. She wondered how he didn’t burn himself. She thought of asking if he was in a food race of some sort but decided not to. Sometimes he didn’t appreciate her questions.

“Can we go make a snowman after we eat?” she asked instead, hopefully. Since she wouldn’t see Ya’qoob until school had started up again, she hoped Mukhtâr wouldn’t mind.

“’Itbân is coming,” he said.

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She knew what that meant. It meant he wouldn’t be playing with her. She would just be in the way if she tried to tag along, and she didn’t particularly want to play with ’Itbân anyway. He seemed nice enough, but he wasn’t her friend snd she didn’t know him.

“Take your sister with you,” Mahmood said. “It’s not fair that you go out and play and she stays behind.”

Mukhtâr didn’t look like he liked that idea. Noorah didn’t want him to take her just because Papi had said so. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll play with Jameelah. I don’t want to go with Mukhtâr and ’Itbân.” Jameelah was the fat, gray cat living in their barn. She was going to have kittens soon. Noorah couldn’t wait.

“Are you sure, corazoncita?” Naseerah asked.

Noorah nodded. “Sí, Mami. Playing with Jameelah is fun.”

“Okay then,” Naseerah said.

Breakfast was over and Naseerah was washing the dishes when the doorbell rang. Mukhtâr, who had been reading his book again, jumped out of his chair and ran for the door. He was still in his pajamas. Noorah wondered if he planned to leave dressed like that. Though she knew it was probably only ’Itbân, she followed curiously and stood to the side as her brother threw open the door. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that he was supposed to ask who it was first when she noticed that ’Itbân was not alone.

Right behind ’Itbân was Hâroon’s lanky form, and beside him was Ya’qoob. All three were dressed in thick clothing and heavy coats. ’Itbân and Hâroon wore friendly smiles, but she barely noticed them. Her attention went to Ya’qoob’s dancing eyes and wide grin. Suddenly, winter break didn’t seem like it would be so lonely after all.

The name escaped her lips before Noorah even noticed she was saying it. “Ya’qoob?”

He brightened and his eyes glowed. It was the first time he’d heard her speak. “You talked!”

The trio entered the house and the door closed behind them. They stood in the hallway. ’Itbân and Hâroon looked at Mukhtâr expectantly; Mukhtâr stared at Ya’qoob, who had never come to the house before; and Ya’qoob and Noorah watched each other.

“Why is he here?” Mukhtâr asked, pointing at Ya’qoob. “I’m not playing with him. He’ll probably get me in trouble.”

’Itbân shrugged. “He wanted to come.”

“I didn’t come to play with you,” Ya’qoob said. He wasn’t even offended. What Mukhtâr said was kind of true. He did have a habit of getting other kids into trouble, even if he didn’t mean to. “I came to play with Noorah.”

Mukhtâr looked at her. “Don’t let him get you in trouble.”

As her usual, she didn’t say a word.

’Itbân looked pointedly at Mukhtâr’s pajamas. “Are you coming out like that?”

He grinned. “I’ll go change. Be back in a jiffy.”

Before anyone could say a word, he was gone. Noorah was left alone in the company of Ya’qoob, Hâroon, and ’Itbân. She kept her attention on her new friend and ignored the other two. Ya’qoob was the one she felt at ease around. Other kids made her nervous.

Mukhtâr returned quickly, now dressed in a turtleneck, sweater, and thick winter pants. He took his coat off one of the hooks by the door and pulled it on. Then he donned his shoes over his thick socks. Then he threw open the door.

“Let’s go!” he said as he ran out.

’Itbân and Hâroon followed. The door closed behind them with a click. Ya’qoob and Noorah were now completely alone.

She looked toward the closed door. “Where are they going?” She barely realized she’d spoken, until Ya’qoob’s reply.

“You’re gonna talk to me now?” he asked happily. He didn’t mind doing the talking in their one-sided conversations, but it would be more fun if she talked back, which had been part of his initial plan when he’d befriended her. As she ducked her head shyly, he backtracked. If he paid too much attention to it, she might stop talking. “They’re going to the park, I think,” he said, answering her question. Then he noticed her clothes for the first time. “You’re still in your jammies, Noo-Noo.”

She giggled. “I know.” Now that she’d begun, it didn’t seem so hard to talk to him. “I didn’t change yet.”

“You should,” Ya’qoob said with the superiority of knowledge that came from being one year older. “Jammies are for sleeping and you’re not sleeping anymore.”

At that moment, Naseerah appeared. “Oh, Ya’qoob! You’re here?”

Ya’qoob beamed brightly. Naseerah wasn’t a stranger to him. She’d come over to the house to visit his mother a few times so he immediately recognized her. “Hi, Auntie! I’m here to play with Noorah.” Then he added, “She should change. She’s still in her jammies. If we go outside, people might stare.”

Naseerah laughed with amusement, but he wasn’t sure what was funny. He’d only told her the truth. People looked funny at him when he went outside in his pajamas, so it was the right thing to do to make sure Noorah went out in proper clothes. Or maybe they stared because sometimes he was wearing them inside out. That was something to think about.

“Come along, corazón,” Naseerah said to Noorah. “Let’s get you changed.” As she led Noorah away, she called over her shoulder, “Ya’qoob, you can wait in the kitchen or the den if you like.”

Several minutes later, Noorah had been changed into a pink turtleneck with matching pink pants. Her white sweater was pulled over the turtleneck and white socks were put on her feet. She then followed her mother out of the room to locate Ya’qoob.

He had chosen the kitchen to wait in. When she and Naseerah entered, he was at Mahmood’s elbow as he was trying to read the newspaper, talking. “So which team do you think will win?” he was asking.

“I don’t know, chiquito,” Mahmood replied. He smiled. “Good. You’re here. Take this kid outside with you, Noorah, so he can stop bothering your father.” He tousled Ya’qoob’s blond hair affectionately, taking the sting out of the words. He seemed to like him. “Go and play, Ya’qoob.”

Ya’qoob patted down his ruffled hair. Apparently combing his hair before visiting Noorah hadn’t been a good idea. Her father had just ruined his hairstyle. “You messed up my hair,” he said gravely. “I combed it carefully, you know.”

“Did you?” Mahmood grinned. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Are you going to play outside?” Naseerah asked Noorah. As she nodded, her mother instructed, “Don’t leave the property without asking. You can play by the house or with Jameelah in the barn.” She looked to Ya’qoob. “That goes for you, too. Don’t go anywhere without telling us or take Noorah anywhere.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “You have lots of trees. Can I climb one? It’ll be fun.”

Naseerah lifted an eyebrow. “I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

Ya’qoob grinned. It was the usual expected reaction from an adult when he asked if he could do something. He left Mahmood’s side. Uncle Mahmood was nice, but he wasn’t much of a companion when he was reading a newspaper. Most of the time, he didn’t appear to be actually listening. If he did reply, it was usually along the lines of, “Hmm...”, “Really?”, or “I don’t know.”

“Let’s go play,” he said to Noorah. He took her hand and began pulling her out of the kitchen.

Noorah noticed Ya’qoob’s hands didn’t appear sticky today. It was odd since they usually were. She knew that because he held her hand a lot, especially if she was nervous or scared. He said that things weren’t so scary if someone held your hand. She found that he was right. Even climbing scary heights was less scary when he was with her.

“I’ll come and check on you in a while,” Naseerah’s voice called after them.

When they reached the hall, Noorah took her shoes off the rack. She plopped herself down on the floor and began putting them on. Ya’qoob stood by the door, eyes fixed on her as he waited.

“Your right foot goes first,” he reminded her when she started pushing her left foot into a shoe.

She nodded and put aside the shoe. She grabbed the other and pulled it onto her right foot. Then she put it on the left shoe. The straps had been pulled out of their holes, so she had to spend several minutes trying to fit them back through. It proved to be too difficult for her clumsy fingers that were not quite adept at fine motor skills just yet. After several tries on the right shoe, she huffed out a breath of impatience and blinked away tears of frustration.

“Want help?” Ya’qoob’s voice interrupted her negative thoughts. When she glanced up, he stood right in front of her. “I’m good at putting on shoes.”

As she nodded, he crouched in front of her, pulling off his waterproof mittens. Though she noticed his hands were bigger and his fingers thicker than her long, slender ones, he easily pushed the straps through the holes of the shoe, pulled the tounge taut, and then closed it. Then he did the same for the other.

When he was done, he lifted his head to look at her. “You should ask if you want help. You can’t do everything by yourself. Sometimes I can’t do stuff, and I ask Mommy or Roonie to help me.” Then he stood and helped her up. He grabbed the small pink coat hanging from the hooks that had been put within Noorah’s reach for her things. “This is yours, right?”

She nodded and pulled it on. She struggled with the zipper for a few moments before she looked at him hopefully. Maybe he was a secret mind reader, because he grinned and then stepped forward to pull it up. For some reason, a few tugs from him convinced the zipper to start working again. As he stepped back, he pulled up the hood of his coat to cover his hair and ears and she did the same.

“Auntie, I helped Noorah with her shoes and coat,” Ya’qoob called to her mother. “We’re going outside now.”

Naseerah appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Why didn’t you call me if you needed help, mí corazón?”

Noorah shrugged, and her mother sighed.

“What’s mí corazón mean?” Ya’qoob asked. His pronunciation was slightly off.

“My heart,” her mother replied with a smile. “Because Noorah is a piece of my heart.”

“She looks like a girl, not a heart,” he pointed out.

Naseerah laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. It means she’s very special to my heart.”

“Oh...” he said. He tugged on his mittens. “Do you have mittens, Noo-Noo? Mommy says my hands will freeze and my fingers will fall off if I don’t wear mine.”

Naseerah went to the hallway closet and pulled out a pair of mittens. “They’re in here.” She helped Noorah pull them on and then kissed her cheek. “Go and have fun.” She gave Ya’qoob a stern look. “And you be good.”

He gave her his most innocent smile. It worked with adults who didn’t know him well, but the lifted eyebrow told him it wasn’t working on her. Maybe his mother had told her too many stories.

Ya’qoob opened the door. “Come on, Noo-Noo. Let’s go.”

Noorah followed and Naseerah closed the door behind them. They descended the steps and crunched through the snow that covered all within sight in Cherry Grove. Even the trees were blanketed in white. Noorah knew her father would come out soon to start shoveling away the snow and seeing to the trees.

“Where do you want to play?” Ya’qoob asked her.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and began to tug him toward the barn. Jameelah was going to have her babies soon, so Mahmood had set up one of the stalls for her comfort with hay, food, and water. She barely left it. Noorah liked to visit whenever she was outside.

“You’re not talking again?” Ya’qoob asked curiously  with a small touch of disappointment in his voice. “That’s okay, I guess. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll talk instead. I like talking.”

“You talk a lot,” Noorah observed matter-of-factly.

Ya’qoob grinned. “I know. I hope you don’t want me to be quiet. I don’t think I can do that. Sometimes I try when Mommy yells at me, but it’s really hard and I forget after a while.”

“Talk if you want,” Noorah said with a shrug, and then she continued leading him toward the barn.

“Oh, goodie,” he said. “That means I don’t have to be quiet, right? Good. That’s boring. Boring for me, I mean. Maybe you like it. You’re quiet. You’re very quiet actually. You’re more quiet than Hâroon, and he doesn’t talk a lot either. But he tells me to be quiet and you don’t. You’re a lot nicer. Why are you so quiet anyway? You should tell me one day. If you want to. You don’t have to if you don’t...”

He continued on with his never-ending, one-sided conversation as she led him through the snow-covered trees to the barn. She didn’t reply. He never seemed to mind that she didn’t. Sometimes he didn’t even seem to notice that he was the only one talking. That didn’t bother her. Since he was so full of words, she had less of a need to find her own. She often wondered where all those words came from though. It seemed like he never ran out.

When they reached the barn, she pulled him inside. The insulated building where her father’s two horses were kept, along with one cow and a goat, was much warmer than the outdoors. Each animal had its own stall. The extra ones had some of the smaller machinery Mahmood used for the upkeep of the farm.

“Why are we in here?” Ya’qoob asked.

Instead of answering him, she went to the stall the barn cat was in. The door was slightly ajar for the cat to leave if she wished. At that moment, she was stretched out on the bed of hay that had been prepared for her, and her abdomen seemed wider and more swollen than when Noorah had visited her just a few days before. Her mother had told her that the babies were making her fat. She wondered how many babies there would be. There had been five the last time Jameelah had kittens. She hadn’t seen them born, but Papi had called her when it was over so she could see them. She hadn’t been allowed to touch them until they were older though.

When she walked in, Jameelah opened one green eye. Then she closed it. Her purring was loud, almost like a motor and her sides were heaving. Maybe carrying so many babies inside you made it harder to breathe. Noorah wasn’t sure.

“That’s a really fat cat,” Ya’qoob commented from behind her. Then he walked in and stepped up beside her, staring down at Jameelah. “Does she eat a lot?”

Noorah, giggling, sat down by Jameelah’s head and rubbed her head. The cat purred and brushed her cheek against her palm. “She’s not fat. She’s got babies in her tummy.”

His eyes widened, and he sat beside her. “Babies in her tummy? How’d they get in there? Did she eat them?”

Noorah laughed harder, shaking her head. “Allâh put them in there, and then when they’re big enough, they’ll come out.”

Ya’qoob was silent as he pondered on it. Cats couldn’t go to a hospital to buy their babies, so it made sense that they’d get theirs in a different way, or maybe his hospital theory wasn’t right after all. Women did get really fat before they came back home with a baby. Maybe Allâh put babies in their tummies, too.

He eyed the cat. “How do you think the babies are going to come out?” Things in your stomach came out in two ways; you either puked them or pooped them. Neither sounded pleasant.

Noorah shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Ya’qoob held out a hand to the purring cat. Life on a farm had taught him to always be gentle and careful when approaching an animal that didn’t know you. The feline sniffed his hand and then rubbed her head against him. “What’s her name?”

“Jameelah,” Noorah said. “It means beautiful.”

Ya’qoob brushed his hand down her side. “I guess she’s kind of pretty.”

Then the cat started acting strange. Her sides began heaving more and she started moving around uncomfortably. She started yowling in a way that sounded like she was in pain. Both children backed away, staring with wide eyes. Neither one dared to move or leave.

“What’s happening?” Ya’qoob asked, eyes on the cat.

“I don’t know...” Noorah clutched his hand uneasily.

When the cat moved again, Ya’qoob saw what looked like a tiny head poking out of her backside. “She’s pooping kittens!” he shrieked.

Noorah stared. Ya’qoob was right. It did look like Jameelah was pooping out her kittens. “Eww...”

The kitten eventually fell onto the hay, and there was a thin string attached to its stomach that the new mother cut off with her teeth. Then Jameelah started licking it clean. The two children stood by and watched as one after the other, tiny kittens seemed to come out from her rear, until there were five in all. The last thing that she ejected wasn’t a kitten at all. It was gooey blob and purplish-red. They stared as she started to chew on it.

“Uh... What’s she eating?” Ya’qoob finally asked.

“I don’t know...” Noorah said, wide-eyed. “It looks yucky.”

When she settled with her kittens, licking them clean and guiding them to nurse, Ya’qoob and Noorah crept closer to take a look. Two of the kittens were gray, just like Jameelah, one was raven-black, one was gray-and-white, and one was white with black patches. They had large heads, their eyes were closed and the ears flattened, and the skin that could be seen was ruddy.

“They look funny,” Ya’qoob observed. He’d been around plenty of kittens but never newborns, and he’d never seen a cat poop out her babies before. “I’ve never seen cats like that before.”

“They only look like that for a little while,” Noorah informed him. “When they grow up, they’ll look like they’re supposed to.”

Ya’qoob eyed Jameelah. “Do you think she’ll mind if I hold one?”

“We can’t touch them yet,” Noorah told him. “Papi says if we touch them, they will smell different and then she won’t know they’re hers and won’t feed them. They’ll die without milk. We have to wait until they’re bigger.”

Ya’qoob sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

The two children sat by Jameelah, watching as the kittens suckled. Sometimes one lost its place and released high-pitched mewls as it desperately nuzzled its mother in search of milk. There was something calming and peaceful in watching the kittens feed, so the pair remained still, seated side by side as they observed. Eventually, Noorah reached out a hand to Jameelah, and when the cat nuzzled it, she thought it safe to stroke her head and behind her ears; and Ya’qoob followed suit. For a while, even he was silent.

“Let’s go do something fun,” Ya’qoob finally said, breaking the silence that had settled over them. He jumped to his feet, and without waiting for her consent, pulled her up and started tugging her out of the stall. “Come on.”

Noorah threw one last glance over her shoulder at Jameelah and followed.

She shivered when the two of them stepped out into the frosty outdoors, pulling her hood over her dark head. She wasn’t exactly sure what Ya’qoob had in mind, but as he continued pulling her, she followed. He finally stopped when they reached one of the many tall trees her father harvested cherries from. At the moment, all that could be harvested from it was snow.

Ya’qoob tilted his head back to look up. “It’ll be fun to climb this one. Maybe we’ll be able to see my house from the top.”

“Mami said not to climb trees,” Noorah reminded him, staring up at it. She did not share his love for high places, though he always managed to convince her into joining him.

“No, she said she’d prefer that I didn’t,” Ya’qoob corrected with a mischievous grin. “That means she won’t like it, not that I can’t.”

Noorah wondered if she should point out that when a grown-up said they didn’t like something, it meant the same as telling you not to do it. She didn’t have the chance of making a decision. He pulled her forward to the trunk.

“Come on!” he said, his voice bright with excitement. She resisted, but he didn’t let go. “You’re not going to make me climb by myself, are you? We always do things together...”

“It’s scary,” she said. “It’s too tall. I might fall.”

“You won’t. I’m with you.” He wrapped his mittened hand around hers. “Come on, Noo-Noo. It won’t be fun by myself. It’ll be more fun with you.” She relented with a jerky nod, and he instantly lit up. His green eyes seemed to shine as he grinned. He gently pushed her ahead of him. “You go first and I’ll be behind you so you don’t fall.”

It was like the day he’d convinced her to climb the monkey bars with him, except she was sure the tree was taller. He stayed behind, guiding her where to put her feet and which branches to grab onto. He seemed to sense her unease and nervousness. Occasionally, he gave words of encouragement or lightly patted her shoulder or back.

Before she knew it, she was high up in the tree, and Ya’qoob chose a thick branch for them to sit on and look below. At first, the sight of the house and everything else so far down was dizzying and frightening. She clung to Ya’qoob, fearing she might lose her balance and fall.

He gripped her hand. “You won’t fall,” he said in his usual confident tones. “I’m holding your hand, so don’t be scared.”

After a few minutes, Noorah no longer felt dizzy, though her heart still jumped when she looked down. She kept her eyes on Ya’qoob instead. His sparkling eyes and bright smile calmed her. His pale skin was turning ruddy from the cold.

“I brought you something,” he announced with a grin. Before she could ask what it was, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a wrapped chocolate bar and handed it to her. He pulled out another for himself. “Mommy let me have chocolate today.” He pulled off his mittens and shoved them into his pocket. Unwrapping a candy bar with mittens was impossible. Then he ripped open the wrapping and took a bite.

“You forgot to say bismillâh,” Noorah said.

“Oh, yeah...” He swallowed the bite and recited the du’â he’d learned to say if one forgot to say bismillâh. Then he looked at Noorah. She was holding onto her chocolate bar but hadn’t opened it. “Don’t you want it?”

Noorah looked at the candy bar and then at him. She nodded and pulled off her mittens, placing them into the pockets of her coat like he had, and then opened the wrapping. Saying bismillâh, she began to eat.

The children finished off the chocolate bars quickly, and the wrappers dropped to the ground several feet below. When they were done, their hands and faces were covered in chocolate.

“Snow is good for washing hands,” Ya’qoob told Noorah. “It’s just frozen water.” To prove his point, he took some snow into his hands and rubbed them clean and then wiped his mouth. “See?”

Noorah followed suit. She shivered as she rubbed the ice between her hands and then wiped her mouth. “Cold...”

Ya’qoob shrugged. “Snow is cold.” Then he grinned. “I brought a new chocolate to try, too. It’s got peanut butter in it. Do you like peanut butter?”

Noorah nodded, and he smiled. Then he pulled out chocolate in a bright orange wrapping. He ripped it open and pulled out two circular pieces with frilled edges, inserted in a brown paper that looked similar to the ones that came with cupcakes, except it was much flatter. He handed one to her, and she watched as he pulled the brown paper away from the chocolate and then bit into it. She did the same.

“Do you like it?” Ya’qoob asked.

She nodded as she finished off the rest of the piece. She’d never had peanut butter with chocolate before, but it tasted amazing. She liked it even better than the hazelnut chocolate bars Ya’qoob shared with her.

“Yummy,” she said as she swallowed the last bite.

He grinned. “I’ll bring more next time if Mommy lets me.”

When they’d finished, they again used the collected snow on the branches to clean their hands and faces. Then they put their mittens back on.

Below, Ya’qoob noticed when the front door opened and Mahmood came out. “There’s your daddy,” he told Noorah, and the two of them watched as her father entered the nearby she'd and came out with a shovel. He began to shovel the snow away from the front steps and walkway. “Hi, Uncle Mahmood!” Ya’qoob called down to him. “You look so little from up here!”

Mahmood straightened and then turned in their direction, one hand holding the shovel straight at his side. Noorah couldn’t determine his expression, but she didn’t think he was pleased to see them in one of his trees. “Boy, can you ever stay on the ground? And why must you take Noorah up with you?”

“It’s more fun when Noorah is with me,” Ya’qoob said. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her fall.”

Her father looked like he was debating whether to make them come down or not, but before he’d made up his mind, Naseerah stepped out of doors. She had a coat on over her dress and a hijâb covered her long, dark hair. She marched over to the tree. “Ya’qoob Scott! I’m sure I told you not to climb any trees!”

She sounded rather like his mother at that moment. He grinned down at her. “No, you didn’t. You said you’d prefer that I didn’t. That doesn’t mean the same as don’t do it.”

Naseerah looked torn between amusement and resignation. “You’re absolutely incorrigible,” she said, shaking her head. “How about you come down and out of the cold and help me make cookies?”

Noorah lit up. “Cookies!”

“Do I get some?” Ya’qoob asked with a sly smile.

Naseerah laughed. “Yes, you do. Now come down and bring my baby with you.”

“Noorah’s not a baby...” Ya’qoob pointed out, confused.

Her mother laughed. “Noorah will always be my baby, even when she’s as old as I am.”

Ya’qoob had no idea how you could be a grown-up and a baby at the same time, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he and Noorah began to carefully climb down. When they were within reach of Naseerah’s hands, she lifted them off one by one.

“Let’s go,” she said, taking Noorah by the hand and heading back to the house. Ya’qoob followed.

They passed Mahmood, who had returned to his shoveling, and then went inside. As the door closed, Naseerah instructed Ya’qoob to remove his coat, mittens, and shoes. Then she helped Noorah remove hers.

“Wash your hands in the bathroom and then come to the kitchen,” Naseerah said. “Wash with soap. Chiquita, show him where the bathroom is.”

As her mother disappeared into the kitchen, Noorah tugged on Ya’qoob’s hand to signal he should follow her and then led him to the bathroom she and Mukhtâr shared. They took turns washing with soap and water. Ya’qoob, unlike her, didn’t need the stool to reach the taps.

When they were done, they raced out of the bathroom and down the hall to the kitchen. When they entered, Naseerah had already laid out the butter, eggs, sugar, and vanilla on the counter. Two mixing bowls, whisks, and measuring cups had been placed on the table. There were also two plastic mugs.

“There’s hot chocolate on the table if you want it,” Naseerah said. “Sit down.”

The duo raced to the table and sat side by side. Each grabbed a mug and took a sip of the spicy hot chocolate drink Naseerah had poured for them. As they drank, Naseerah brought the ingredients to the table.

“This tastes different than Mommy’s hot chocolate,” Ya’qoob observed. “Its...hot.”

“There’s pepper in it,” Naseerah told him. “We like ours a little spicy. If you want the normal kind, you can give that to Noorah and I’ll make another cup.”

“Nah,” he said. “It’s nice.” He eyed the ingredients. “What kind of cookies are we making?”

“Shortbread, and then if you like, we can put some chocolate on it.”

Noorah and Ya’qoob instantly lit up at that tidbit of information. “Yeah!”

“Before we start, there are some ground rules to follow,” Naseerah said. “No putting anything in your mouth. I don’t want fingers that were in your mouth touching the cookies.”

Ya’qoob was disappointed. “Does that mean I can’t taste the cookie dough?”

“You can taste the leftovers when we’re done,” she told him. “Are we ready to start?”

“Yeah!”

The next hour, Naseerah guided the two through measuring and combining ingredients. When Mahmood stepped in, they had a ball of dough that was being rolled out and being cut into shapes. A bowl holding cookie cutters of different shapes and sizes had been placed at the center of the table for the children to share and they were choosing different ones as they cut out cookies from the rolled out dough and placed it on the cookie sheet. Mahmood poured himself a mug of black coffee and stood by a counter to watch.

“Auntie, do human mommies poop out babies like cat mommies?” Ya’qoob asked suddenly. The thought had never quite left his mind, and it seemed like a good time to ask.

Naseerah looked at him in that are-you-a-three-headed-alien way. He wasn’t sure why. It seemed like a good question. On the other side of the kitchen, Mahmood started coughing, and she went over to him, giving his back some hard pats and then handing him a glass of water. Then both of them turned to stare at him. He wondered what he’d said.

“Where did you come up with a question like that?” Naseerah finally asked.

“Jameelah pooped out her babies,” Noorah said helpfully. “We saw.” She thought Ya’qoob’s question a good one. She was curious, too.

Ya’qoob nodded. “Yeah. So do human mommies have babies the same way?”

Mahmood picked up his mug of coffee. “I’m going to check on Jameelah.” Then he left. He didn’t seem to notice what Noorah did—that her mother was glaring after him for some reason.

“I think you should ask your mother,” Naseerah finally said. Her lips lifted in an amused smile. Noorah wondered what was funny.

“Why?” Ya’qoob asked. “Don’t you know? You have Mukhtâr and Noorah. That’s two babies. You should know where babies come out from.”

Her mother laughed. “I think we’ll save this conversation for a time when you two are older.” Before either could decide if they liked that idea, she looked at the cookie sheet. “This one is full enough to go in the oven.” She took it away and slid it into the oven.

“I bet I’m right,” Ya’qoob whispered to Noorah. “She doesn’t want to tell us, because it’s embarrassing. No one wants to admit they pooped out their baby.”

She giggled.

Naseerah brought a new and empty cookie sheet to the table. “Shall we finish now?”

They nodded and turned back to cutting out cookies from the dough. For the moment, babies and how exactly they might be born was forgotten.

🍫🍫🍫

A few days after the day he’d spent at Cherry Grove, Ya’qoob wanted Noorah to come and play at Elm Creek. Mukhtâr dropped by frequently to play with Hâroon and ’Itbân, but he never brought his sister. So one morning after breakfast, he asked ’Alîyâ to call her mother.

“Mommy, I want Noorah to come and play today,” he said as he watched her washing the breakfast dishes while he sat at the table and drank a second cup of hot chocolate. “Can you call her mommy and tell her to bring her?”

’Alîyâ glanced over her shoulder at him with a smile. “You like to play with Noorah a lot, don’t you?”

Ya’qoob beamed and nodded. “Yeah! She’s my bestest friend!”

“I thought your brother was your best friend,” his mother mused with a smile.

“Well, yeah,” Ya’qoob agreed. He and Hâroon did almost everything together. “She’s my second bestest friend. She lets me do whatever I want and doesn’t mind if I talk a lot.”

“That poor girl,” ’Alîyâ murmured with a laugh. “She’s probably stuck with you now.”

“Yup!” he said brightly. That sounded like a good thing to him. “So will you call her mommy?” Since his mother knew Naseerah, he was sure she knew the phone number, too.

“Sure, hon,” she said with a smile. “Let me just finish the dishes first.”

Ya’qoob would have preferred that she did it at that instant, but he knew from experience that if he pestered his mother, she would change her mind about doing what he’d asked. So, instead of saying what he actually felt, he nodded and continued sipping his hot chocolate. “Noorah’s mommy puts pepper in her hot chocolate.”

’Alîyâ glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression amused. “Do you want me to put pepper in yours?”

He shook his head and grinned. “Nah, you should finish the dishes.”

’Alîyâ laughed. “Alright then.”

After Ya’qoob had drained his cup, he gave it to his mother to add to the dishes she was washing. Then he sat back down at the table to wait and make sure she kept her promise. Hâroon had followed their father down to the farm as usual. Ya’qoob had elected not to go when he’d decided he wanted Noorah to come over and play. That meant he had no one to play with until his mother called Noorah’s and she came over. Even Maryam had gone over to Uncle Arqam’s to see Bilqees rather than stay at the house. Staying seated in one place and holding his tongue took up a lot of willpower Ya’qoob hadn’t known he was even capable of. Somehow, though, he refrained from asking ’Alîyâ how much longer before she was done, though he was more than tempted.

Several minutes later, which felt more like many hours later to Ya’qoob, ’Alîyâ dried her hands and went to the telephone in the den to make the call. He followed and watched as she placed the receiver against her ear and dialed a number. He listened quietly to his mother’s side of the conversation, but paced around restlessly as he anxiously waited for the call to end.

“Assalâmu ’alaykum, Naseerah. This is ’Alîyâ. How are you? How are the kids?” It was followed by a short pause, in which he assumed Noorah’s mother replied. “Good to hear alhamdulillâh. Are you busy today? Ya’qoob wants Noorah to come over and play. If that’s alright, can someone bring her?” It was followed by a slightly longer pause than the first. “Mhm... Okay. That’s fine. Take care. Assalâmu ’alaykum.”

When she finally dropped the receiver back into the cradle, he bounced in place, looking up at her anxiously. “Well? What’d she say? Is Noorah coming? Will she bring her? If she can’t, can I go there? Will you take me? I want her to come here though. But her house is fun, too. They have lots of trees. I climbed one. It was fun. We have trees here, too. Maybe she’ll climb them with me like last time. What’d she say? Can she come? I hope —”

His flood of words was brought to a quick and instant halt when his mother covered his mouth. “Can you be quiet long enough for me to answer, boy?” When he nodded, she removed her hand. “She’s bringing her. They’ll be here in fifteen minutes or so. In the meantime, go and play in your room or something so I can do my work.”

For some reason, his mother seemed to think that he interfered in her housework. He wasn’t sure why. Sure, he followed her around and asked questions and sometimes he touched something he wasn’t supposed to or made a mess, but he never told her to stop cleaning or anything, so he wasn’t sure why she seemed to think he did. “Can I go play outside?” he asked. It would be more fun than being in his room and he’d see Noorah as soon as she arrived.

“Alright,” his mother agreed. “Stay in front of the house where I can see you.”

With a nod, he took off. He collected his mittens and coat from from the hallway closet with the help of a stool, and then, after putting them on, grabbed his shoes from the rack in the entrance hall, and pulled them on, strapping them closed. Then he opened the door and raced out, slamming it shut behind him. His mother probably called after him about closing the door gently, as she always did, but it was too late for him to hear anything she might have said.

Snow stretched out in all directions in front of the large farmhouse. His father had shoveled it away from the steps, door, and vehicles—an old pickup for farm work and an SUV for family outings—but there was still plenty around the area. Ya’qoob thought it was ideal for making a snowman. It would of course be more fun and much easier if there were more kids to do it with, but Ya’qoob always did what he’d set his mind to, regardless of the challenge. So, even though forming the large ball of snow he needed for the lower half of the body was a daunting task, he began to scoop snow into his mittened hands to begin.

Several minutes later, he was rolling the ball through the snow with a little difficulty, now nearing the appropriate size for the bottom of the snowman. Between the physical exertion and the cold, his cheeks were flushed with color.  He wasn’t exactly sure how he would lift the next ball on top of it by himself, but he’d figure it out when he reached that step. Before he’d finished the first one, though, he was interrupted by Maryam’s voice.

“What are you doing, Qoob?”

When he turned, his sister and Bilqees stood together, both dressed in heavy coats, mittens, and scarves over their usual black clothing. They weren’t alone. Khaboor wasn’t far behind, accompanied by Sâlih Harrison and Muhammad O’Connor, both three years elder than his cousin’s sixteen years at nineteen.

Sâlih had been around for as long as Ya’qoob could remember. The Black American youth, who was tall, athletic, and dark, had been helping around the farm since he was ten, before Ya’qoob had even been born. He and Maryam seemed at odds though. From what he knew, Sâlih had teased her frequently when she’d been a young child and she hadn’t forgiven him. Even when they met, she was rarely polite. Sometimes she glared; other times, she pretended not to see him at all.

Irish American Muhammad, whose reddish-brown hair and jade-green eyes emphasized his background, was a fairly new addition to Pear Orchards. He and his family had moved to the area last year. Ya’qoob wasn’t well-acquainted with him, but he knew that Khaboor spent a lot of time with him. His youngest brother Sâbir, who was twelve, sometimes played with ’Itbân.

“Making a snowman,” he said in a tone meant to portray that he thought it quite obvious.

“By yourself?” Sâlih’s deep voice spoke up. “That’s kind of hard, isn’t it?”

“Noorah will help me when she comes,” he replied and continued rolling.

“All of a sudden, I’m in the mood to make a snowman,” Khaboor drawled.

“You can’t touch mine,” Ya’qoob replied. “Make your own.”

“Fine,” Khaboor said. “Let’s see who can do better—me and my friends or you by yourself?” Though Ya’qoob was too busy rolling to look, he could hear the smirk in his cousin’s voice. He obviously thought he’d do better.

“Are the girls joining?” Sâlih asked. When Ya’qoob glanced up, there was a challenging look in the dark eyes that glanced over in his sister’s direction, who glared back. “We can beat them, too.”

“Mature,” Maryam drawled sarcastically. “A nineteen-year-old competing against a six-year-old. How grown up of you, Sâlih.”

“I guess that proves you know you can’t beat us,” Sâlih continued.

“Sâlih...” Muhammad’s voice held a warning note in it, similar to how his mother’s voice sounded when he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Ya’qoob wondered what Muhammad thought Sâlih was doing that he shouldn’t.

When Ya’qoob looked between Maryam and Sâlih, he could almost imagine flying bolts of lightning shooting from their eyes like in the cartoons. Nothing confused him more than the tense relationship between the two. Apart, they were both rather nice and he usually liked Sâlih. When together, it seemed as if it was the young man’s goal to goad his sister and her desire to turn him into ash with one look.

Maryam grabbed Bilqees’s arm. “Let’s make our own. Sâlih Harrison is going down.” She turned her back on him, pulling her cousin away to a spot they could start on their own snowman.

Her turned back prevented her from seeing what Ya’qoob did—Sâlih’s triumphant smirk. He had the feeling that Maryam had done exactly as Sâlih wanted.

The two groups, several feet apart, began to make their own balls of snow. Ya’qoob mostly ignored them. He was too busy rolling his own ball. Occasionally, Sâlih and Khaboor called out remarks that could only be considered as mocking to goad the girls, but Maryam and Bilqees ignored them.

Several minutes later, in the midst of the activity, Ya’qoob heard footsteps crunching through the snow. As his eyes fell on Noorah and her mother coming their way, he lit up. Leaving his partially formed, large snowball, he skipped over to them. The little girl’s cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes seemed to be dancing. He took that to mean she was as happy to see him as he was to see her.

Without ceremony, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away from her mother, dragging her toward his snowball. “Come make a snowman with me!”

“Ya’qoob...” Naseerah called, a tone of laughter in her voice. “Aren’t you supposed to greet people first?”

“Oh, yeah.” He paused for a moment. “Assalâmu ’alaykum, Aunt Naseerah.” Then he continued pulling his friend with him. She didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t resisting and followed willingly.

Naseerah followed them and looked between the groups of teenagers. “Assalâmu ’alaykum. What’s going on here?”

“We’re going to beat the boys,” Maryam said. “They think they can make a better snowman than we can.”

“I see,” Naseerah said, but she sounded like she didn’t. “Well then, I think I’ll go in to see your mother. Ya’qoob, no taking Noorah up any trees.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’m making a snowman today.”

As Naseerah went up the steps to the front door, rang the bell, and then disappeared inside when the door opened, Ya’qoob turned his attention back to the snowball. He showed Noorah how to help him push the ball to make it bigger, though it was a bit challenging for two young children of their size and limited physical abilities.

“That looks fun,” his brother’s voice interrupted. “Can I play, too?”

When he looked in the direction of the voice, Hâroon stood several feet away in the company of ’Itbân, Mukhtâr, and Sâbir O’Connor, Muhammad’s brother. Hâdirah and Dawood were with them. He looked at Noorah since she never seemed comfortable enough to play with other kids. She hadn’t even spoken yet.

When she nodded, he looked back at his brother. “Okay.”

Hâroon immediately raced over to join them in pushing the ball, a grin breaking out across his freckled features. He was followed by Hâdirah and Dawood, who seemed to automatically count themselves in the invitation, and the pair joined in the pushing.

Mukhtâr didn’t even ask before joining the group. Maybe he assumed since Noorah was his sister that he had an automatic invitation as well. Noorah didn’t seem to mind, so Ya’qoob didn’t protest.

“What about me?” ’Itbân asked. He seemed to have better manners than Hâdirah and Mukhtâr.

“Can I join?” Sâbir queried. He was closer in age to the two girls, but older boys didn’t play with girls. Even Ya’qoob knew that.

Ya’qoob looked at Noorah. She smiled and nodded. He turned back to his cousin and Sâbir. “Okay.”

In less than five minutes, the small duo had more than tripled, the group ranging from a tiny five-year-old all the way to tall and lanky twelve-year-old Sâbir.

“Hey!” Khaboor spoke up. “You let all of them join you but not me?”

Ya’qoob grinned. “They never tied me to a chair.”

Beside him, Noorah giggled.

When he looked at her, her eyes were shining brightly and her smile seemed to light up her entire face. She had not spoken a single word since she’d arrived, but he didn’t mind. For the first time since he’d met her, she was playing with other children, and she looked happy. She’d never looked prettier.