Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Two: The Namesake's Namesake
Clara was five years old when she first asked about her name.
She was sitting in the garden with the first Clara, the sun warm on their faces, the flowers blooming around them. The roses that Katherine had planted were in full bloom, their crimson petals soft as velvet, their scent sweet and heady.
"Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandma," little Clara said, stumbling over the words as she always did, "why am I named Clara?"
The first Clara smiled. "You were named after me. Your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother."
Little Clara's eyes were wide. "What were you like?"
The first Clara was quiet for a moment, thinking about her life. The dancer. The performer. The woman who had brought joy to millions.
"I danced," she said. "I danced on stages all over the world. I made people happy."
Little Clara's eyes sparkled. "I want to dance too."
The first Clara pulled her into her arms. "Then you will."
---
Little Clara wanted to know everything.
She asked the first Clara to tell her stories about her dancing. About the stages she had performed on. About the audiences who had cheered.
The first Clara told her everything.
She told her about the first time she had danced, a little girl in a pink tutu, twirling around the living room. She told her about the first time she had performed on stage, nervous and excited, her heart pounding. She told her about the first time she had heard the applause, the joy that had filled her chest.
She told her about the years of practice, the blistered feet, the sore muscles. She told her about the sacrifices, the doubts, the fears.
She told her about the joy. The thrill of performing. The love of the dance.
Little Clara listened with wide eyes.
"You were so brave," little Clara said.
The first Clara nodded. "I was."
"I want to be brave like you."
The first Clara pulled her into her arms. "You already are."
---
Little Clara started dance lessons.
She was nervous, her small hands clutching the first Clara's, her eyes wide with fear.
"What if I'm not good?" she asked.
The first Clara knelt down to her level. "You will be. You're wonderful."
"What if I fall?"
The first Clara's heart ached. "Then you get back up. That's what dancers do."
Little Clara nodded slowly.
"Like you?" she asked.
The first Clara smiled. "Like me."
---
Little Clara thrived in dance.
She learned to plié. She learned to relevé. She learned to pirouette.
"She's so graceful," Lina said to the first Clara one afternoon.
The first Clara nodded. "She gets it from her namesake."
Lina smiled. "You?"
The first Clara nodded. "Me."
Lina looked at her daughter, twirling in the garden. "She's just like you."
---
Little Clara came home from dance class one day with a drawing.
It showed a woman with gray hair and a kind smile, dancing on a stage. At the bottom, in wobbly handwriting, were the words: "My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandma is a star."
The first Clara read the words twice. Then she read them again.
"Little Clara," she said, her voice thick with tears. "This is beautiful."
Little Clara beamed. "Do you think she can see it? From the sky?"
The first Clara pulled her into her arms. "I know she can."
---
That night, little Clara asked to see the stars.
The first Clara carried her into the garden, wrapping a blanket around her small shoulders. They sat on the bench where Lina used to sit, looking up at the sky.
"Which one is she?" little Clara asked.
The first Clara pointed to a bright star. "That one."
Little Clara stared at it for a long time. "Hi, Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandma," she whispered.
The star twinkled.
Little Clara gasped. "She blinked at me!"
The first Clara smiled. "She's saying hello."
---
Little Clara performed in her first recital.
She was six years old, wearing a pink tutu, her hair in a bun. She danced across the stage, her movements small but confident, her smile bright.
The first Clara watched from the front row, tears streaming down her face.
"She's a natural," Lina whispered.
The first Clara nodded. "She is."
"She gets it from you."
The first Clara smiled. "She does."
---
After the recital, little Clara ran to the first Clara.
"Did you see me?" she asked. "Did you see me dance?"
The first Clara pulled her into her arms. "I saw you. You were beautiful."
Little Clara beamed. "I want to dance forever."
The first Clara kissed her forehead. "Then you will."
---
That night, little Clara sat in the garden with the first Clara.
The stars were out, scattered across the sky like tiny diamonds. The air was cool and quiet. The city hummed in the distance.
"Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandma," little Clara said, "do you think Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandma is watching us? Right now?"
The first Clara looked up at the sky. "I know she is."
Little Clara pointed to a bright star. "Is that her?"
The first Clara nodded. "That's her."
Little Clara stared at the star for a long time. "Hi, Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandma," she whispered. "I danced today. I was beautiful."
The star twinkled.
Little Clara gasped. "She blinked at me!"
The first Clara smiled. "She's saying she's proud of you."
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End of Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Two