Sandhill Street: The Loss of Gentleness

by Rob Summers

  Chapter 25 The Curse Falls on Dread House

  Someone at Grace House had typed the new Proclamation into a computer, with only a few misspellings, and had printed out copies. So Wittily, when she left for home, took a copy with her, stopping to read it enthusiastically in what limited light she could find along Sandhill Street. She was inspired by the words, felt as if they opened up a new world that she had never imagined. She wondered why Dread House couldn’t have something like it, declare its own freedom!

  In this mood she entered her living room, took off her coat, and found her parents sitting side by side and looking at her with intense, anxious expressions. Conformity and Chamelea were fully dressed at this late hour, and wide awake. Wittily sensed that something more was wrong than her having come home past her curfew.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I was just down the street. I was at Grace House actually.”

  “Yes, we know,” Chamelea said. “We had a call from Oblivia Leasing. Prevarica told her that you had been there.”

  “The little snitch. But really, it’s OK. I hardly talked to anyone. Old Grace just asked me over because he thought I’d like to see a family meeting they were having, and I went. Really, it’s got me excited because of this Proclamation they put together while I was there. I brought home a copy, see? Dad, will you read it?”

  Her father accepted the paper from her and read it quickly in the light of a table lamp. He put it down. He closed his eyes and mumbled something to himself.

  “Dad?”

  “Some things have happened dear,” Chamelea said. “Things have changed again.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess: this change isn’t going to make us all deliriously happy?”

  “Don’t make light, Wittily. Your father says we’re in a desperate situation. Your seeing the Orchards tonight may have something to do with it, but you know it’s been coming on for a long time. Oblivia, when she called, said she may not be allowed to speak to us any longer. If we don’t come around and really support the City, then we’re going to be shunned like Grace House, we’re going to be cursed.”

  “Cursed, Mom!”

  “I tell you, she was serious. We’re on the edge of a cliff. The Leasings have already begun to freeze us out. This is the first year we haven’t been invited to their Christmas Eve open house, did you notice that? When did your father and I ever spend Christmas Eve at home?”

  Wittily had to admit they never had. “But if you’d try something like this,” she said, pointing to the Proclamation.

  Her father made a curt, dismissive sound. “Whistling in the dark,” he said. “What else can those Heavenites do, fixed the way they are? They can never gain City favor, so they tell themselves they’re better off without it. Even Dignity’s own parents won’t visit him, so he says he doesn’t want their company anyway. Sour grapes.”

  Wittily hadn’t seen it in this light, and resisted believing it. “But they have the Heavenite government to back them, so they’re really not isolated.”

  Her parents shook their heads, looking worldly-wise.

  “But they do. You saw the shelling, so you know it’s real.”

  “We’re not to talk about that,” Conformity said. “Our story is that it wasn’t shelling. No, I’m sorry, Witty, I know that’s a lie, but it’s what we have to say. You don’t know how bad things are. I haven’t had money to pay the bills, sweetie. Mammon is carrying us for now on the utilities and phone, but we’re getting deeper in debt to him all the time.” He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “Witty, I bought the kids Christmas presents with money I borrowed from Mammon. The house is mortgaged to him. He all but owns everything we’ve got. I suppose that Grace House doesn’t owe him anything—Dignity’s parents gave him some money when he came of age—and so they can afford to play with brave little proclamations. But Sweetie, we don’t have that luxury. We’ve got to dance to Mammon’s tune.” He tapped the Proclamation. “You better burn this. We can’t have someone coming in here and seeing it.”

  “Lord, no!” said Chamelea with a shiver.

  When Wittily did not immediately take back the Proclamation, her father picked it up again and started folding and refolding it. “Please understand that you just can’t go into Grace House anymore,” he said, “not even now and then. We’ve got to shun them.”

  “But I’ve got to talk to Gentleness,” Wittily said. “I let him go into prison, and even to his death, thinking that I hated him. I have it on my conscience to set that straight.”

  The phone rang, and her parents looked frightened. When Chamelea picked it up, Wittily gathered from her mother’s side of the conversation that it was Oblivia calling back. Chamelea listened much and said little. When she at last hung up, she pressed her hands to her face and trembled.

  “She said that’s the last time she’ll call me unless we do something.”

  “Do what?” Conformity and Wittily asked together.

  “She says we must get on the phone to the authorities and confess all! We have to tell what Wittily has been up to at Grace House, and why Heavenite marines were in our yard on the night of the shelling, and why we haven’t explained it all before. She said to do it fast because the curse could descend any minute. If it does, they’ll cut off the utilities. That’s how we’ll know.” She looked to her husband. “It was just like the last call: I could hear Guiles beside her coaching her on what to say.”

  Conformity took the phone from her hand. “Who should I call?”

  “She didn’t say exactly.”

  “Wait, Dad,” said Wittily. “What will you tell them anyway? We don’t know why those marines protected us that night, and you don’t know why I was at Grace House.”

  “Well, I’ve got to tell them something.” He fumbled with a phone book. “Maybe I should call Guiles first and ask him who to call and what to say.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather just die?” Wittily said shrilly. “Why should we crawl and tell lies? Wouldn’t it be better to be dead?”

  Her parents looked at her blankly as Conformity began to dial the number. In his haste he got it wrong and had to start over. Before he could finish, the lights went out.

  Wittily got up and ran to a window. “It’s just our house,” she reported. “All the others have their Christmas lights on.”

  “The phone’s dead,” Conformity said in the same tone that he would use to report leprosy in the family.

  “Mr. Power’s little Christmas present,” Wittily said angrily. “I suppose we’ve got no water either.”

  “And no heat,” her mother said, starting to cry. “It will be cold in here soon.”

  Conformity’s darkened figure, lit only by lights coming from outside the windows, slumped in his chair. “I gave up my cell phone,” he said, “when the bills piled up. I—I guess I could just cross the street and try to talk to Guiles. I can ask him to let me use his phone to call the authorities. Maybe if I explain—”

  “Dad, that’s enough! It’s over!” Wittily sat down directly across from him. “You won’t get anything from Guiles, and it just sickens me to hear you talk about trying. There’s only one thing to do. We’ve got to try to change sides. You’ve never talked to old Grace, but I know him a little and he’s really approachable.”

  “Go over to the Heavenites?” Her father didn’t sound as shocked as she had expected. “I don’t know, Witty. I’ve never been that radical.”

  “Maybe we all should have been. Anyway, I can go back over to Grace House now, tonight, and ask the Ambassador for help.”

  Wittily knew she was at that moment taking over the leadership of her family. But wasn’t that what Grace had said she would do? At any rate, somebody had to do something. She did not relish waking up her younger siblings and telling them that the house would be freezing by morning.

  “Go to their back door,” her mother said to he
r. “Don’t let yourself be seen going there.”

  “And Witty,” her father added, “if he’ll talk to you, tell him that any help he can give us must be a close secret.”

  “But Dad, we’re ruined. What difference can it make now if the whole world knows we’ve gone begging to Grace?”

  “A secret, Witty, promise me,” Conformity insisted. “You don’t know what Mr. Power can do when he’s angry. This house may be cold in the morning, but at least we want to still have a house.”