“How soon will it move?” Zack asked. In his voice, I heard the mix of nervousness and excitement that all of us were feeling.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “We ask a question, and then we wait. Just remember not to push it. Ready?”
Henry and Zack nodded right away, but I could tell Renee was having second thoughts again.
“Renee?” I asked. “Are you ready?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “But go ahead.”
I looked around at their faces, glowing in the dim light. Then I took a deep breath, to gather my courage, and I asked, “Edgar, why are you here?”
At first there was nothing. The room was so quiet I could hear the others breathing. But then the planchette started to shift, just like last time. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, it spelled out a name: C-O-N-S-T-A-N-C-E.
“Miss Leary?” Henry asked.
The planchette pulled to the corner of the board, to the word YES.
“But why?” I asked. “What do you want from her?”
We waited then. Nothing.
“It’s not working,” Henry said. “He’s gone.”
“Don’t give up,” I told him. “Edgar,” I said. “We don’t understand. Why are you here?”
“I’m scared,” Renee said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can do this. Just don’t lift your fingers.”
Then he did it again. Edgar pulled our hands toward the letters of her name: C-O-N-S-T-A-N-C-E.
And then the planchette began to move again: G-O-O-D-B-Y-E.
I was about to lift my fingers, about to give up, when Renee’s voice stopped me. “Wait!” she yelled. “Edgar!”
She sounded sad. Desperate. We all stared at her.
“I need to ask him something,” she said.
“Go ahead,” I told her.
“Edgar?” Renee asked in a small, trembling voice. “Is my mom all right?”
The planchette pulled—right away—to YES. Even if I didn’t understand yet what the rest of it had meant, I was glad that Renee had gotten her answer. I hoped it would help.
“Ask him something else,” Zack said to Renee.
She shook her head. “It’s no use. He’s gone.”
“I guess you’re right,” Henry said. “Or maybe the ‘goodbye’ is somehow about Constance.”
I didn’t understand exactly what Henry meant. All I knew was that the room seemed suddenly crowded, full of strange energy. The whispering between the four of us was a buzzing noise, frantic and scary, like bees in a jar.
And then I saw it. Behind their heads, on the window, a small circle of fogged-up glass formed and then faded, and then re-formed—in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It was as if somebody outside in the dark, on the old iron fire escape, was breathing on the window. I watched it, mesmerized. There was nothing I wanted to ask, nothing I wanted to know. It was obvious then that Edgar was still there with us, and all I wanted to do now was leave.
“Let’s get out of here!” I said, and at the same moment, a cold gust of wind blew through the room. The candle went out, and the four of us were alone in the dark.
Edgar was gone.
* * *
—
We were quiet, at first, on the walk home. Talking to Edgar had been strange, even before Renee brought her mom into the whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I felt really sorry for her. I just wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m glad you got to ask—about your mom,” I told her finally.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to talk to her again,” she said. “Even one time.”
The rest of us were silent. We just moved together down the empty sidewalk in the moonlight until Renee said, “There’s this phone booth in Japan. It’s called the wind phone. Somebody made it after a tsunami. And you can go there and say whatever you want. You can talk to whoever you lost. I want to go there someday.”
“I bet you will,” Zack said.
Then Henry asked, “What do you think he wants? From Constance?”
“Maybe she killed him,” Zack said. “And Edgar wants revenge.”
“Stop it!” Renee said.
“No. They were friends,” Henry said.
“Barbara Anne’s our friend, and sometimes I want to kill her,” Zack said.
“Henry’s right,” I said, ignoring Zack. “We saw a journal in the library the other day. Edgar’s father wrote it, and he mentioned Constance.”
“Then maybe,” Renee said. “Maybe Edgar just came back to say goodbye.”
At school the next day, everything was back to normal, and that wasn’t entirely a good thing. It turned out that Halloween wasn’t the only holiday Ms. Biniam felt like spoiling. She didn’t seem to understand that Thanksgiving was mainly a day to sleep late and eat pie.
“We are really a fortunate group,” she said that morning. “And I’ve been thinking that we might celebrate our good fortune by doing something for our neighbors—in honor of the holiday.”
“Uh-oh,” said Zack. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“So I’d like us all to find a partner and list some things you might do. Some ideas—for community service.”
We looked at her blankly.
“Maybe we can start by talking about what that term means. ‘Community service.’ Zack?”
“I think my uncle had to do it once. Isn’t it like when a judge forces criminals to pick up trash on the side of the road?”
Everyone laughed. Ms. Biniam sighed.
And then she started writing a list of possible projects on the board and assigning each of us a partner. My partner was Renee, and her idea was that we should raise money to buy food. Then we could pack it into little baskets and deliver it to old people or hungry people or hungry old people, I guess. So we made a sign that said KIDS FOR CHANGE, and for the next few days we put out a jar on a folding table after school. I thought I was working pretty hard on the whole thing, but Renee didn’t seem especially grateful. Just because I said hello to a couple of people, she complained that all I “ever did” was talk. Actually, all we ever did was stand there looking bored while everybody else walked right past us on their way home.
“We need to get their attention somehow,” I said. “This sign isn’t working at all. Maybe it should just say ‘Give Us Your Change!’ ”
“Barbara Anne! You’re kidding, right?”
She looked horrified, so I said I was. “Yes, of course. Who would do that?”
I would. I totally would. And I bet it would work too.
“We need turkeys!” I yelled. I felt inspired suddenly. “Help us buy some turkeys!”
Renee did not appreciate this approach either. In fact, she clapped her hand over my mouth to demonstrate how much she loved the idea.
“What? We do. We need turkeys.”
“Hungry people are not a joke, you idiot,” Renee said. “And besides, we’re not giving them turkeys.”
“We’re not putting turkeys in a Thanksgiving food basket?” I asked. “That seems like the whole point!”
“We can’t,” Renee said. “I already got the baskets, and they’re not big enough. Besides, Barbara Anne, a turkey? They’re huge and heavy and greasy.”
“Then what are we putting in?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking pumpkin bread.”
“Pumpkin bread? You expect me to knock on some stranger’s door and just give them pumpkin bread? When the rest of us are eating turkeys?”
“The food pantry says they can give us some of their extra stuff to add in. They’ve got tuna fish—”
“Tuna fish! That’s even worse. Nobody likes tuna fish.”
“Lots of people like tuna fish, Barbara Anne. You’re not the expert on what food everyone likes.”
“Hey!” I called to a
little first grader who was passing by. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I’m looking for my mom,” the girl said.
“A quick question,” I said.
“Barbara Anne!” Renee said. “She’s trying to find her mom. What’s wrong with you?”
I ignored Renee and bent down low to get on the little girl’s level. “Do you like tuna fish?” I asked. “You know, the oily fish stuff that comes in a can?”
The girl stuck her tongue out and ran away.
“See?” I said. “She hates it.”
“I think she hates you,” Renee said, and she grabbed the change jar away from me.
“I’m going to get some stuff for a new sign,” I told her, and I marched off.
* * *
—
When I got to the classroom, I didn’t go in right away. The sound of voices stopped me.
“Zack has made terrific progress,” I heard Biniam say. “He’s really learning to think before he acts.”
And then a woman’s voice said, “That’s what we’re hoping. That’s what the counselor says.”
“Well,” Biniam said. “It’s a parent’s job to worry, but Zack has come a long way. You should be proud.”
“We are,” the other voice said. It had to be Zack’s mom. “We know he’s doing better. We just don’t want him to be asked to leave another school.”
“I understand,” Ms. Biniam said. “But that was, what? Two years ago? Zack’s doing well here.”
They were walking toward the door then. I pretended to go to my locker. I forgot all about the sign and the poster board. Instead, I watched while Zack’s mom gave Ms. Biniam a hug. I remembered all the times Zack would count to ten, or walk outside for a drink of water. And it surprised me a little, how glad I was—to realize how much Zack must have changed, to see how much his mom loved him.
I knew Zack’s secret now, and I knew that I’d never mention it. Zack wasn’t the only one who was growing up.
* * *
—
Thanksgiving was getting close, and I wasn’t sure Renee and I would be ready. Things weren’t going any better for Henry. Biniam had him working with Zack, and they were part of a bigger group that was supposed to visit old people at an assisted-living place.
“You’ve got it easy!” I told him at lunch. “One visit? That’s it? I would trade with you any day.”
“We have to perform,” Henry said. “Like a talent show that they can watch.”
“So? How hard can that be?”
“I have Zack as my partner,” Henry said. “He wants to play the guitar while we sing.”
“Okay,” I said.
“No,” Henry said. “Not okay. Not okay at all. Do you know what he wants to sing? ‘Dust in the Wind.’ I’m not singing that! To a bunch of old people who might die in thirty seconds? ‘All we are is dust in the wind’?”
“Maybe you can still switch groups,” I said. “I hear Alonzo’s doing a coat drive.”
“Already asked,” Henry said. “No switching. They’re really excited we’re coming.”
“Well, maybe you can just change songs,” I said.
“Zack says that’s the only song his dad’s taught him so far,” Henry said. “I’m doomed,” he added, and he put his head down on the table while I started to laugh.
* * *
—
Things went a little better for Renee and me. It turned out the baskets worked fine and even looked pretty cute. They did have the bread, but also fruit and nuts, all tied up with a ribbon and everything. (Not a can of tuna fish in sight. Thank you very much.)
I know it might be vain to say so, but I looked nice too. My hair was clipped back with my favorite red barrette, and I was wearing my favorite dress, also red. And at the last minute, I put on the locket. The locket from the trunk. That was a small mistake, because when my mother saw it, she wanted to know where it came from.
“I found it,” I said. And that was true enough.
“Found it where?” she asked. That’s the thing about my mom. She’s very big on follow-up questions. And I was not ready for this one, so that’s when the fibbing started.
“At school,” I said.
She sighed. “Barbara Anne, you can’t just keep something because you find it. Not something special like that. It may have sentimental value to someone. You have an obligation to look for the owner.”
I figured I was already in pretty deep, so I just kept going. “Oh, I know that,” I said. “I hung up a sign at the lost-and-found. And I put my name and room number on it. I know I’ll have to give it back. If it belongs to somebody.”
There. Problem solved. As long as my mother did not stop by the lost-and-found anytime soon.
“Just don’t lose it,” she warned me.
And everything was fine then—for a while. My mom was taking me to deliver the baskets, and she had the list of who was supposed to get them in her bag. She would slide it out and announce the name, and my job was to plug the address into her phone so we didn’t get lost. It was fun. For a while.
And then she said, “Oh, we don’t need directions for this one. It’s on Henry’s street.”
“What’s the name?” I asked.
I think I already knew. Dread had already begun to descend. My stomach hurt before the words were even out of her mouth.
“Leary,” my mother said. “Constance Leary.”
Why? Why oh why oh why? Why me?
“Isn’t she that nice old lady who goes to Henry’s church?” she asked. “The one you raked leaves for?”
How to answer this? “No, Mom. She’s not. She has a hideous, cloudy white eyeball and some sort of creepy, hypnotic hold over Henry.”
Sure. That’s what I said. Not in a million years. Here’s what I said: “You know, Mom, she’s really old. So old I think she just sleeps most of the time. Maybe we should just leave the basket on her porch. You know. So the doorbell doesn’t wake her up.”
I was impressed with my own skill. Houdini couldn’t have wiggled out of a tight spot any faster than that. Unfortunately, my mother was not going for it. She did this little thing she does, this slow nod/raised eyebrow combination, which is never a good sign.
“Really?” she asked, and she said it way too slowly. “You know what I think?”
I held my breath—literally—and waited to find out.
“I think what Miss Leary could really use—even more than this thoughtful basket—is a chance to chat with someone.”
“I guess we could—”
“No, no, no. Not we, Barbara Anne. You. I’m going to park the car and walk down to get a coffee. That’ll give you and Miss Leary a chance to visit.”
And that was it. My fate was sealed.
* * *
—
I stood there on the porch with the wind whipping through my hair and leaves skittering across the steps. I knocked, maybe not as loudly as I could have, but that was beside the point. Then I stood there, counting the seconds, trying to decide how long I had to wait before it would be fair to tell my mother that nobody was home. The helper lady answered on five. She was really excited to see me too, couldn’t wait to tell Miss Leary. “Constance, we have a visitor.”
The entryway was small. Two steps in, and I could see her—Constance Leary. She sat in the corner of the living room in a dark dress, just staring at me with her sharp-featured face and strange eyes. She reminded me of a crow, really. And I know everybody says how intelligent crows are, but that’s never made me like them. They can remember your face; did you know that? And that just seems like more than a bird should be able to do. So it’s that and how loud they are and how sometimes they swoop down toward people and even peck them in the head and how big the flocks get sometimes when they land on the telephone wires near the playground. She look
ed like that. Just sitting there, silent, but also like any minute she might flap her huge dark sleeves and scream, “CAW, caw, caw!”
“Oh, what a lovely basket! Go on in,” the helper lady said. “I’ll get you some cider. You like cider, right?”
I wished I could follow her into the kitchen so that I could see what it actually looked like in there instead of just making it up in my head. Because what I was imagining was some huge vat, or cauldron thingy, of cider that they just kept warm on the stove to serve to any unsuspecting children whose mean mothers forced them to stop by. Possibly poisoned cider. (Probably poisoned.)
“Thank you,” I said. “I do like cider.” Because how could it help to be rude now that I was at their mercy?
I walked toward Miss Leary with the basket over my arm. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood again. My knees were shaking. Miss Leary had a small table set up in front of her wheelchair, and she was shuffling a deck of cards. She motioned me to pull up a chair.
“Ah,” she said. “You’re just in time. I was about to start telling my fortune, and you can read the cards. Are you a good reader?”
“Excellent,” I said.
She dealt the cards out onto a board, a mat, that had categories like Wishes, Moon, Happiness. Then she handed me a book, and it was my job to explain what each card meant. I didn’t know a lot about fortune-telling, but one thing I did know was that sometimes you got bad news. The top row didn’t look too scary, but I was definitely hoping my mom would reappear before we got to row three, where the categories shifted over to things like Trouble, Disappointment, and—the big one—Death. I was just there to drop off pumpkin bread. If we got to that square and things didn’t go well, I would just have to see something else in her future. Maybe a puppy.
Once we got going, I started to enjoy the game. It turned out I did have to cheat here and there, though. Some of the messages just did not seem to fit Miss Leary. I couldn’t predict the future, but I really didn’t think she’d have a marriage proposal by the end of the year. So I told her instead that she’d be invited to a wedding.
The Haunting of Henry Davis Page 11
