By now, other neighbors had come out onto the road, among them Daniel’s mother, Gwen. She went right over and knelt beside the girl. “What’s your name, dear?”
The girl looked at her silently.
“She don’t talk much,” said the man. “Fact, she don’t talk at all.”
Mrs. Crowley took an apple and put it in the child’s hand. The girl stared at it as if she’d never seen such a thing before.
“Take it. It’s for you.”
The girl looked up at the man for permission. He shrugged. Still, she didn’t eat it. Daniel wondered briefly if she knew how.
“You say you’re not her father?” said Gwen, standing up and brushing her apron.
“Uncle.”
“Uncle! You mean this is …?”
“Miranda’s kid, yeah.”
Gwen looked at her closely. The girl was so dirty it was hard to tell what she looked like under it all. Even her eyes, a noncommittal brown, were hard to get a sense of.
“Why’s she with you?” You could see Gwen Crowley was about fed up with Arthur Stecher. “Where is her mother?”
“Likely dead.”
Mrs. Crowley instinctively reached for the girl’s shoulder. “What makes you say that?”
“Always sticking her neck out. Talking to people you don’t talk to. I wasn’t surprised.”
“Surprised at what?”
“Soldiers came and took her.”
Everyone was quiet. The girl looked down.
“We had to get out quick, Emily and me.”
“Emily. Now I remember,” said Mrs. Crowley.
“She’s a strange one.”
“Strange how?”
He shrugged. “Don’t talk. Ornery. I can’t take care of her. Can’t hardly take care of myself.”
“I can believe that.” Mrs. Crowley’s voice was flat. She’d seen the business with the water jar. “We’ll see she gets to Bridey.”
Stecher nodded. “Better I don’t see the old bat. I didn’t leave on such a good note.”
“I remember.” Mr. Crowley nodded.
Daniel looked at Stecher, trying to figure him out. The man might tell the truth, but he had liar’s eyes and a mouth made for excuses.
“Well,” the man said, “I’ll be pushing on, then.” He took off his hat, punched it from the inside, and stuck it back on his head. “Spare a little money for the road?”
“Sorry,” said Crowley. “You can have an apple, though.”
Stecher hesitated, blinking, then took the apple and rubbed it on his shirt. Without a word or a glance at the girl, he hoisted the suitcase, steadied himself, and started off.
“Mad creature,” Mrs. Crowley said under her breath. She might have said more, but not with the girl there. “Come on, Emily,” she said. “Let’s go inside and get some real food in you.”
Mr. Crowley rubbed his chin. “Somebody,” he said, “needs to run over and tell Bridey. Danny, will you do that?”
“I guess.”
“I’d go, but I need to get to the store.”
“Quick as you can now, Danny,” said his mother, heading inside. “I can use your help.”
Why did they always have to ask him? “Okay,” he said.
She nodded. “Run along, then.”
“I’m going.” So much for his free time. He watched glumly as Mr. Fish and the other neighbors stood around and kicked the dirt, paying him no attention. They quietly cursed the government. Then, for good measure, they cursed the refugees who’d brought their problems on themselves.
“Now they’ll be expecting us to take care of them,” said Fish.
Daniel thought that was unfair. The last time the Uncertainties had come, there’d been beggars, sure, but they’d always been polite and hadn’t stayed long. Could they help being hungry? Or having the wrong politics?
He watched as the men drifted away, then he started down the road toward Grandma Byrdsong’s. The day’s heat was building. The leaves on the overhanging elms were dusty and motionless, holding their breath.
That’s when he saw the shadow flit across the road. He looked up in time to see a great blue heron sail silently overhead.
Grandma Byrdsong was taking a bath. More exactly, she was watching the bubbles in her bath as, one by one, they silently burst, causing continents of suds to re-form in new patterns. Since she was a considerable person, and not the most nimble, she’d raised great quantities of suds when she’d first walrussed into the tub. Once settled, she remained submerged to her thick neck, watching.
Some people tell fortunes by reading tea leaves. That had never worked for Bridey Byrdsong. It was suds. Suds were the way to see what was what, and what was going to be what in this world.
Besides, it made her arthritis feel better.
Today was unusual. She wasn’t in the habit of taking baths in the middle of the day, or even every day, since the old house was not blessed with running water—just several large barrels, strategically placed in kitchen and bath, that had to be filled periodically from the pump. But today, as she’d gazed into the vanity mirror to darken her eyebrows and pink her cheeks, her reflection had spoken to her. She never knew when it would, or what it would say. This time it said, “Bridey Byrdsong, you put down that eyebrow pencil, heat up the water, and climb into the bath.”
No whys or wherefores. Just “climb into the bath.” So that is what she did, and that was where Daniel found her when he arrived.
“Hold on there, Danny,” she called through the bathroom door. Actually, through two doors with a hallway between. She had a big voice when it was needed.
“No hurry,” he called back. He didn’t mind having a few minutes to look around. He loved the old place, and the old lady who enlivened it, and he didn’t see why everybody thought she was so strange. Odd, yes. For one thing, she’d kept her own name, although she’d been married. All the Byrdsong women did, apparently. Once a Byrdsong, always a Byrdsong. Daniel remembered Mrs. Fish shaking her head about it. But what was so awful about keeping your own name? These were modern times.
He went into the sitting room, where there was a painting he especially liked. It showed a clearing with wind-bent grasses tipped with sunlight. In the middle stood a swaying oak tree, and beneath it a blanket, a picnic basket, and a bottle of wine. The only thing missing was people. The painting was titled simply Here.
Daniel was also taken with a mirror by the front door that showed not your face, but the back of your head. It was to help you fix your hair, or adjust your hat, Bridey had once explained, before you went out. Daniel stood before it now, examining a blond cowlick that his comb had never managed to tame.
At the same moment, Mrs. Byrdsong was examining a dwindling peninsula of suds in the cooling tub. There was something she didn’t understand, and it bothered her. She cast her eye over the bubbles and the pattern of their bursting. The message was clear, but the meaning obscure. She was supposed to pass the necklace on. And not to the person she thought. Curious.
With a sigh, she reached for the towel and hoisted herself up. She’d seen what there was to see.
“You’ll find a plate of cookies on the counter,” she yelled out. “Fresh this morning.”
“I see them. Thanks.”
“Leave a few for the rest of us.”
Ten minutes later, she emerged, heavily scented and bangled, like a ship from the East under full sail. Two of her numerous cats trotted ahead of her.
“My,” she said, “you’re getting to be a tall drink of water.”
That was what she always said, and Daniel, who was self-conscious about his height, never knew what to answer. He was supposed to come up with something, he knew. “You’re all dressed up,” he said, finally.
“We’re having a visitor. I don’t want to make a bad impression.”
“How’d you know? Do you know who she is?”
“She?” Bridey tried the word on in her mind. “No. The suds only tell me so much.”
“Th
e man said she’s your granddaughter.”
“Ah.” She broke a cookie and slowly ate the bigger half. “Emily,” she said.
“That’s it. We have her over at the house.”
She put her hand briefly over her mouth, to hold in the crumbs. “And Miranda?”
“Who?”
“Emily’s mother.”
“They said she was arrested.”
“Arrested!” A crumb caught in her throat and sent her into a spasm of coughing that ended only when Daniel pounded her on the back.
She nodded and waved him away, her eyes watering.
Miranda—arrested? The suds had said nothing about that. She sipped from the glass of water Daniel brought her. Miranda might have changed in the six years since she’d moved away, but she had not been, growing up, the sort who would last long in a government prison. Not this government.
“Danny,” she said, her voice a little wobbly, “would you help me upstairs? There’s something I need.”
“Tell me where it is. I’ll get it.” He remembered the last time he’d helped her get up the stairs, only to have her forget what she’d come for.
“It needs me to find it,” she said, reaching for her cane.
The help that Daniel gave was to walk behind her as she toiled through semidarkness up a narrowing staircase that every eight steps made a left-angled turn. Then it was every six steps, then every four, the house sharpening to a turret. Daniel’s function, he realized with some alarm, was to catch Grandma Byrdsong in case she lost her grip on the banister and fell backward.
“Here we are!” she gasped, reaching the landing. “The Four Seasons room.”
“The what?”
“It was Miranda’s. She loved that music. The Four Seasons? She used to play it on the Victrola all the time. So I made her a special bedroom.”
“I see.”
He didn’t see, of course, nor did he notice anything special when they went in. It was just a small, stuffy room under the eaves. Grandma Byrdsong asked him to let in a little air while she rummaged through the bureau. He went to one of the four windows and stood, trying to figure it out. It was the kind that opened outward, like spreading wings, when you turned a crank. But this window had two handles. He shrugged and turned the one on the left. As soon as the panes parted, he cried out to see snowflakes dash in, chased by a freezing wind.
“Not that one! Not that one!” shouted Bridey.
He quickly cranked the window shut.
“That’s the winter window. I should have warned you.”
“The winter …”
“Try the autumn one. Over there.”
Daniel crossed the room and stood uncertainly. Everything looked normal outside—hot high summer. The handyman was by the side of the house hoeing the vegetable garden. He was shirtless and his back gleamed with sweat.
“Come on, Danny,” said Bridey, pulling out a groaning bureau drawer. “What are you waiting for? I can’t breathe.”
Again, two handles. He turned the one on the right. The panes parted and the handyman disappeared. Dry leaves gusted past on a fresh breeze. He stared out, amazed to see the trees divesting themselves and the whole west lawn covered in red and yellow.
“But it’s barely August!”
“Not out that window it isn’t. Ah,” she said, “here we go!” She was examining a small oblong box she’d pulled from the second-to-bottom drawer. “Danny, really! Stop playing with the windows.”
Going down proved easier than climbing up. This time he was required to walk in front of Bridey, again in case she fell. She was very afraid of falling, but not as afraid as he was that she’d fall on him.
Daniel felt a little dazed as they reached the parlor floor. He was still trying to understand those windows.
Grandma Byrdsong paused in front of the backwards mirror in the hall and put on her hat. “Well,” she said, marshaling her forces, “shall we go?”
“Right.” He held open the door, and she turned her body to get through it, then gripped his hand as they crossed the porch and descended three creaking steps to the yard. The garage, which also served as a hotel for wasps, was farther away than she liked to walk, but she didn’t trust anyone, certainly not a boy, to fetch her Ford sedan and drive up to the door. Grandma Byrdsong owned one of the few cars in Everwood. It had been old and cranky when she’d bought it, and it was older and crankier now.
She wasn’t in such a good mood herself. She let out little gasps as she toiled ahead, as much side to side as forward, leaning alternately on the boy and on her cane.
“Wait,” she commanded as they passed the vegetable garden, a wild profusion of colors and tendrils climbing the chicken-wire fence. “Go pick a couple of tomatoes to bring your mother.”
“Sure!” He ran and opened the rickety gate just as the handyman was coming out, wiping his face with his shirt. They exchanged nods and Daniel went in. The garden was not large, but it was talked about throughout the town and beyond. Daniel could understand why, kneeling to pick an oversized tomato in exactly the shape of a Bartlett pear, and another in the shape of a zucchini. You never knew what you’d find in Bridey Byrdsong’s garden. Sometimes you had to bite into one of her fantastic vegetables to be sure what it was.
“Come on, Danny. I can’t stand up much longer,” she called.
He rejoined her, and they went on. Ahead he could see the snub nose of her car poking out of the garage. When they reached it, Bridey was too out of breath to speak. She opened the car door and had Daniel brace her elbow as she lifted her leg onto the running board. Once there, she turned and positioned herself, then let her body fall backward onto the seat.
Her left leg didn’t quite make it.
“My foot, if you don’t mind, Daniel,” she said.
The boy knelt, got a good grip, and hoisted her foot up and in.
She winced. “Thank you, Daniel,” she said. “You’re a good boy. Always were.”
She turned the key in the ignition. Cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh. The engine rumbled, then coughed and died.
Cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh-cheh.
“How about a push?” she said. Bridey made a habit of parking the car facing out, as it often needed a push to get going.
Daniel was usually the one to do the pushing. That wasn’t a problem. The car wasn’t all that heavy, just a black metal box with wood spoke wheels and narrow tires. But pushing the car with Grandma Byrdsong in it was a problem. By the time the engine stuttered into life, he was itching with sweat. He ran alongside, hopped in, and pulled the squealing door shut.
As a driver, Bridey had a way of drifting to the right, but they made the trip without incident or accident, although they left a number of terrified chickens in their wake.
Gwen was waiting at the door. “Bridey, hello! Come in. Are these for us? Wonderful!” She took the tomatoes and led the way to the kitchen. “She won’t eat,” she said, keeping her voice low. “And she’s not speaking. I’m not sure she can.”
“Really? Last time I saw her, she was babbling nonstop.”
“The last time you saw her, she was six years old!”
Bridey shook her head wonderingly. “Imagine!”
They found the girl on a stool at the kitchen table, her plate of chicken and candied sweet potatoes untouched. With her blank expression and filthy red-checked dress, she had the look of a dried-out field flower someone had carelessly stuck in a vase. The truth was, her grandmother barely recognized her. This was no six-year-old. Closer to thirteen.
“I warmed up what we had last night,” said Gwen.
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Bridey turned to the girl. “Emily,” she said, smiling. The smile deepened as she took her in. “Emily, Emily.”
The girl looked at her blankly.
“I’ve been trying to get her to eat for an hour.”
Bridey laid a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “Why don’t you leave us for a bit? See what I can do.”
Gwen nodded.
“And could you shut the door?”
Mrs. Crowley blushed, but did as she was told.
“What’s happening, Mom?” said Wesley, bouncing downstairs with a fat library book under his arm. It was one of his favorites, called Now You See It, about optical illusions.
She put a finger to her lips. “Grandma Byrdsong’s here.”
“Oh.” This was a fact of no interest to a ten-year-old. He kept going, grabbing two apples from the barrel by the door, one for himself, one for the first horse he met.
Daniel and his mother went out back to pick some mint. When they returned, the kitchen door was still closed.
Daniel went up to it and listened. “She’s singing!”
“Who’s singing?”
“Grandma Byrdsong. Listen.”
Gwen went over, but just then the door swung open. The old woman filled it completely. “Do you happen to have any jam?” she said.
“I think so.” Gwen went to open the cupboard, but then stopped, seeing the girl tearing hunks of bread with her teeth as if ripping the heart out of an enemy. Except for some chicken bones, her plate was clean.
“The jam?” Bridey prompted.
Gwen found the jar of preserves. “Have you gotten her to speak?”
“We … communicate,” she said. “Haven’t gotten around to actual words yet.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I know we will.” The women watched as Emily wolfed the bread and jam and then washed it down with milk. “Well,” said Bridey after a while, “time we were going. Ready, Emily?”
Gwen didn’t like to admit she was relieved. It was tricky enough, in these lean times, to feed her own family. “Danny, why don’t you go with them and help get Emily settled?”
Daniel glanced from one woman to the other. There went his day. “Sure,” he said.
Ten minutes later, with the girl in the front beside her grandmother and Daniel jouncing about in the broken-springed backseat, they were on their way, raising a tunnel of dust behind them along the dirt road. Bridey had opened the split windshield to let in air, but then closed it against dust and bugs. Emily didn’t seem to notice. She stared out at pastures and windbreaks, a house, a horse, a barn all whizzing by at something like twenty miles an hour—a crazy speed!
The Door in the Forest Page 2
