When she opens the door, Heart and I make a dash into the hall. She asks Butler to help her move the big wardrobe across from her bed, creating a wall. She has created a small square room within the large room. Everything outside her little square is wasted space.
Rebecca and Heart are happy in their cozy little “den” in a perfect square. Everything is organized to her satisfaction. Heart is happy with his blanket in front of the window. He watches all the activity on the street below. He watches me crawl up the window and rest on the curtain. We’re getting to be good friends, I think. We all think Rebecca’s new room is a great improvement.
Rebecca reorganizes the kitchen and pantry, too. She lines all the little spice cans by color, size, and in pairs. The cook opens the pantry door. Her spice cans look like toy soldiers marching in pairs across the pantry shelves.
But what amazes Cook even more is how helpful the arrangement actually is. She reaches to pick out a spice for her recipe and lays her hands on it immediately.
“It’s brilliant,” Cook says. “What a clever idea. The girl does have some sense about her, at that.” The rest of the family comes to have a look at the spice cans and everyone agrees. Rebecca is brilliant.
Cook doesn’t understand why one particular spice can is not allowed on the pantry shelf with the others. Rebecca insists it’s odd; it’s only one. All the canned goods stand like towers on the pantry shelf, stacked in perfect order, in pairs or even numbers.
Butler discovers all the cooking utensils are stored by size in their drawers. Serving pieces are stored by shape.
Gardener is amazed when Rebecca dusts everything in the potting shed and lines his vases in an orderly fashion. His clay pots are in circles according to size.
The library holds a fascination for Rebecca. She tries to read everything. This is the room that holds the wondrous Webster Dictionary. It was her favorite book at her old school. Now she’s been invited to this room, she will finally find the meaning of new words, like she used to do in her classroom.
The first word she wants to find is waif: w-a-i-f, waif; anything found without an owner, a homeless person, especially a child.
Rebecca closes the book. “I was waif,” she says. “Heart was waif. Now we have a home. We are not waif.” Rebecca sorts through that. I see her swirling it around in her mind.
“Waif is odd,” she says. She shakes her head at Heart.
“We’re not odd. We are even. We are two.” Well, there are three of us, really, but I’m not sure she knows I’ve attached myself to their company. So technically now, we are odd again, the girl, the dog, the fly. But, since she doesn’t know about me, we’ll go with even.
She stacks the library shelves with stacks of books in even numbers. It looks pretty good, actually. The last stack, which ends with an odd number of books, she throws down in the corner of the room and pulls the corner of the Oriental rug over the heap. The father is astonished. The Webster’s moves to Rebecca’s room. Here is finally something she wants.
An unusually warm night of autumn offers to melt Rebecca and Heart, and I cling to the cooler window pane. Rebecca and Heart curl together on the bed of lavender scented linen. If they melt they will be one puddle. Neither of them can sleep. Rebecca drips perspiration. Heart’s panting breaks the silence. They slip out of the room and lie down outside on the cool lawn together. I’m first to the door and help her open it. The harvest moon hangs lazily over the garden; the night air is fresh.
With her head lying on her hands, Rebecca counts pairs of stars. Heart watches Rebecca, his chin on his paws. I carefully avoid the fresh spider webs under nightly construction around the lawns.
Good smells waft from the kitchen, signaling breakfast. The sun rises and we return to the house, where we’d not been missed.
Upon entering the kitchen one of these autumn mornings, we survey more activity than normal and I sense excitement vibrating my air space. I cling to the wall, but the excitement buzzes about our ears like mosquitoes.
Rebecca feels for Heart’s neck. Heart responds with steady assurance. They stand still, absorbing and wondering what this day will bring. Neither of them likes changes in their days. Today will not be the same. The air waves vibrate. I stay safely out of the fly swatter’s way.
Strangers with pots and flowers appear. Silver platters heaped with food arrive all day. I zip about with intoxicated glee.
Rebecca and Heart retreat to the porch step to escape the confusion. Rebecca begins to rock back and forth in a slow rhythmic sway. Heart’s tail flips from side to side in nervous synchronization. The hours pass, the activity builds to frenzy. I’m sated and sluggish on the screen door. When Rebecca taps her head against the screen door, I move to the window frame.
Tables and chairs appear where they don’t belong. Vases of fall flowers, potted chrysanthemums and more trays, and more strangers fill every bit of lawn. Hurrying past the back door, strangers smile at Rebecca and Heart. They speak to them then shake their heads at the state of insolence in modern youngsters. If only they would take time to understand!
Rebecca rocks back and forth and shells her imaginary peas, silently counting chair legs. At her side, Heart pants and thumps his tail, catching glimpses of Rebecca’s eyes, feeling her anxiety. I nap and absorb food aromas.
By late afternoon as twilight descends, small fires and torches glow all around the yard, and music plays. Strangers in fine clothes fill the vast lawn, gathering around the tables and the chairs. They dance on the lawn and courtyard. I stay out of sight in spite of the wonderful trays of food. I’ve been around long enough to know that trays of food served outside are accompanied by waiters with fly swatters.
Heart’s nose sniffs the air. He recognizes some of the scents and sniffs some exciting new ones. He decides to investigate. The din of voices grows louder. Rebecca covers her ears and rocks to and fro.
Heart licks her hand and leaves the step. He peers around the corner of the house and sees a heaping leg of lamb on the table in front of him. No one is nearby. We’re absolutely certain Cook has put this here for him, since he and I are the only ones who normally eat outside. How kind of her to think of us!
In the blink of an eye, Heart grabs the juicy meat and hauls it back to Rebecca on the back step. They share the meal and gnaw the juicy bone, side by side. I bathe in the succulent juices dripped on the step.
The music plays. The strangers whirl and twirl, and laugh loudly. Rebecca and Heart sway, body and tail, until dusk. Then they doze, side by side on the back step. I cling to the window sill, so full of meat juices I’m afraid I might roll off and not be able to fly.
Heart jerks to a sit. He lifts his head. His nose sniffs the air. His ears flick an alert. He certainly gets this fly’s attention. His nose twitches and a low growl grows in his throat.
Rebecca opens her eyes and reaches for Heart. She feels the growl before she hears it. Loud voices are coming toward us. I flick my wings to wake up. Heart is tense. The growl is steady, and creates ripples in my air waves. The hair on Heart’s neck bristles. Rebecca clutches his shoulder; his tense muscles ripple. Oh, oh. I see trouble looming.
“Well, well, looky here.” It’s one of the hired waiters, talking loud and rude. I prepare for a buzz attack.
“If it ain’t the little rich girl and her mutt.” The second one steps out of the shadows. Heart bristles. I’m revving on the runway, my body pulses in anticipation of takeoff.
“Not havin’ any fun, girly?” the first waiter asked. “Y’re missin’ the party! Listen, uh, little rich girl, me and my pal here, we happen t’be very int’rested in timepieces and fine jewelry. Now, you wouldn’t happen to know where we could get some, would ya?” They move in front of the steps, spread their legs. One puts his hands on his hips. The other crosses his arms across his middle. Typical tough guy posturing. I’ve seen it before, though I’m sure Rebecca has not. Heart has, and he recognizes the attitude in their stance.
Rebecca covers her ears and she
rocks faster. Her eyes focus on the mossy patches on the steps. Heart moves closer to her and continues to issue his warning.
I rev my engine and tear down the runway. I skip off. I’m airborne, ready to take one for the team. Heart moves closer to Rebecca. He continues growling his warning, which the robbers ignore.
“Not going to show us, then, are ya”? Too good to even look at us? Right oh. Well I’d say you’re just a tad snotty, wouldn’t you say so, Mick?” He looks at his partner and winks.
I zoom toward his eye. He bats at me with the back of his hand, and throws himself off balance, stumbling. I regroup and prepare for another assault.
Heart grows taller; his neck straightens. His intent amber eyes glow. His growl means business. The waiters ignore him. I could have told them, that’s not a good thing to do.
“Guess we gotta help ourselves then, what’d’ya say about that?” The waiter reaches for Rebecca’s arm to move her off the step, out of his way. Before he can clamp his hand around her wrist, Heart erupts off the stair with an immense roar and a frightful power. He snarls and gnashes his teeth. He tears at the man on the ground. Buttons pop, clothes rip, shoes fly. Heart tugs at the waiter’s arms and legs in a rapid flurry, his four large paws beating a tattoo against the man’s body.
I zoom in on his partner who turns and runs. I chase him out of the garden. We’ll not be bothered by him again.
Rebecca rocks frantically, banging her head repeatedly against the screen door. Heart stands by. The troublemaker flees, tattered and torn, into the darkness of the hedge. The waiter’s ripped apron hangs like a white flag of surrender on the bushes. After a brief stopover on the soiled apron, I return to my battle station above the step. Heart returns to his headquarters, at Rebecca’s side.
Her movement slows. One hand drops to Heart’s shoulder where she takes comfort in his warm body. He rests his head beside her. She clenches his furry ruff. He lies down panting, on full alert.
Mission accomplished! It’s an exciting evening and the three of us rest. Several hours later Cook finds us: Rebecca and Heart peacefully dozing on the step, and me leaning against the screen door.
“My, my, seems to me you two missed all the excitement tonight,” she says. “Slept right through the party, didn’t you?”
She hauls them off to bed. I lead the way up the stairs and fall asleep on the curtain before the others are even settled.
Chapter 9
Proper Education
Rebecca and Heart and I have resided here for a considerable time, now, though we really don’t know or care how long that’s actually been. The mother and the father decide it’s time for Rebecca to receive a proper education.
After much discussion, they decide to visit the School Board. However, this discussion about Rebecca didn’t include Rebecca. When the visit is arranged, Rebecca is scrubbed up, pinned up, brushed up, dressed up, and plucked up. But, she isn’t up on the meaning of it all.
I’ll just tell you right now, this meeting doesn’t go well!
The head master of the school meets them in the hall. He refuses to let Heart come into his office even with his proper red collar and leash. The mother and the father start toward the office. Rebecca refuses to budge out of the hall without Heart. I fly back and forth, not knowing where I should light. The headmaster tries to shake hands with Rebecca. She plunges her fingers into her mouth. The teacher tries to show her how nice her name looks on the lined school paper. I drop to the paper to encourage her, but the teacher brushes me off.
Rebecca isn’t looking at the paper. She’s looking at the lines on the wooden floor. She silently counts the planks under her feet. She calculates how many boards there are in every room. It would be helpful to the teachers to have many eyes like mine. Then they might see all that goes on with Rebecca. The headmaster finds her rude and insolent.
The parents try to move Rebecca and finally explain to the headmaster that Rebecca is different.
“Yes,” he says. “I see she’s an odd one.”
Rebecca shakes her head. “Two,” she says. “Not one. Two.” She holds up two fingers. He’s unimpressed.
The head master and teacher ask Rebecca questions, for which she has no answers. She covers her ears. They try to move her into the office with them. She stands firm, wanting Heart. She begins to sway. They are interrupting her counting of the floor planks. She wants to get her mind farther away. With one on each side of her, they move her. She fights and hollers into the office. Heart is not happy about this. He’s pushing on the door.
The parents are fussing. “Now, now Rebecca, don’t make a scene. You’re going to like school.”
I try to warn them. I buzz them to let her alone, but no, they brush me off.
I’m surprised when Rebecca suddenly gets very quiet. She stares at the wall. She’s listening. What does she hear? Where is Heart?
The teachers babble on about ‘policies,’ ‘expectations,’ and ‘responsibilities.’ I flit from wall to wall. I’m restless. My Be-Forewarned meter is ticking.
Rebecca looks at the low window into the hall and shifts from one leg to the other. I fly faster, the teachers talk louder. The headmaster grabs Rebecca’s arms insisting she must look at them.
I fly into his face to warn him, but as usual, he flicks me away. I tried. Rebecca yanks away and screams.
The shatter of the glass is explosive. Pieces are flying in all directions. I see them glittering and flashing out of all my 750 eye facets. A torrent of raining glass shards pours down in the office and clatters in the hallway, with a powerful Heart flying through the window in the midst of it all. He skids to a halt beside Rebecca, daring anyone to touch her. Rebecca stops screaming.
The mother is astonished and, for a change, is speechless. The father is angry. He grabs for Heart’s collar.
Heart slips through his legs and escapes. With one glance around the room, Heart weighs his options and heads for the now open door. I blast out over his head. In the lobby, he slips under the sofa and lies down quietly where he can keep his eyes on Rebecca. Don’t worry, buddy, I’m watching her, too, I tell him.
Rebecca is coming into the hall, hitting her ears with her hands, humming loudly, creating a place no one can enter.
Everyone else heads noisily down the hall to another office, all talking at once about ‘liabilities’ and ‘limitations.’ Heart sniffs the air and creeps back to Rebecca’s side. Her hands are over her ears. She looks at the floor. Heart moves into her circle of vision next to her feet. Her hand drops to his shoulder and they move as one, out the hall, through the front door and down the steps to the street. The proper red leash drags behind them.
Our motorcar hums along Washboard Road. The mother sniffles, whines, and says words like ‘embarrassment,’ ‘ostracized,’ ‘disgraced.’ The father furiously rages about ‘expense,’ lawsuit,’ ‘disappointment.’ They blame each other, their daughter, and the mongrel for the afternoon’s debacle. Heart, Rebecca, and this fly on the wall ride silently thinking about our empty stomachs and our next meal.
By the time we reach home, the event is nearly forgotten by the mother and the father. But at school, let me tell you, it is never forgotten. I notice they replace the window, but they are still telling the story about the flying dog and the wordless girl who will never return again for proper schooling.
Chapter 10
The Tutor
Though the mother is disappointed that Rebecca can’t attend school with the other children, she doesn’t give up totally. She believes education is important for Rebecca. She hires a tutor for her after the school incident. He’s been coming for a few months now.
Mister Harry White, Rebecca’s tutor, is a quiet man and seems to all of us to be suitable for Rebecca. Rebecca resigns herself to having him around a few hours each day. The mother feels as long as she spends time with Mister White she must be learning something. I ride the fan blade and try to pay attention to his lessons, so I can learn, too. Heart lies at Rebe
cca’s feet, absorbing the instructions.
One afternoon at the first winter tea, I overhear other mothers discussing their children’s school progress, and in particular, their report cards. The mother begins to worry that perhaps Rebecca isn’t progressing as much as she hoped, and perhaps we are all missing out on something. She summons Mister White. I ride in on his shoulder.
The mother sits at her desk in the little household office. She looks at the tutor through her half-lens eyeglasses. She taps her pen as she speaks. The tutor chews his lip and tries to follow the pen. I peer down from the drapery rod.
“So, you see, Mister White, all I’m requiring at this time is accountability. You’ve been tutoring our daughter for quite some time now, and my husband has paid you quite generously. Other children receive frequent accounting in the form of a report card. If we had such a report card from you, then we’d know what she’s learned, and how she’s progressed. So, for future, Mister White, we require a report card, as you do for other children.”
“Madam, if I may speak bluntly, Rebecca isn’t like other children. Rebecca’s world is…well…it …she isn’t like others. Rebecca is different. I’m not saying that she can’t learn. Indeed, Madam, the child may, in fact, be brilliant and she knows many things. But the results of her learning can’t be assessed by the same criteria. We may never know, or understand, all that Rebecca knows.”
“Mister White, I’m painfully aware that Rebecca isn’t like other children. And that’s precisely why you are employed. Either you provide the required report card, or I’ll be forced to locate a more suitable tutor for the girl.
“My husband and I will be away for a while. Upon our return, I’d like to see a complete accounting in the form of a report card of what you’ve achieved with her. That is all, Mister White.”
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