The nun pressed her thin hand to her forehead. “It was something like Caroway, or Garroway. No, Hideaway seems closer—though that couldn't be it. Anyway, I do recall that he lived in the mountains, but much farther south. Somewhere down in the Blue Ridge.”
Tony gasped. “The mountains—the Blue Ridge? You're sure?”
“Yes, because he mentioned them. He said—”
They were interrupted by the bus driver, who shouted, “Hey, you kids! Get aboard—or aren't you going to Hackett House?”
“Wait!” Tony pleaded. “Just a moment—please!”
“I ain't got all day,” the driver grumbled.
The nun said hastily, “The letter may be on file at the school. When I get back tonight I'll look it up. If you'll give me your names…”
Tia was already swiftly scribbling their names and address on a piece of notepaper. The nun took it and folded it away, saying, “I'm Sister Amelia, of St. Agnes School. If I can find the letter, I'll—”
Her voice was drowned by the roar of another bus approaching. They were forced to separate as two other nuns came over and took Sister Amelia by the arms. Tony had no chance to talk to her again. Reluctantly he followed Tia aboard.
He was in a daze of excitement and uncertainty all the way back to the city.
OUT OF YESTERDAY
At Hackett House that night, Tony lay awake long after the other boys had gone to sleep. Somewhere in the mountains was a man who was almost certainly a member of the same family as Tia and himself. It had to be that way. Why else the double star? You wouldn't use such an uncommon design on a letter—and print it so exactly—without reason.
It was galling not to know that person's name, or where he lived. Everything depended on Sister Amelia. So much depended on her, in fact, that it suddenly worried him to realize he didn't know her address. She'd merely said St. Agnes School, as if she thought he knew where it was—but St. Agnes School might be in any of a dozen towns within a few hours' drive of Heron Lake.
The next day he borrowed the telephone directories and searched through them carefully. St. Agnes School was not listed in the city, or in any of the suburbs.
He told himself it didn't really matter, for surely they'd hear from Sister Amelia within a day or two.
But three long days passed and dragged into four; then four became five, and five turned into six. Finally a new week had begun, and still there was no word from the little nun.
Tony despaired. What could have happened? Had Sister Amelia lost the paper Tia had given her? Or, worse, had she been unable to find the all-important letter?
“No,” said Tia to the last question. “She'd write if she could, no matter what. I'm sure of that, Tony. She knows how important it is. I—I'm awfully afraid about her. She's old, and I know she wasn't at all well when we saw her…”
They had finished their assigned tasks for the afternoon, and had met in the tiny library. It was the only spot where they could talk without interruption. The place was stifling. Tony unlocked the front window and opened it for ventilation. He peered glumly out at the ceaseless traffic and the old rooming houses across the street.
What were they going to do?
Absently he took the tiny wooden doll from his pocket, placed it on the windowsill, and pointed his finger at it. Feeling as he did, his curious ability to make things move was at a low ebb. The doll lay crumpled and motionless until he found his harmonica and blew a few soft notes. Gradually, life seemed to enter it. It stirred, rose slowly, and finally began to dance as he played. The music was Tony's own, the softest whisper of a melody that came from somewhere deep within him. Tia listened, entranced, then opened the star box. Now the other doll joined the first upon the windowsill.
The drab world around them was forgotten. Here for a moment there was magic. Magic in the music, in the dancing dolls, and in the thought that somewhere, surely, there was a magical place where they would find other people like themselves.
Could it really be in the mountains? And why there?…
Tony stopped playing, and bleak reality returned. Reluctantly, the dolls and the harmonica were put away.
Tia said, “If you try hard, maybe you can see the man who wrote Sister Amelia. Then, if you could see where he lives…”
“I've been trying,” he grumbled. “But when you don't know what to look for… Tia, we've got to be practical. The first thing is to locate St. Agnes School.”
“It must be listed somewhere. If we could get the right directory—”
“Oh, any priest ought to know where it is. What's the name of that one we met once? He runs that place down where South Water Street nears the bridge.”
“Father O'Day,” Tia said instantly. “At St. Paul's Mission.”
“Well, I've heard he's a pretty good Joe. I'm sure he'd help us. I'd like to go and see him—if Mrs. Grindley will let me—and tell him all about things.” Tony paused and searched through his jeans. He scowled at the four pennies he found, and added, “I ought to phone him first, but I'll need six more cents. Have you any money?”
Tia looked startled. “Why—why yes. I've lots of money. I meant to tell you, but I was so worried about Sister Amelia…” She reached deep into the star box and handed him a folder of paper. “I don't know how much is there,” she added.
It was just like her, he thought, to ignore any money she'd found. She'd always said that there must be something very bad about money, because those who needed it most never had it, and so many who had it would do such awful things to get more of it.
The folder, he saw, was part of an old road map, badly worn. He opened it slowly, and stared. Inside were nine twenty-dollar bills, and two fives.
“Tia!” he whispered, hardly believing his eyes. “Where'd you get all this?”
“From the bottom of the star box. I mean, from between the bottoms. It's been there all the time.”
“But, Tia—”
“The star box has two bottoms, see?” She opened it and showed him the removable piece that fitted tightly inside. It had been loose for some time, she explained. Last night she took it out to fix it, and found the folder of money.
“I don't get it,” he muttered. “Why would money be hidden in your box? You ought to be able to remember something about it. Can't you?”
“Tony, all I know is that I had the box when we came to live with Granny Malone. I've tried and tried, but that's as far back as my memory goes.”
He shook his head. Tia's memory was the queerest thing he'd ever heard of. It was practically perfect up to a point, then it stopped cold. Of course, they were pretty young when they first came to live with Granny, and it was surprising that Tia could recall anything at all of that time. He himself could remember nothing.
“I'm going to keep one of the fives,” he said. “Better hide the rest where you found it.”
He was carefully tucking the bill into a secret compartment of his wallet when something dark appeared on the windowsill and leaped down at Tia's feet. It was a small black cat. Tia seemed to be acquainted with it, for she scooped it up happily and hugged it.
“It's Winkie,” she said. “He's my cat.”
“Your cat?”
“Of course he's my cat, aren't you, Winkie?” Winkie gave a meow, and she said, “He's very, very special, and we understand each other perfectly. He slips into the girls' dorm every night and sleeps on my cot.”
“You'd better not let Mrs. Grindley find out about it. She hates cats.”
The words were hardly spoken when his ears detected, above the countless other sounds in the building and the street outside, the familiar thud of Mrs. Grindley's low-heeled shoes approaching in the hall. Tia, whose hearing was equally acute, gave a little gasp and said, “Run, Winkie! Run!”
Winkie, reluctant to leave, had scampered only as far as the corner of the windowsill when the door was thrust open and Mrs. Grindley entered.
The matron saw the black cat on the instant. “Scat!” she cried, and seiz
ed the first book in reach and hurled it. It curved curiously and struck the wall, and Winkie vanished outside.
“Who let that animal in here?” Mrs. Grindley asked.
“It just came in,” Tony replied.
“And who opened the window?”
“I did, ma'am. It's hot in here.”
“I'm not concerned with the heat. Close that window this instant, and lock it.”
Tony did as he was told.
“Now, young man,” she began, “suppose you tell me what you two are up to, and how you managed to get in.”
“B-but it's a library, isn't it?” Tony said defensively. “We always come in here to get books to read.”
“Through a locked door?” The matron's voice was icy.
“It wasn't locked when I came here,” Tony insisted.
“Don't lie to me. I locked the door last night, and I haven't unlocked it since. You must be using a skeleton key to get in. Where is it?”
“We don't have one, ma'am. Honest!”
“I know better.” She began to search them.
The search was thorough, and there were tense moments when Tony held his breath, fearful that the matron would discover the five dollars hidden in his billfold, or worse, the bulk of the money in the star box. The discovery would have been disastrous, for he knew she would never accept the truth. As for entering the library, he hadn't lied, for the door had been open. Only, Tia had opened it before he arrived. That was another thing he knew better than to try to explain to anyone.
If it was right to open a door, Tia could always manage it. All she had to do was turn the knob, and any lock would yield. But she'd learned very early that if it was wrong to open it, then the door wouldn't budge. Of course, the police hadn't agreed that it was right, that time they'd caught Tia way in the back of a grocery where she'd gone to take the kitten out of a trap. In the first place, they hadn't believed it possible for anyone to hear a kitten crying that far away, through a closed door. On top of it, the store had already been robbed a couple times. They'd made it rough for Tia, but it hadn't changed how she felt. She'd do anything for animals.
Mrs. Grindley, intent upon her search for a key, overlooked the money. Failing to find any object even resembling a key, she stepped back and surveyed them. Tony could sense her baffled anger.
“I don't know what it is,” she said, “but there's something about you two I don't understand. I'll be glad when I can get rid of you. In the meantime, I'm locking this place up and I never want to catch either of you in here again. Now get out.”
There were tears in Tia's eyes as Tony followed her out to the playground. The library, he knew, was the only thing that made Hackett House bearable for her. As for himself, it didn't matter too much. The world was a tough place. You had to see it for what it was, and keep fighting it, or it would beat you down.
At the moment, his main worry was how he was going to get in touch with Father O'Day. The only telephone in Hackett House was in Mrs. Grindley's office, and inmates were not allowed to use it except in an emergency. The nearest public telephone was in a pharmacy two blocks away. He had hoped to get permission to go there, but the matron would never give him permission now. He would have to sneak out tonight.
He sat down unhappily in the shade of the building and took out his harmonica. For a while, sure there was no one around to notice him, he passed the time by making pebbles bounce across the playground like rubber balls. Then he saw that Tia was watching a taxi that had stopped by the sidewalk on the other side of the fence. All Tia's attention was on the passenger that had stepped out and was now paying the driver. She was staring at the man as if she were seeing a ghost.
“What's the matter?” he asked.
Tia did not answer. She moved closer to the fence, one hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were frightened.
Tony hurried over beside her and peered through the fence. The taxi was pulling away, and the man had turned and was lighting a cigarette while he looked up at the Hackett House entrance. He was slender and dark, and a little too old for Tony to make much of a guess at his age. Down on South Water Street they would have called him a sharp dresser, for he was wearing an expensive brown silk suit, with a pale brown shirt and matching tie. Tony ruled out Italian, and decided he was either a Greek or an Armenian.
“Tia!” he whispered. “What's the matter?”
“I—I know him, Tony.”
He shook his head. “He's a stranger. I never saw him before.”
“Yes, you have. You just don't remember him.”
“Then who is he?”
She closed her eyes and said in her tiny voice, “He—he's the man who left us with Granny Malone.”
Tony's mouth fell open with shock. He turned his head, staring, but the man had already climbed the steps and disappeared into the Hackett House vestibule.
He swallowed, and managed to say, “How can you be sure? You never said anything about him before.”
“I didn't remember him till I saw his face. Then it came back. I—I almost know his name. If I don't try too hard…”
“Where did he bring us from?”
“I—I don't know, Tony. It seems as if I should know, but I just can't remember anything else.”
Tony thrust his hands deep into his jeans and worriedly scuffed the gravel with the toe of one shoe. “I don't get it, Tia. What's he doing here?”
Tia looked frightened. “I don't know. I—I'm afraid he's found out we're here, and has come to get us.”
“After all these years? That doesn't make sense. But what if he has come for us? I'd rather go with him any time than stay here—I mean, if we had to stay here.”
“No!” she said fiercely. “No! Never! It would be better to run away and go hungry. Much better. I—I'd rather be dead than go with him.”
Tony didn't argue with her. Tia could feel things he couldn't, and he'd learned it always paid to follow her instincts. “I don't suppose,” he muttered, “that he could be the same guy who wrote to Sister Amelia. I hope not.”
“Oh, no! The names are different. The man in the mountains had a name like Garroway or Hideaway. But this man…it's Der—Der—” She paused, then said, “It's Deranian! His first name is Lucas.”
Lucas Deranian. It sounded Armenian, Tony thought. And what was Lucas Deranian up to?
They waited uneasily. Minutes passed. After a long while a boy ran out into the playground and told them they were wanted in the office.
Mrs. Grindley was seated behind her desk when they entered. She looked at them stolidly, saying nothing, but at her nod the man in the brown suit rose from his chair, tucking away a silk handkerchief with which he had been lightly mopping his brow. He smiled. The smile softened the hard lines of his lean sharp face and made it quite pleasant. Still smiling, he stepped forward, extending both hands.
“Well!” he said smoothly, grasping Tia with one hand and Tony with the other. “Well! It's hard to believe I've finally found you—and after all this time. Tony and Tia! You're both taller than I expected, but of course I forget that young people have a way of growing. I'll bet you can't guess who I am!”
On South Water Street, Tony had learned to classify people by many small signs. It was easy to spot the cheap gamblers, the racketeers, and the little promoters and confidence men. But the few on top belonged to a different breed, and their eyes showed it. Behind the smile, this man's eyes were cold and knowing, with a steely glint that could cut like a drill.
Tony said, “I don't know who you really are, sir. But isn't your name Deranian?”
The man in brown did not change expression. He merely blinked—but it was enough to tell Tony that he had received a shock. Even so, the smile broadened.
“How did you ever guess?” he exclaimed. “Of course my name is Deranian—and so is yours! I'm your Uncle Lucas.”
Tony felt Tia's fingers dig into his arm, and he heard her silent whisper of denial.
“My name isn't Deranian,” he said stubb
ornly. “And you're not my uncle.”
“Oh, come now, my boy. Don't talk that way. I know this is a surprise—but I am your poor father's brother, and I've had men searching for you for six solid years. I can't imagine how you ever guessed my name when you didn't know your own, though you may have seen a photograph I once sent your father—”
“We weren't guessing!” Tony protested. “Tia knew you right away. You're the man who left us with Granny Malone when we were little.”
There were two blinks now, evidence of a really bad shock. Then Mr. Deranian shook his head, looking baffled.
“Son,” he said, “you must have me mixed up with your father. But that shouldn't surprise me, considering how much alike we were. It had to be your father who left you with the old lady.”
Mrs. Grindley was looking puzzled. “I don't quite understand. The children were so young when it happened—and it's been ten years or more. Do you think either of them would have remembered? It seems impossible. Yet, Tony knew your name.”
“Oh, young people,” said Mr. Deranian, shrugging and spreading his hands. “Who knows how they know things? In my case maybe it's the family resemblance. Maybe, seeing me, something clicks in his mind.” Mr. Deranian snapped his fingers. “Like that. And he remembers. Or maybe he remembers the photograph I sent his father, and the name that goes with it.”
He smiled again. “Even though the boy is a bit confused, I think it's wonderful that he remembers what he does. It's further proof of his identity. As for my brother,” he went on, “he'd lost his wife, and evidently he'd been employing Mrs. Malone to look after the children. From what we've been able to piece together, it seems that he left them with her when he had to go away on a sudden trip, and that he died before he could get back. One of those tragedies of life.”
Mrs. Grindley nodded. “You say you were in Europe at the time?”
“Yes. And you know how it is with brothers. They seldom bother to write, and when they travel a lot it's easy to lose track of each other. I lost track of Paulus, and had no idea he was dead till I returned to America and looked him up. Then I tried to find my niece and nephew. The time I had! It was like hunting for two little needles in a very big haystack. Fortunately I'm not a poor man, or it would have been impossible for me to trace them.”
Escape to Witch Mountain Page 2
