Awake and Dreaming

by Kit Pearson

  “Now, how on earth did that book get down here?” said Dan. “It’s supposed to be shelved upstairs with the other Victoria writers! I wish this family would put books back when you’ve done with them.”

  “It wasn’t me,” said Lisbeth. “That book’s too hard for me to read.”

  “What does it matter, Dan?” said Laura calmly. She smiled at him. “You’re obsessed. Books are meant to be read, not kept in neat order. Cecily Stone was a children’s writer,” she explained to Theo. “She lived in this house for years.”

  “She was born here,” said Dan. “She wrote two books, then she died of cancer. Her books were excellent, but they’re out of print now. I have several copies of each title—I keep a lookout for them in secondhand stores.”

  “I’ve read them both,” John told Theo. “The first one’s historical and that one’s a time travel.”

  “They’re really good,” said Anna. “I read them, too.”

  “When did she live here?” asked Theo.

  “Let’s see…,” said Dan. “She died in 1956—so about forty years ago. Three other families lived in this house after that, before we did.”

  “Would you like to read her book, Theo?” asked Laura. “You can borrow it.”

  Theo looked at Dan. “Yes, take it,” he said. “I have several other copies upstairs. I’d still like to know what this one is doing here, though.”

  When they all ignored him, he retreated behind his magazine and Theo opened up In Summer Time.

  The spongy pages smelled stale. Theo read the description of the story on the front flap of the jacket—it did look good. And its author had lived right in this house! She turned to the back flap. A blurry photograph floated above a few lines of print. “Miss Cecily Stone resides in Victoria, B.C., Canada,” it said. “Besides writing for children she is an avid gardener.”

  Theo looked at the picture again. A gaunt woman stared back at her.

  She dropped the book on the floor so hard she looked up at Dan guiltily. He hadn’t noticed. Quickly she picked it up and turned around in the armchair so her back was to the family. With trembling fingers she opened the book and examined the photograph more closely.

  The face was the one she had seen last night—the face of the woman walking across the street. And now Theo knew why she looked so familiar. It was the same woman who had been watching her on the ferry.

  18

  All Theo could think of doing to calm her churning confusion was to read the book. Maybe it would give her a clue. She turned back to the first page and began.

  The story was about two children called Edward and Susan. They discovered that when they shifted their grandmother’s sundial they were taken back in time. They visited Victoria in 1881 and met Emily Carr at age ten, who demanded to know who they were and why they wore such strange clothes.

  That was as far as Theo got before she had to stop for dinner. Sharon arrived to pick her up and Theo got another chapter read while her aunt stayed for coffee. Then she put the book in a plastic bag and assured Dan she would take good care of it.

  “You’re awfully quiet this evening,” said Sharon on the way home. “Just like a little mouse, the way you were when you first came. Is something wrong?”

  “No,” said Theo, “but could I go right to bed and read?”

  Sharon laughed. “Of course! I’m so glad you’re reading.”

  She let Theo keep her light on until nine. Theo planned to stay awake until Sharon was asleep and turn it on again, but her eyes closed with exhaustion from the night before. She woke very early and finished the book.

  It was such a good story she forgot why she was reading it. She only wondered how Emily and Edward and Susan would find their way back through the forest, and if Edward and Susan would be able to return to the present. When they did, and the plot unwound to a completely satisfying conclusion, she closed it up and sighed with pleasure.

  Then she remembered who had written this book. Cecily Stone. The woman she had seen crossing the street from the cemetery, the woman on the ferry who had stared at her and Rae so avidly. But Cecily Stone was dead …

  A chill went through Theo; she warmed up under her covers until Sharon called her to get up.

  THAT MORNING she looked for Cecily Stone’s other book in the school library, but neither of her titles was there. Theo picked out two other books to take home. In the evening she asked Sharon if there was a big library in Victoria.

  “There’s the main branch downtown,” said her aunt.

  “Can I go there tomorrow after school? Please, Sharon. I’ll be really careful. There’s something I need to find out.”

  “Something for school?”

  “Well … no. Just something I’m interested in.” It would have been much easier to lie, but she’d promised Sharon she wouldn’t.

  “Wait until Saturday and I’ll take you then. It will give you something to do while your friends are away.”

  The Kaldors were visiting their grandparents in Vancouver for Easter. Before this week Theo hadn’t been able to stop thinking of how she was once supposed to go with them—before she started to fade.

  Now she had forgotten they were going. All she could think about was Cecily Stone. She examined the photograph again and again until she knew the face from memory. Cecily’s expression was intense and inward, as if she were thinking hard about something. She was standing in front of a tree, but Theo couldn’t tell if it was the tree at the Kaldors’.

  Saturday took years to come. Only reading helped the time go faster. Theo raced through six books and the school librarian began praising her as all the others had.

  It poured on Good Friday. Sharon took Theo to a special mass in the morning. In the afternoon they cleaned out the kitchen cupboards. On Saturday Theo had to shop for a lot of food with Sharon before they could go to the library. Skye, Robin and Carol were coming for Easter dinner tomorrow; Theo had forgotten about that, too.

  After lunch Sharon finally took her to a large building downtown. “I’ll be in the magazine department, Theo. I’ll come and get you in an hour—will that be long enough for your project?”

  “I hope so,” said Theo. When Sharon had walked away, she looked around the library desperately. Where should she begin?

  First she went to the children’s department and found both novels by Cecily Stone. She examined them quickly, but they didn’t have dust jackets and there was no author information inside. The one she hadn’t read was called The Huntleys of Hurley Hall. Clutching it to her, Theo approached the children’s information desk. “Excuse me.”

  A man looked up; he was cutting out pink paper pigs and printing names on them. “Yes?”

  “Do you have any information about a writer called Cecily Stone?”

  “Hmmm … she sounds familiar. Is she Canadian?”

  “She lived in Victoria!” said Theo indignantly. “She wrote this book.” She showed it to him.

  “I’ll ask the children’s librarian—I’m just a clerk.” He went away and returned with a glamorous-looking woman wearing lots of make-up and jewellery. “So you want to find out about our Cecily! We’re rarely asked about her. I’m afraid I can’t give you much information. She wasn’t very well known. I’m sure she would have been if she’d lived longer, poor woman. Follow me and I’ll show you what we have.”

  She took Theo to the adult reference section and sat her down with a file folder labelled STONE, CECILY and a fat book with a place marked in it. Theo looked at the book first; it contained short biographies of Canadian writers. There wasn’t much more about Cecily than had been on the jacket flap, except for calling her “a promising writer for the young.” But it was exciting to read the address of the Kaldors’ house as her residence.

  She opened the file. It was disappointingly thin. There were a few short reviews of the books, each complimenting the author for setting stories in British Columbia. A photocopy of a newspaper clipping announced the “untimely death of Miss Cecily Marga
ret Stone, daughter of the prominent Victoria lawyer, the late Mr. Giles Stone. Miss Stone was a writer of children’s novels, a career she began later in life. She was a member of the Garden Society and had a special interest in heritage roses.”

  “It’s not much, is it?” The fancy librarian was leaning over Theo, her bracelets jingling. “She didn’t have any relatives and nobody published any memoirs of her. All that’s left are the books. Are you doing a school project on her? I think her books are quite good, even if they are rather dated for modern kids.”

  “I loved the one I read,” said Theo fiercely.

  The librarian looked apologetic. “I’m glad. I bet Cecily would be happy to know that someone’s still reading them. I hope you like the other one just as much.”

  Theo found out how to get a library card. She checked out the book and she and Sharon went home.

  SHE MANAGED to get halfway through The Huntleys of Hurley Hall before dinner. The story took place at the turn of the century, in a large house on the Gorge in Victoria. It was about four brothers and sisters—Frank, Louise, Perry and Gwyneth—who found a secret passage.

  Theo adored it. Nothing much happened, but the children seemed so happy, like the ones in the books about families she’d read in Vancouver. They had their bad times—there was an embarrassing episode when Gwyneth, Theo’s favourite, fell into a pond at a birthday party—but they were such a secure, united family. Like the Kaldors …

  Sharon called her to get ready; they were going to Mandy’s for dinner. “Can I take my book?” asked Theo.

  “You are reading a lot now, aren’t you? I suppose so, but don’t read at the table.”

  Theo sat impatiently through the meal. Sharon and Mandy were talking about a man at work they both had a crush on, but all Theo could think about was the Huntleys. After dinner she almost reached the end of the book while Sharon and Mandy watched a video. They got home so late that Sharon made Theo put her light out right away.

  She finished the book the next morning before church, nibbling on the large chocolate egg that had appeared beside her bed. After church she helped Sharon peel potatoes and set the table but her mind was still on the book. It was easy to tell it was by the same person who’d written In Summer Time. The stories were very different, but the same voice was relating them.

  Reading both books hadn’t helped Theo find out more about Cecily the person, just Cecily the storyteller. There was no hint in either one of the Kaldors’ house or neighbourhood, or the woman who had once lived there.

  Theo couldn’t get Cecily’s three faces out of her mind: her curious, sympathetic face on the ferry, her dreamy expression as she walked across the street and her intense look in the photograph. She knew that all three women were Cecily. It wasn’t possible; but lots of things had happened this year that weren’t possible. This was more magic! And somehow it seemed linked to the magic time when she had lived with the family.

  All evening she brooded about Cecily. “What’s wrong with you?” asked Skye, as soon as they went to Theo’s room after dinner. “You act as if you’re in some kind of trance or something!”

  Theo blinked. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  Skye set up one of the board games Sharon had bought Theo. “I never see you!” She was close to tears. “Aren’t we friends any more?”

  “Sure,” said Theo automatically. She tried to pay attention to the game, but Skye had to keep reminding her when it was her turn.

  THEO PLAYED with Skye for most of Easter Monday. She pretended to, anyway—she was like a puppet again, part of her going through the motions, but her real self focusing on Cecily. Skye kept accusing her of not listening.

  If she had magically seen Cecily two times, the only way to see her again was to go to one of the places Cecily had been. She couldn’t go on the ferry; but of course she could go to the Kaldors’ house.

  She phoned Anna on Tuesday evening while Sharon was downstairs doing the laundry. “Hi, Theo!” said Anna. “Did you have a good Easter? We have a present from Vancouver for you. Are you coming over this Saturday?”

  “Can I come for the night again?” Theo asked.

  Anna sounded surprised. “I guess so. Just a minute, I’ll ask Mum.”

  After she said it was all right, Theo waited to tell Sharon.

  Her aunt put down the heavy laundry basket and looked worried. “Oh, hon, don’t you think you’re spending too much time over there? I know how much you like them, but you don’t want to wear out your welcome—you’ve just had a sleepover. And Robin told me that Skye feels neglected. You can’t forget her, you know—she’s such an anxious child, she needs a friend.”

  Theo stiffened. “I spent all day yesterday with Skye. And the Kaldors want me to come overnight.” She didn’t tell Sharon she had suggested it.

  Sharon sighed. “All right, then. I suppose it’s up to you to choose your friends, and they are wonderful ones. But try not to forget about Skye.”

  Theo was so excited about being able to go, she kissed Sharon’s cheek. “Thanks! I’ll be nicer to Skye, I promise.”

  All week she tried. Skye was so easy to please; she revived under Theo’s attention like a plant that had needed water.

  Theo held tight to her secret about Cecily. Was she really going to catch a glimpse of her again? The possibility was both exciting and scary.

  THEO HANDED In Summer Time to Dan. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

  “It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read!” Theo told him. “I found her other one in the library and read it, too. Do you know anything more about her?”

  Dan shook his head. “She must have led a very quiet life. Writers often do—their adventures are in their books. All I know is that she once lived in this house. I can show you her grave, though. Would you like to see it?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  Dan smiled at her enthusiasm. “I have to go to the university for a while, but I’ll show you after lunch.”

  Anna and Lisbeth dragged Theo upstairs to tell her about their trip to Vancouver. “John went snowboarding at Whistler with our cousins but we weren’t allowed to go with them,” complained Lisbeth.

  “We built a fort on the beach out of driftwood but some mean kids wrecked it,” said Anna.

  They gave Theo a small stuffed whale they’d bought at the aquarium. Theo thanked them, but all she could think about was seeing Cecily’s grave. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she’d be buried across the street.

  Only Anna came with Theo and Dan. They followed him along the pathway almost to the end of the cemetery. Then he led them across the grass to the edge of a hill which dropped to Dallas Road and the sea.

  “It’s right around the war memorial,” said Dan, examining the markers. “Ah … here you are, Theo.”

  The grass plot was outlined by a cement rectangle. Two plaques were set in it. The shiny dark one said:

  GILES WILLIAM STONE

  BORN 1876 DIED 1945

  PHILIPPA MAY STONE

  BORN 1885 DIED 1949

  The other marker was in the shape of an open book. Its letters read CECILY MARGARET STONE, 1915– 1956. Underneath the dates was a quotation: AND THE BOOKS SHALL BE OPENED.

  Theo knelt and ran her fingers over the smooth marble book and the rough letters. She stood up and smiled at Dan. “Thank you for showing me.”

  “You’re really interested in her, aren’t you? I’m touched by how much you love Cecily Stone’s books, Theo. John and Anna liked them too.”

  Theo was studying Cecily’s grave again. Some of the surrounding plots were brightened with grape hyacinths or Easter lilies in pots, but this one was straggly with rough grass.

  “At least Cecily has a good view!” said Dan. Anna giggled. Theo tried to memorize the plot’s location as they walked away.

  ONCE AGAIN Theo was lying awake while Anna and Lisbeth breathed steadily. After she heard their parents come up, she’d sit by the window again.

  She yawned, her body limp with dra
ined excitement. It wanted to give in to sleep but Theo struggled to keep her eyes open.

  But when she opened them next, she knew the night was almost over. She jumped up angrily and darted to the window. It was almost dawn; she could see the hedge across the street in the thin light. One bird had begun a hesitant morning call.

  She’d missed her! Theo watched for a few minutes but no gliding woman appeared. She almost began to cry. Then she was riveted by an idea.

  Why not go out? Cecily had come from the cemetery last time—maybe she was there. Maybe she was by her own grave! Theo didn’t stop to think of what that might imply. She picked up her shoes and crept downstairs.

  In the hall she put on her jacket over her pyjamas and did up her shoes. Bingo came lumbering out of the kitchen, stretching as he walked. “Is it morning already?” his puzzled brown eyes asked her.

  Theo hesitated. She’d feel safer with Bingo along, but what if he barked? She made him sit while she opened and closed the door as softly as she could. Standing on the front steps, she took a deep breath. After all, it was almost morning; Anna and John had once sneaked out at night. If someone saw her, she could just say she felt like going for a walk.

  Her legs still trembled as she went slowly along the same route Dan had taken her this afternoon. What was she going to find? The closer she came, the more she wanted to turn back; but something compelled her to keep walking.

  When she reached Cecily’s grave, it was deserted. Theo was both relieved and disappointed. She stood there a long time, the only sounds the increasing bird chorus and the rhythmic lap of the sea below.

  Theo turned to face the war memorial—and froze. She tried to scream but it came out as a muffled choke.

  A woman was sitting on the lowest step of the memorial. When she heard Theo, she jumped up with astonished delight. “Can you really see me?” asked Cecily Stone.

  19

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Cecily. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “But you’re—you’re—”

  “I’m dead. That’s what the gravestone says, doesn’t it? My body is buried there. It’s gone. But the rest of me is still alive.”