Sometimes, when she was downstairs and I knew she wouldn’t know that I was not doing the schoolwork, I would go to the window and look out on the street just to catch a glimpse of another young boy or girl. For me right now, it wasn’t much different from watching television. They couldn’t see me watching them, and I couldn’t talk to them, nor could they talk to me, but it was still fun for me to imagine myself out there with them.
I realized there was a girl who didn’t look very much older than I was, if older at all, living in the fourth house on the right, on the way toward the village and the train station. She had light-brown hair and looked to be as tall as I was. I had yet to see her when Mazy and I walked somewhere. It occurred to me, however, that we usually left the house when school would be in session. We didn’t go anywhere on weekends.
Was that because she was afraid I would meet someone and make a friend too soon? Or was that because she was worried about me going to someone else’s house or having someone come here to play with me? She claimed going on weekdays was easier shopping, because fewer people had the time since they were at work and school. Now that I had a watch, however, I was able to keep closer tabs on when the children on the street were out, doing things together. I tried to think of a reason for me to go out on the street, but Mazy always had something for me to do during those hours. And it was always too cold or just plain nasty to play outside, even in the spring. Why didn’t the parents of those kids think the same way?
One day, when the winter came again, I even suggested that she and I build a snowman together. For a moment, I thought she would agree. Then she said, “What for? It will only melt and look terrible, and besides, why encourage these busybodies to come over here?”
It was as if she could read my thoughts and knew that my real reason was to attract the attention of the kids on our street.
She went into a long rant about why people were nosy. They either had boring lives or simply wanted to get “dirt” on you to spread and look like some sort of know-it-all.
“Gossip,” she said, “is the lifeblood of the miserable, insecure failures who suck on other people’s business like vampires.”
The vicious and nasty way she sometimes talked about other people made me think she wouldn’t mind being the last person on the earth alive. She would get so angry that her face would turn crimson, and her eyes would look like the embers in the fireplace. Her way of getting me to stop asking about going out was to increase the amount of television time I could have. The schoolwork, the constant cleaning, and the increasing household chores easily filled the day and left me tired enough to fall asleep watching television during my added hours.
And then, after I had been living with her for so long, she decided she would teach me how to cook. It was really just another class, reading from recipes and learning the techniques. For a while, it was very interesting and quite exciting for me to be the one who made our entire dinner, desserts included.
All the while, her questions about Mama and Daddy were dropped in between things we were doing and saying. Sometimes I thought that if it wasn’t for her asking about them, I’d completely forget about them. I was certainly not thinking of Daddy as much as I should be. She seemed to want to know more about Mama, anyway.
I remembered her asking, what kind of clothes did she wear? How often did she go out to shop? How often was she on the phone? Who visited her? When did all that dwindle until it was nothing? If she saw that her questions were making me sad, she stopped asking quickly. A few times, she ran for the jar and her pennies and slapped herself. It got so I was really afraid to think about Mama, at least when she could sense I was doing it.
Another spring began to whisper it was coming. We spent a lot more time cleaning the house in spring because “winter had kept us from letting it breathe fresh air.” There was some new planting to do, too. As soon as the ground was ready, we refreshed all the flower beds. She took me with her to the nursery to buy the plants. Whenever we went anywhere during the school day, people in the stores always asked her why I wasn’t at school.
“She is,” she would always say. “She’s being homeschooled. She’s brilliant.”
No one questioned why, but I felt funny at the way they looked at me. I had grown quite a bit. My next birthday would be my eleventh, so it didn’t surprise me that they would wonder. It was as if I was something different, something very odd.
I was happiest when she permitted me to spend time in the backyard by myself and didn’t stand watching every move I made.
One afternoon when I was out there, I heard voices in the woods and then laughter. I walked farther out and listened. Two young boys, probably not much more than eleven or twelve, came running from the left. They were both holding long shaved sticks they were wielding like swords, pausing every few feet to turn on each other and slap the imaginary weapons against each other’s. Neither looked like he really wanted to hurt the other. They turned and continued in my direction. I didn’t move a muscle, but the first boy suddenly stopped, and the second walked up slowly beside him. They both gazed at me as if I were some sort of magical figure who had just appeared out of a shadow.
The first boy was taller, with dark-brown hair. The second had reddish-brown hair. I thought I had seen them both from my home classroom window. Both were wearing jeans and black shirts with the words Martian Soldier printed on them. I suppose the way I stood so still confused them. I didn’t think they’d be afraid of me, but neither said anything or took another step in my direction.
The first boy suddenly raised his stick and shouted, “HA!” Then they both turned and ran back in the direction from which they had come, screaming and squealing, neither turning to see if I was following. I watched them until they had disappeared behind some thicker and older oak trees.
I didn’t know how the Umbrella Lady found out, but days later, Mazy just started laughing in the kitchen as we were getting everything together for dinner. I was setting the table. I stopped and looked at her, curious. She laughed often at something I had said and laughed at things we both saw on television, but I rarely heard her laugh at her own thoughts. I didn’t think she would tell me why, but she turned around, still laughing.
“You didn’t tell me some of the boys on the street saw you in the woods,” she said.
Was I supposed to? Did this mean she wouldn’t let me go out in the backyard again? I wondered.
“They didn’t come onto your property,” I said, thinking that might be what she would want me to tell.
“They call you the ‘Tree Girl,’ ” she said.
“Why?”
“I imagine these boys never saw you until then, and there you were in the woods watching them. You just appeared as if you had come out of a tree.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she practically whispered, her eyes wide and bright, “that they’re afraid of you. That’s good. They won’t come around here bothering us. If you see them again, just stare at them, and don’t answer them if they shout questions at you.”
“But…”
“But what?”
Would these boys make all the kids on our street afraid of me? I thought. I would never have a friend.
“No one will like me here.”
“Nonsense. Besides, why would you want to be around boys who made up strange things about you? When the time comes for you to have friends—”
“When’s that?” I asked quickly.
“You’ll know,” she said. “Don’t forget, I was a teacher. I saw the way other boys and girls could spoil someone who was nearly perfect like you. They’re either jealous or just plain mischievous. Someone who’s developing good habits like you are often gets corrupted. You could have the strongest, brightest mind, but when it comes to the false value of having the others like you, you end up belittling yourself, deliberately doing poorly in your studies, so you won’t seem like you’re too far above them, which you are, or…”
She
turned back to her dinner preparations.
“Or what?”
“Or they talk you into doing bad things to yourself and others. Don’t worry. I’ll explain it all to you so that when the time comes, you’ll be ready. Don’t you see?” she asked, turning back to me. “You have a built-in fortune-teller, someone who knows from experience how other children behave and what they will become. You’ll be so strong that no one will be able to ruin you.
“Just be sure,” she warned, with those eyes turning beady and firm, “you do what I tell you and listen to what I say. Okay?”
For a moment, I thought only about Mama and how adamant she had been that I not go to public or private school, that I stay home with her tutoring me.
The Umbrella Lady was the same. I wondered if the reason was the same reason Daddy said Mama wanted me home. She didn’t want to be alone.
But keeping me in her house until she said I was absolutely ready to go to school with other kids my age made me think of something else.
What about Daddy? He’ll be coming for me someday, won’t he? He’ll put me in school with other kids. I’m not going to be with you forever.
Those were the words I was thinking, but I swallowed them back as quickly as they came up. They came up often, but I knew that it would make her angry that I was looking forward to a time when I wouldn’t have to do what she said and listen to her orders.
“Okay?” she asked again.
“Okay,” I said.
“Good.” Her smile returned. She went back to our dinner and laughed. “The Tree Girl,” she said. “Maybe one day, I’ll paste some leaves to your arms and hands.” She laughed harder.
The image frightened me, because I imagined roots growing out of my feet. I fumbled some silverware, and the forks fell to the floor.
She spun around. “What are you doing? Since when are you so clumsy?”
I picked them up quickly.
“Bring them to the sink, and get new ones. We haven’t done this floor for a few days. Germs could be crawling all around us.”
I did it quickly. She watched me closely.
“We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” she said. “I want to get you some new things. You’re growing so fast now.”
She thought about it.
“Tomorrow’s Wednesday. It shouldn’t be very busy at the department store.”
Yes, Wednesday, I thought, when none of the kids will see me in the street. They’ll be at school.
I’ll be alone without friends until Daddy comes for me.
Weeks went by sometimes without me thinking about that. And when I did think about it, the thought occurred that it really was like saying Santa Claus is coming.
And after all, what was Santa Claus?
Just another fairy tale.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mazy surprised me at breakfast right after she served me some scrambled eggs. She was better at making them than Mama was, although I would never say so and even felt guilty thinking it.
She paused in front of me, putting her hands on her hips, which told me something important was coming.
“I have to take you to the public school,” she said.
“I’m going to school?” I asked quickly. Finally, I thought.
“Only to take a special test.”
“What kind of test?” I asked, my voice dripping with disappointment.
“A test to see how you’re doing with homeschooling. The state requires it.”
“When?”
“Today,” she said.
“Today?”
I thought I would need more time to prepare. I hadn’t been in a school building ever. What if I failed this special test? What would happen? Would I never be able to enter public school? How angry would Mazy be?
“Don’t look so worried,” she said, smiling. “This is why I didn’t tell you ahead of time. You would have built it up in your mind and made yourself so nervous and sick you wouldn’t do well. If I didn’t think you would do well, I wouldn’t have arranged it yet. I would have found ways to put it off, but I don’t think I’ll ever have to do that with you.”
She sat and sipped her coffee.
“I used to teach in this school system. Children from all the surrounding communities go there. The grade-school principal knows who I am. I had been teaching four years when she first began. She always looked up to me. I gave her good advice about her career, so she owes me. You’ll be treated special.”
“Doesn’t a mother or a father have to be the one to take me there?”
I saw how much the question annoyed her. She pressed on her lips and dropped the corners before replying.
“Normally, yes, but that’s not possible, is it? And you have to take the test. Actually, I’m looking forward to your taking it.”
“Why?”
“I’ll admit it has to do with my ego.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was the best grade-school teacher they had.” She finished her coffee and rose to take the cup to the sink but stopped and turned back to me. “Those who don’t believe it will eat their skepticism and choke on it once they learn what I have accomplished with you in so short a time. Actually, they’ll be jealous.”
“Jealous? Of me?”
“No, silly goose, of me. I doubt any of them in all the grade-school classes has a student like you. Your talents could have gone to waste. Sometimes things happen for the best, even though we might not realize it for a long time, a lifetime, in fact.”
What did she mean? What had happened was for the best? It was good that there was a fire and my mother died and that Daddy left me here? Maybe she meant only the best for her.
“I told the grade-school principal, Mrs. Elliot, that you are my granddaughter, anyway,” she casually added. “You must remember to say the same thing if you’re asked, just like I always told you to do. It makes everything much easier for us both. And it doesn’t hurt anyone, right?”
She waited for me to nod and then smiled.
Lies as tools, I thought. Lies as tools.
After we cleaned up our breakfast dishes, she had me change into something nicer, something she had bought me on her own just a few days before. I was surprised, but she said she had seen it in a store window, and the saleslady assured her it was popular with girls my age. It was called a skater or fit-and-flare dress, with large flowers of pink, yellow, and green on white.
“My, you look grown-up already,” she said when I put it on. I put on a light-blue jacket and my newest pink sports shoes and brushed my hair. I did like what I looked like. Maybe it was only my imagination, or maybe it was because she constantly told me, but I thought I had grown and looked years older than I was. She inspected me, smiled, and nodded.
“Let’s go.”
She took my hand as soon as we stepped onto the street to walk to the school. She had gotten dressed nicely, too. I had never seen her in this light-blue skirt suit. She was proud that it still fit her well.
“I wore this on my last day of class years ago,” she said. “The only wrinkles are in my face.”
She laughed. I was surprised at how happy a day this really was for her. I used to think she never wanted it to happen. My heart pounded with even more excitement and concern. What if I didn’t pass the test? What if I disappointed her and made her look foolish? She had always taught me to keep my expectations low so that any disappointment wouldn’t feel as bad. “No matter what you believe,” she said, “you want there to be some surprise when something wonderful happens.”
As we approached the front door of the grade school, I was sure Mazy could feel my fingers tighten around hers. She paused, nodded at me, and said, “All the necessary paperwork has been done. You’re all set. There’s nothing to do but take the test, Saffron. So just relax and concentrate on the questions the way I taught you.”
Mrs. Elliot was waiting right inside the main entrance. She looked as old as Mazy, if not a little older, and wore what I thought was a dress suit
made the same day as Mazy’s.
“I should be mad at you for keeping away so long,” she told Mazy. “I haven’t had a good coffee klatch since you retired.”
Mazy shrugged. “I’m not one to return to the scene of a crime.”
“Oh, how funny,” Mrs. Elliot said. She turned to me as if she had just realized Mazy had brought me along. “Why, hello there,” she said, staring down at me with a broad smile on her face. She had her hands on her hips just the way Mazy kept hers when she was saying something she thought important. Was it a grade-school-teacher thing? “Posture speaks volumes,” Mazy once said.
“Hello,” I said.
“Your name is Saffron?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“What an unusual but obviously very perfect name for you. Names have always been very important to your grandmother. Remember how we played that game with student names, Mazy?”
“Helped bring some humor to an otherwise depressing day sometimes.”
“Who was our favorite? I remember,” she said before Mazy could reply. “If Chris Barton married Teddy Kross, she’d be Chris Kross.”
They both laughed.
Mrs. Elliot looked at Mazy seriously. “You’re going to have to tell me more about all this.”
“Let’s get her started first.”
“Yes, let’s.” She smiled at me. “Are you ready, Saffron?”
I glanced at Mazy, who didn’t smile.
“Of course she’s ready,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here with her if she wasn’t.”
“Well, let’s begin, then,” Mrs. Elliot said. We walked quickly through the school lobby. All the classroom doors were shut, and no one else was in the hallway. She brought me to a room in which I would be the only one sitting at a desk.
After I was seated, Mazy and Mrs. Elliot stood in the doorway and talked about me. I had been given the test to read first, but I listened keenly to what Mazy was saying. She leaned on her umbrella as she spoke. They talked first about other teachers who had come and gone and the principal who had died. I heard how Mrs. Elliot had gone on to become the principal after Mazy had retired. She said she would follow in Mazy’s footsteps after another year and become the same lady of leisure. She asked Mazy if she missed being a teacher. Mazy looked at me and said, “A little, but then she came, and I was right back at it.”
The Umbrella Lady Page 13
