The Umbrella Lady

by V. C. Andrews

  She took a deep breath. “Tomorrow I’ll have your new birth certificate, and I’ll arrange for your enrollment soon after.”

  “Why a new one?”

  “I fixed it so they’ll believe you’re older than you are and not put you in a class that will bore you to death. I’ve also legally changed your name to mine. You’re now Saffron Dazy. You’ll be much better off.”

  Maybe Mazy was right. Maybe I was better off keeping to myself and her, and spending my free time dreaming again that my father would come to get me and bring me to a fresh new world where I could forget from where I had come and what I had been doing until he arrived. All of this would be like some bad television show.

  “How old am I?”

  “Fourteen. Just a little bit of an exaggeration, but I think they’ll put you in the ninth grade. At least, that is what I’ve demanded and they are seriously considering. Once they see your test scores, they might even consider putting you in the tenth.”

  “Tenth?”

  That’s the grade Lucy’s brother is in, I thought. It made the prospect of school all the more frightening.

  “You should be happy about that. We’ll talk about it all to be sure we’re on the same page,” she said. “Don’t worry. There’s not much new to remember about yourself. If anyone pursues you with questions about your parents, the simple answer to most everything is ‘I don’t like to talk about it. It’s too painful.’ It’s not entirely untrue, and half-truths are the best lies,” she said.

  She started to turn but paused and looked at me oddly for a moment. “Why are you wearing different clothes from this morning?”

  “I felt dirty after doing the housework, and I want to always be dressed well when I go to school. Isn’t that where I am?”

  She stared, thinking.

  Half-truths, I thought. You just taught me.

  “You don’t have to finish your assignment today. But know this about sadness, Saffron: it not only makes you sicker and older, it reminds you how fragile you are. That’s a more difficult burden for young people. Whenever you have to face it, you’ll feel like you’ve stepped out of yourself and you’re in a strange place.”

  “I know all about facing strange places,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yes, I imagine you do. Well, try to think about good things, all that lies ahead.” She looked down at Mr. Pebbles. “Even Mr. Pebbles is sad. I’ll put pennies in the jar for us all,” she said, and left.

  There aren’t enough pennies for this, I thought.

  I closed the textbook and went to the window. Lucy’s house looked smaller, almost as if it had begun to shrink since the ambulance took her away. Mazy wasn’t wrong about sadness. I could feel it aging me, making places inside me darker and more bitter. The only way out was to listen to the rage, to be angry. At the moment, I despised everything that looked fresh and new, every leaf on every tree, every wildflower, and even the blue sky that was trying to peek out through the thinning clouds.

  I didn’t care if it rained forever. Why should anyone be happy? Why should this world continue?

  Mazy spent most of the next two days lecturing me about public school, what my teachers would be looking to see in me, how I should comport myself, and how careful I should be about trusting anyone. Sometimes she really did make it seem as if I was going off to war. She saw the surprise in my face at how worried she was.

  “Are you sure you’re all right with all this?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I insisted.

  “Maybe you will, and maybe you won’t. You have to remember, Saffron, that for your own good, I kept you well protected here. Your interaction with people your age is practically nonexistent. I don’t want you to be snobby or shy, but I don’t want you victimized, either. No matter how brave and tough you think you are, things will happen to you. Maybe you won’t come running home crying, but I’ll see it in your face. Best to always be honest with me.”

  I know she was being sincere, but I couldn’t deny she was frightening me, too. Finally, I told her so, hoping she would stop with her continual list of warnings. She was making me regret I ever wanted to venture out into the world. I wanted her only to talk about the nice things that could come of it, but her response was, “That’s good. It’s good to be a little frightened. You won’t make as many mistakes.”

  As many? Why would I make any? I thought.

  Every day for the next three days, I stood at my classroom window and watched, hoping to see Lucy’s parents bringing her home. I saw her brother once returning from school but not much else.

  And then, one morning, when I went to the window, I saw a car pull into Lucy’s driveway and a couple emerge quickly and hurry to the front door. Another car pulled up in front and parked. Then another and another. What had happened was spilling out of Lucy’s house and, like a swarm of nasty hornets, was stinging friends and relatives within its reach. I imagined family was coming from far away, too.

  Stuart stepped out on the porch with some of his school friends, both boys and girls comforting him. They were surely classmates I would soon meet.

  Mazy knew I was watching the house daily, but she didn’t mention anything until the day of the funeral. She simply said, “The funeral is today.”

  Before I could comment, she added, “You’ll start school on Monday.”

  I had been waiting to hear this for so long, but my feelings were twisted, excitement and happiness tangled in fear and uncertainty. Despite my bravado, I was sure I was feeling no more confident than a five-year-old dropped off at kindergarten. He or she was left to dangle and suddenly become totally dependent upon strangers.

  I had a difficult time sleeping that Sunday night. At Mazy’s insistence, I went to bed early, but that didn’t help. If anything, it gave me more time to toss and turn, but excitement being what it is, I rose quickly, washed, and put on one of my newer dresses. When I looked at myself in a satin lace dress, I thought I might be over the top for a regular school day. I quickly changed into the French navy polo dress and put on my newest white slip-on sneakers. When I came out for breakfast, Mazy paused to look me over.

  She smiled and nodded. “Perfect,” she said. “We think alike sometimes.”

  She surprised me by bringing out a box and placing it on the table.

  “What’s this?”

  “New first day of school present.”

  I opened it and took out a light-blue denim jacket. It fit perfectly.

  “A former student of mine who has a granddaughter now directed me to that when I was shopping for you recently. I’ve been saving it for today.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mazy. I love it.”

  “Knew you would,” she said. “Let’s have a good breakfast and get you to school. I have to go with you today, but you’ll come home yourself and go yourself from now on.”

  Further surprising me, after we had finished eating, she told me to leave everything as it was. Today was a special day—no cleanup was necessary.

  Before we were about to leave, she gave me another present, a rose-gold-foil backpack.

  “You don’t have books yet, but there’s a notebook in here, pens and pencils, some essentials like tissues, and this,” she said, plucking a very thin black wallet out to show me. She opened it and carefully removed the copy of my new birth certificate.

  “There’ll be no better identification for you than this. A friend of mine, actually a former student who works in the government, put a rush on it for us.”

  I gazed at it to see my new birthday and my new name. It had the hospital I was supposedly born in and a town I never had heard of.

  “Remember, if anyone asks you details about your home and parents, it’s too painful to discuss. If they insist, you were too young to remember after the fire,” she said. “It’s all perfect,” she assured me. She put it back in the wallet and returned it to the backpack. “There’s a little money in there, too, although you won’t need it at school. I’ve already paid for your lunch fee for the r
emainder of the year. You’ll get a card today.

  “If all goes well, I’ll buy you a computer for your next birthday. I know young people your age abuse it, but I expect you won’t. You will use it for research and to build your grades. I can envision you graduating two years early. And then…”

  “Then what?”

  “College, of course. I have the money for it set aside.”

  Dare I dream?

  “Thank you, Mazy.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You have a long way to go, and there are many traps and dangers along that road.”

  I nodded, my excitement feeling like boiling milk about to spill out of the pot, despite her ever-fearful warnings.

  She reached for my hand when we stepped out of the house but then quickly pulled it back. Maybe she could read my thoughts. What I didn’t want to be or look like as we walked to the school was a little girl. I glanced only once at Lucy’s front porch when we passed. I just knew that if she had recuperated, we surely would have become close friends.

  As we walked, I reached back in my memory to recall how much Daddy had wanted me to go to school. I wondered if he would have taken me to kindergarten that first day if Mama hadn’t prevented it. Maybe they’d both have gone with me. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so different and so frightened as I did now.

  The sight of buses arriving at the school building, some students being driven to it, and many walking to it, as I was, quickened my heartbeat. My legs felt so weak that I had to look down to see if I was still walking. I didn’t want to look at anyone else yet. I was like Mazy, my eyes fixed with a stone glare on the entrance of the school. It was the best way to hide my nervousness. I might finally be attending school, but there was still a lot to learn from Mazy.

  “We have to go to the principal’s office first, Saffron,” she said. “Someone will escort you to your first class. That’s English. You’ll get your whole schedule in a little while. I just want to be sure there are no hiccups, especially one in particular.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The event of your not being placed correctly,” she said. “I’ve seen too many bright students dulled by incompetent teachers and administrators.”

  She had waited until we were about to enter the building before telling me she recently had insisted that I be put in all honors classes.

  “I was given promises,” she said, “but nothing is until it is, especially when it involves bureaucrats.”

  “You told me I was being put in the ninth grade.”

  “Yes, but not only do I want you in a class a year ahead of what you would go into normally, but also the honors classes, because they are taught work that is another year ahead.”

  “So I really will be doing tenth-grade work? Will I be in the tenth grade?” I couldn’t stop thinking about Stuart.

  “You’ll be in an honors class. The classes are smaller, and you’ll be with the brightest kids. Don’t worry. I have no doubt you’ll succeed,” she said.

  She smirked at the noise in the school lobby and the hallway.

  “Running and screaming… I’d have them all whipped,” she muttered.

  I was expecting to see Mrs. Elliot again, but the principal was a young man named Mr. Blumberg. The school guidance counselor, a woman introduced as Mrs. Krammer, looked old enough to be the principal’s mother. She had come to the school years after Mazy had retired, so neither really knew her, but both obviously had heard enough about her to treat her with more respect than they would an ordinary parent or guardian. The way they looked at me told me they were quite aware of the story Mazy had told Mrs. Elliot about me and my parents, the fire, all of it.

  “I’ve seen the results of your work with this young lady, Mrs. Dutton,” Mrs. Krammer said. “Quite impressive.”

  “She is quite impressive,” Mazy said. “I can attest that she is not lazy. She’s always worked hard and done well with any test I’ve given her. You know her scores. She needs to be challenged.”

  It was obviously very important to Mazy that I be placed in the honors classes and there be no second guesses about it.

  “Well, attending public school is somewhat different,” Mrs. Krammer said. She was respectful but obviously not intimidated. She turned to me. “Some children have a difficult time getting used to going to different teachers when they move from grade school to higher grades, and then someone who’s been only homeschooled…”

  “Not Saffron,” Mazy insisted. “She’s very independent.” To emphasize the point, she added, “She’s had to be.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Krammer said. “I’m sure.”

  “You’re not, but you will be,” Mazy hammered at her.

  The guidance counselor looked at the principal. She squirmed a bit in her chair and sucked in her irritation.

  “Well, Saffron,” she said, waiting to turn away from Mazy to me quickly. “You have very good teachers here, but you can’t expect the same individualized treatment your grandmother has provided.”

  “You placed her in the honors classes, didn’t you?” Mazy pounced. “They’re smaller, aren’t they? The teachers in those classes can give their students more attention.”

  “Yes, but being with a dozen other students is still—”

  “She doesn’t need tutoring,” Mazy snapped. “She needs challenging. I’ve prepared her for the classroom experience, having had well over twenty years of teaching experience. She knows what to expect and what’s expected of her.”

  The principal nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Krammer was simply trying…”

  Mazy gave him her best cold smile. It could chill the heart of Santa Claus.

  “I do hope we spend more time encouraging young people than making excuses for them,” Mazy said. “I’ve been told the tail wags the dog these days.”

  The principal blushed, his nose the only thing on his face not crimson.

  “We’ll make sure she’s welcomed and given all the opportunities we can offer,” Mrs. Krammer said. “I have your packet here, Saffron.” She handed it to me. “Your schedule, teachers’ names, lunch card, and a list of our rules that must be followed. It’s too late to go to your homeroom. The bell for your first class will ring in a minute or so. No worries. I’ve informed your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Garson, that you will be joining her homeroom. Your teachers will be giving you your books in each class. Do you have any questions?”

  I looked at the packet. “I haven’t time to read the rules and go to class,” I said.

  Mazy actually laughed. Mr. Blumberg started to smile but stopped.

  “I doubt you’ll break a rule so quickly,” Mrs. Krammer said. “But do take time to read the rules sometime today, if not at home.”

  “Any other questions?” Mr. Blumberg asked, looking from Mazy to me and then back to Mazy.

  Mazy looked at me, and I shook my head. The bell rang anyway.

  “Shall we start your education?” Mrs. Krammer said, standing.

  “Oh, she’s done that long ago,” Mazy said.

  Mrs. Krammer forced a smile.

  I rose.

  “Good luck,” Mr. Blumberg said. I thanked him and followed Mrs. Krammer to my first class.

  “Your English teacher is Mr. Madeo,” she said. “He’s been teaching here as long as your grandmother taught.”

  Mrs. Krammer described the building, where everything was located—the cafeteria, the gym, bathrooms, and my other classrooms—as we walked. I was afraid to show how excited I was moving among all these kids. There was an energy I had only dreamed of feeling. I smiled at the way no one seemed to be paying attention to where he or she was going. The noise of conversations was loud. Somehow the students around us avoided bumping into Mrs. Krammer and therefore me, but I did see some pause to look at me. Did they know who I was? No one had smiled at me.

  We turned a corner. Another bell rang, and most everyone walked into a classroom. We paused to wait as the last few rushed into mine.

  “Okay,” Mrs. Krammer said, and we e
ntered.

  There were no more than a dozen students, mostly girls. Everyone was at his or her desk. We paused just after entering. Mr. Madeo looked up from his desk.

  “Mr. Madeo, I have a new student for you today,” she said. “This is Saffron Dazy.”

  “Welcome,” he said, and pointed to the first desk in the first row. I wondered why it was available, but I could see the eight girls were together and the four boys were scattered. Mr. Madeo had my textbook in hand as I started forward. Until then, I hadn’t looked at anyone.

  “She’s dropping daisies all over the floor,” I heard, and turned to see one of the boys I had seen at Lucy’s house after the funeral seated at the last desk in the row by the windows.

  The whole class laughed.

  I paused as Mr. Madeo rapped on his desk and called for quiet.

  I continued to stare at the boy. He looked so gleeful, proud of having everyone immediately laugh at my expense.

  “Well, I’m sorry flowers frighten you so much. Stay out of my garden.”

  These was a pause, and then the whole class laughed. They were looking at the boy, whose face reddened.

  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought there was a small smile on Mr. Madeo’s lips as I continued to my desk and thanked him for the textbook. He nodded at Mrs. Krammer, who then left.

  “Page forty-eight,” he told me. “We’re reading Stephen Crane’s ‘The Open Boat.’ Have you ever heard of it, Saffron?”

  “I read it last year,” I said.

  He looked quite surprised. I wasn’t about to tell him Mazy had gotten the reading list for all the classes more than a year ago.

  “Really? Do you know what Crane was trying to say in the story?”

  “The universe doesn’t care about us,” I said. “Shocker. We’re on our own.”