“That’s what happened,” Henrietta said. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wouldn’t have happened had not that woman cried out to me for help.” Henrietta turned her head and looked at Joey. “Do you see?”
“You . . . you didn’t have to leap on your uncle,” Joey said.
“And you didn’t have to leap into the pond,” Henrietta finished.
Joey couldn’t argue with this. Her point was made. Why didn’t he feel any better? What he had done and what Henrietta had done were similar, but not the same. He couldn’t put his finger on the difference. She looked so heroic as she jumped in front of the gun. Had he looked heroic when he jumped in the pond? No. All he could see was the ugly face of his own fear mocking him as he jumped.
Three notes sounded at once in a chord. The lowest of the three notes outlasted the others and floated on the night shadows like a dandelion seed in warm afternoon air.
As Joey listened he wondered. Sometimes Henrietta seemed to control the chimes like a musician. Other times the chimes seemed to live on their own following her like butterflies. These last chimes brought her out of her reverie. The mood changed. Henrietta started swinging her legs with a little more energy.
“Dawn is coming,” she said. “Time for all good ghosts to go to bed.”
“Bed?” Joey said. “Ghosts go to bed?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Henrietta said.
“You go to your grave and rest?” Joey asked. He was thinking of the story of her nightly walk to the grave as Colonel Horsebaum watched in anguish.
“Heavens no,” Henrietta said. A ripple of shadow ran across her person at the thought. Joey recognized it as a shiver of disgust. “That’s no place for a lady.”
Joey was confused. “But Colonel Horsebaum watched you walk from the cellar to the graveyard every night until he died.”
“It makes a great ghost story,” Henrietta said, showing a little enthusiasm at the idea. “But it never happened.”
“Beezer said . . .”
“Beezer,” Henrietta said with a smile and slight shake of her head. “Beezer can’t resist the romance of a good ghost story.” She thought a moment adding, “Although he should.”
“Oh,” Joey said, not sure if he was hurt or disappointed by this truth.
“No, the last time Colonel Horsebaum and I saw each other was in the cellar on that . . . that night.” They both looked down at the cellar door waiting for something to happen.
“So, if you’re here, where is Colonel Horsebaum,” Joey asked.
Still swinging her legs Henrietta contemplated the answer. “I don’t know exactly where Uncle Orson is. I know he’s in a place where maybe, just maybe, he might learn something about himself.”
Joey sensed Henrietta’s pending departure. He still wasn’t certain if this was all a dream. If it was a dream he knew it would never happen twice. He wanted to know more, and dream or not here was the one person who might actually know the answers.
“Henrietta?” Joey said.
“Mmmm?”
Joey spoke nervously. “Why are you wandering around this house? You don’t seem like the type for haunting.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Henrietta said with a light laugh that danced with the tiniest chimes. “The truth is I’m not really a ghost at all, at least not the haunting kind. My interests don’t really lie in this world anymore. I’ve just been sent back to accomplish a task.”
“A task?” said Joey. “Who sent you? What task?”
“There, you see! I’ve said too much already,” Henrietta said, chiding herself.
“My dad,” Joey said quickly. He was so afraid Henrietta was going to disappear before he could ask the question. “My dad died of cancer just last year. Have you seen him?”
“No, Joey. I haven’t seen your father.” She spread her arms like she was presenting herself, “But I know he’s there, just like I’m here,” she said.
“How can you know he’s there if you haven’t seen him?” Joey said, angrily.
“You know how I know,” Henrietta said. “Beezer has talked to you about this.”
Yes, this “knowing without knowing” business. Joey wanted something more.
“If you can be here talking to me right now, then why can’t he?”
“Joey,” Henrietta said, softly. Joey wasn’t listening.
“I need to talk to my dad.” Joey reached for Henrietta’s shoulder. He touched nothing but cold mist.
“Joey,” Henrietta said again, trying to get his attention.
“Please! If I could just talk to him once.”
“Joey!” there was a dissonant clash of chimes. The sound hit Joey’s ears like slap on the face.
“I came to help you understand how brave you are. I came to help you understand how much you love your family.” More softly, as if speaking to herself she added, “This was supposed to be a happy visit.” Henrietta looked troubled.
“I have to go, Joey.” She hesitated, giving Joey time to respond. He didn’t. Instead he looked away, ignoring her.
“I think you are brave and patient and thoughtful and wonderful in every way,” Henrietta said. She put her pale hand through Joey’s hair. His hair lifted in a breath of air. She stood and then descended to the ground becoming more transparent as she went. By the time she reached the ground she was gone.
The moment after she disappeared a double bitterness hit Joey. He missed his father more deeply than ever. Added to that was the knowledge he had acted badly toward an extraordinary person.
“Henrietta?” He desperately wanted to apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said. He listened carefully. No chime answered. Joey put his head against the tree and moaned in pain and shame.
Joey sat in the tree until his legs started going numb. Depressed and dead tired Joey made his way toward his attic loft. As he passed Glory’s room her little voice called out startling him.
“Joey?”
Joey could just make out the edge of her bed by the light of the setting moon. “Yes, it’s me,” he whispered.
“I thought I heard something outside,” she said.
“You did?” he asked.
“I thought I heard music,” she whispered. “It was pretty, like wind chimes.”
Joey stood there for a moment looking into the darkness where Glory’s voice came from. Finally he said, “Wind chimes? Yes, I’ve heard them, too.”
“Goodnight, Joey,” she said.
Joey heard her turn over in her bed. “Goodnight,” he whispered.
Slowly, Joey climbed the attic stairs and fell across his bed into sleep.
Chapter 11
Joey awoke late the next morning feeling stiff and used up. He had slept in his clothes. They were wrinkled and twisted around his body. As he sat up he noticed that his shoes were sitting neatly side-by-side next to his bed. He didn’t remember taking them off.
He stumbled over to the window looking out on the weeping willow. The late morning sky was overcast with heavy, dark clouds. Looking up he found the branch he had sat on the night before with Henrietta. Last night it had been magical. This morning it looked so ordinary.
Henrietta had been lovely; her musical voice so pleasant. He stared up at the branch remembering how she looked. Her glow. Her blue eyes lit from inside like Chinese lanterns. He brushed his thigh with his hand remembering the coolness of her dress on his leg. More than how she looked it was how she was that Joey remembered—graceful, strong, kind.
He remembered the way their talk had ended. She had been loving and supportive. He had been depressing. The shame of it hit him again. He hung his head. How could he ever make that right? Joey raised his head and listened. More than anything he wanted to hear chimes. A single note would do. There were no chimes that morning. There were no usual morning sounds at all. It was like the world had stopped.
A big drop of rain fell against the window sill with a plop. It splashed onto his hands. Another drop hit the window pane over his head.
It sounded like a small stone against the glass. He heard two more drops land against the limbs of the weeping willow. Guessing what was coming, Joey shut the windows.
On his way downstairs Joey stopped at Glory’s room. He found it empty. Her dolls lay shoulder to shoulder on her pillow. That made him think—had he brought in the doll he had gone out to fetch last night? No, he forgot to pick up the doll when he had finally come down from the tree.
He hurried downstairs to the back porch. The rain was coming down steadily now. Everything was already wet and dripping. Joey was surprised and dismayed when he saw there was nothing at the base of the tree—not Glory’s doll or Beezer’s rocket. Had Glory seen it and already retrieved it? The possibility worried him. What would she think of him?
He went back through the kitchen to the family room where he heard the TV blaring. Glory lay on the couch propped up by pillows. She was dressed in her pink robe and eating butterscotch pudding. Mrs. Johanaby always fed them butterscotch pudding when they were recuperating. Glory’s leg hung over the edge of the couch. She swung it restlessly. Story lay on the floor stacking his treasure coins into columns that looked like the ruins of ancient Greek buildings.
Joey entered the room quietly. He wanted to see if Glory had the doll before Glory saw him. She was engrossed in a show on TV featuring slime. He got close enough to see she had her arm wrapped around one of her nicer dolls—one in a long blue dress. It had a porcelain head with green eyes.
Joey felt relieved it wasn’t the doll he threw out the window. He was beginning to back out of the room when he noticed Glory’s swinging leg change directions. He watched as Glory’s restless leg swung a little farther each swing until her big toe made contact with the nearest column of coins. Story sucked in a breath as the column of coins rocked. The column teetered over knocking down several other columns with it.
“Glory!” he yelled. He scooped the golden coins together and then pushed them out of her reach. “You did that on purpose.”
“I didn’t,” she lied. Then she grinned and giggled.
“I’m going to tell Mom,” Story threatened.
A look of pain crossed Glory’s face and she sank deeper into her pillows.
“I don’t feel good,” she moaned.
Story was considering Glory’s sincerity when he noticed Joey.
“Hi, Joey,” he said.
Joey nodded a “good morning” and headed for the door. He didn’t want to talk to Glory until he found the doll. Glory’s head popped up over the back of the couch. Joey glanced over his shoulder as he went out the door and their eyes met. Her dark-brown eyes were pretty. He had never noticed that before.
Down the hall he could hear rapid tapping. Peeking into the library he found his mother much as she was the night before—sitting in front of that giant, old monitor typing furiously. Her hair was mussed. She was wearing her ragged, cut-off sweat pants and her old Scooby Doo t-shirt.
He backed away from her door. The house felt strange this morning. Something had changed since yesterday. The dark clouds and rain had something to do with it. It hadn’t rained since they got there. But it was more than that. Mrs. Johanaby was usually so structured. The daily routines were not in effect today. What happened last night between him and his mom still hung in the air.
Joey went to the kitchen and made two pieces of toast. The toaster was set on high, the way Story liked it. The toast came out extra crunchy. Joey tried to counter the crunch with extra butter, but crumbs fell with each bite. Joey brushed the crumbs from the table onto the floor and then climbed to his attic room to look for Glory’s doll. Maybe he had brought it up and forgotten. It wasn’t there.
Joey stood by his bed in the middle of his room and thought. The rain pounded steadily on the roof in a hypnotic way. The house felt wounded by yesterday’s events. A blueness settled deep in his chest. Joey sat down on the bed and wondered how he was going to get through this day. The dark clouds outside sucked the goldness from his room. The walls looked grey this morning.
Like a match flaring to life a little patch of goldness flickered against the wall. Joey noticed it out of the corner of his eye. It was coming from his desk. Joey got up to investigate. At the back of his desk was the map that Beezer had made for him the day before. It had been folded in half two times with the free edges facing the wall. The source of the light was inside the map.
Joey picked up the map and carefully unfolded it. As he did so the darkness of the day melted in a bright, warm light. What had been a blank piece of paper the day before was now a map. The map wasn’t just ink on paper; it was a window into another world. On the paper Joey saw ships, islands, and a vast country with low lands rising to high, snowcapped mountains. Joey smelled ocean and trees. He heard crashing waves and singing birds. The ships dipped and rose on the swells. Birds sailed on warm air currents.
The dark day disappeared as Joey stared into the map. The sights, sounds, and smells enchanted him. He would have stood staring all day had not words appeared at the bottom. Light flared like a flame as each letter appeared in a flowing script.
The adventure starts in Beezer’s room.
The adventure ends in your heart.
Joey didn’t know what the last part meant, but he understood the first part clearly enough. The power of the map was strong. It took great effort to fold it. As he did the darkness of the day swept back into the room making Joey feel weak. He reached out and steadied himself on the desk.
The adventure starts in Beezer’s room.
Joey could see the words in his mind. They excited and frightened him at the same time. Despite his fear there was no question he would go and meet this adventure. He would do anything to escape the darkness of the mansion today. As his strength came back Joey turned and left his room. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Deep down he had a feeling that he might never come back.
Joey hesitated on the back porch before running out into the torrential rain. He put the map inside his shirt and leaned forward as he ran to try to keep it dry. The rain was warm as it ran down his neck. He was soaked after three steps. When he got to the garage he found the doors shut and latched from the outside. It didn’t matter. He knew that Beezer was in there. Joey unlatched the doors and pulled hard to slide one side open. He wondered if Mrs. Johanaby could hear the screeching of the rusty wheels through the sound of the pounding rain.
The garage was dark inside on a sunny day. Today the shadows were almost impenetrable. Joey walked slowly up the narrow corridor between the piles of junk. He imagined he could see the glowing, red eyes of rats and hear the fluttering of giant bat wings. He would have been afraid if it weren’t for the colorful lights escaping from under Beezer’s dream room door.
As he reached the door he heard strange, soft sounds coming from the other side. He had heard them before—the sound of tufts of cotton candy being pulled from the stick. Joey took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door.
“Come in.” Beezer’s voice was low and solemn. It sounded far away.
Joey didn’t move. He was suddenly afraid of what he might find on the other side. What was making the lights? The rushing sound? What adventure was he walking into? He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be digging chocolate coins up out in the yard.
Struggling with his fear he forced his hand to turn the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn.
“It’s locked,” Joey called.
“Only to those who don’t really want to come in,” answered Beezer. “Maybe you should just go back to the house.”
Joey thought of the darkness in the house that day. He saw Glory’s questioning eyes looking at him over the top of the couch. He saw Mrs. Johanaby typing furiously at her computer as if she were trying to drive thoughts of him from her mind. A mean, little voice Joey kept suppressed broke through.
She forgot to come back for you!
With that Joey knew he didn’t belong in that house. He wasn’t really a part of the family. He was going to go whe
rever this adventure would take him. Joey tried the door handle again. It turned. The door swung open by itself.
Joey’s jaw dropped at what he saw—Beezer sat on the far side of the room next to a fire that burned brightly in what looked like a wok, the kind of pan his mom made stir-fry in. The pan was empty of any fuel, yet colorful flames leapt and danced energetically. Instead of smoke and sparks, glowing, colored bubbles rose out of the fire. The bubbles circled and dipped as they floated upward. When they reached the roof some of them popped raining a fine, radiant dust onto the fire and Beezer. The bubbles that didn’t pop floated through the roof.
“Is your jaw broken?” Beezer asked. He wasn’t smiling, but he seemed amused.
Joey closed his mouth.
“Come in,” said Beezer. “You can’t turn back now. Come, sit by the fire.”
Joey sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the fire. He didn’t notice the puddle of water forming around him. His jaw dropped again as he got a closer look at the bubbles. Each one had a scene inside it. Each scene centered on a person. There was a boy his own age wearing a tunic and breeches. He saw an Indian girl, older than himself, out in a desert that could have been in Utah or Arizona. There was a man at the bow of a ship next to a carved dragon’s head. He was a big man dressed in animal skins. The picture panned back and Joey saw a whole row of oars and shields.
“That’s a Viking ship,” Joey said.
“And that man you see is a Viking,” added Beezer.
“What are these pictures?” asked Joey.
“These are friends of mine,” answered Beezer.
“Friends of yours? But the Vikings lived a thousand years ago.”
“Perhaps I am very old,” said Beezer. “Or maybe time and space is not what it at first seems. These are friends who need help, like you. Sometimes I like to see how they are doing.”
In another bubble Joey saw a knight engaged in battle. Four enemies pressed in on him. He fought with great strength and skill. Even so Joey could tell he was losing—his battle was nearly over. The bubble popped before they could see what happened.
Joey and the Magic Map Page 15
