“Maine. You want to go to Maine…after all these years…and after all that fuss…you want to go to Maine. What brought on this curious state of affairs, I wonder?” the housekeeper said in a too-quiet voice.
“I-I can’t explain it…I just want to go to Maine. I…”
Her father suddenly tuned in. He lowered his paper and cleared his throat. “What’s this about someone wanting to go to Maine? Who wants to go to Maine?”
Annie sat up straighter. “I do.”
“You do?”
“Y-yes, Dad, I do. I need to. I can’t explain it, Dad, but I need to go to the cabin.”
“You need to go to the cabin,” he repeated dully.
“Yes. I need to go to the cabin.”
“The cabin…in Maine…the place you have fought and whined and screamed about for the past umpteen years. Why? Is this another of your clever little ploys to aggravate me just because your mother has left for Paris and you feel ignored—not the center of attention at the moment? Hmm?”
“No, Dad…honest. I-I said I can’t explain it. I only know that I really, really have to go to Maine. Please? Please, Dad?”
“Well, I give up.” Mr. Wren threw up his arms in mock defeat. “Good thing your mother isn’t here or there’d be hell to pay. You sure take the cake.” He turned to their housekeeper. “Isn’t she something, Mrs. Pratt? Can you believe all this? The Little Queen needs to go to Maine. Maine, of all places.”
Annie leaned forward in earnest. “Please, Dad. I’m not doing this for attention. I’m not. I really want to go to Maine.”
He shook his head and grimaced. “Well, I’m sorry, Annie, but your flight to New York leaves tomorrow at nine-seventeen.”
“I can’t go. I can’t, Dad. Please. I don’t want to go to that camp.” The color spreading across her father’s face prompted her to add quickly, “Please, Dad. I begged you and Mom not to make me go.” Her voice rose. “I told you I didn’t want to go to that camp but you wouldn’t listen. You ignored me. You always ignore me. You never listen to my side of anything.” She gulped in a ragged breath and lowered her voice. “Please, Dad…please…”
Paul Wren shook his head, pushed back his chair and rose from the table. “I haven’t time to deal with this, Annie. I’m late for work already, and in four days I plan to be on my way to the Keys for a well-deserved fishing trip.” He shrugged. “You are an enigma. I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”
After her initial surprised muttering, Mrs. Pratt had kept mute during their diatribe, and Annie picked up on it. Glancing at the housekeeper, she said, “You think I’m crazy, too, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I never think you’re anything but sane and undeniably clever.”
Mr. Wren didn’t hear this last remark. He stood in the front hall fetching his briefcase from the foyer table. With a curt ‘good-bye’ he rushed out the door.
Annie ate the rest of her cereal and toast in silence. When she finished, she rinsed her dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. She didn’t look at Mrs. Pratt nor speak to her, and the older woman refrained from making any further comments. Annie squared her shoulders, walked to the phone and punched in the speed dial number for her grandparents’ condo. Nana answered on the second ring.
“Nana? Hi, it’s Annie.”
“Well, hello, sweetheart. How’s everything in Atlanta? Missing mom already? I assume she got off all right for her adventure in France.”
“Yeah, she did. And Dad’s getting ready to go to the Keys, but that’s not why I called. You know how they planned for me to go to that stupid camp in New York?”
“Yes, dear, I remember. Sounded like a delightful idea to me. You know that’s the very same camp your mother attended when she w…”
“Yes, Nana, I know, but…”
“From June ’til the end of July, right? How exciting.”
“Yeah. So I’ve been told. Nana…I-I was wondering whether we could go to the cabin for a while.”
“To the cabin? In Maine? Sweetie, how could we possibly? Don’t you leave soon? And I was under the impression that you weren’t too fond of the house in Maine.”
“I-I wasn’t, but…now I am.”
“Goodness. What’s made you change your mind? And why so sudden?”
Annie knew this would sound lame but she had to try. “Well…I’ve been going over and over it in my mind, and I-and I have come to the conclusion that, well, that my-my fears have been childish and…”
“Well, I’m proud of you, sweetheart, but I still don’t see how we could possibly go when you have camp. Maybe in August when your camp session is over. How would that be? You know how delighted we’d be to have you there with us. And anyway, hon, Doc and I are scheduled to take an Alaskan cruise with friends from church. It’s a two-week affair and we’re leaving day after tomorrow. I had no idea you’d want to do anything so bizarre. When your mother told us about her decision to send you to camp, both Doc and I were all for it. Penny loved it when she was your age. The place is divine, and I know you’ll have a ball.”
“Oh, Nana,” Annie choked on the words. “I-I wish I’d known about th-the cruise…”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, to have to disappoint you, but we’ve already made the plans and couldn’t get out of them now if we wanted to. You understand. We’ll go up to the cabin when you visit us in August. Okay? You can wait until then, can’t you, darling?”
No, Annie thought miserably, she could not wait until then. But how to put it into coherent words—words that wouldn’t sound like she’d lost her senses—was beyond her capabilities at the moment. She racked her brain for an excuse—a way out. Then it came to her like lightning.
“Nana? I-I’ve decided I’m not going to that camp. It’s just not for me. Please don’t take this the wrong way because I really don’t mean to be rude, but…well, I don’t want to go. Mom’s three thousand miles away and couldn’t care less what I do. And Dad…Dad is thinking about his fishing trip, his white water rafting after that, and plain old work. As long as I’m out of his hair, he doesn’t care where I spend my summer, either. So…what I’m thinking is…would it be possible for Mrs. Pratt and me to fly up there—Maine, I mean—and stay at the cabin?”
“Say that again?”
“Mrs. Pratt and I…could we fly up to Maine, rent a car, and stay at the cabin? I realize you and Doc won’t be there but we’d be okay. It’d just be the two of us so we wouldn’t mess stuff up or anything. Can we? Please?” Out of the corner of her eye, Annie could see Mrs. Pratt standing by the kitchen sink, her mouth open, dumbfounded.
Nana’s silence on the other end grew ominous. Annie had just about given up hope when her grandmother said, “Well. If that doesn’t beat all. Let me speak to Mrs. Pratt, Annie. I want to get all this straight. You’re not making a bit of sense, sweetie-pie.”
Annie carried the cordless phone into the kitchen and handed it to the housekeeper, her eyes sending out a clear message of distress and pleading. “N-Nana w-wants to speak with you…and I just want to say that it is very, very important and I know you think…”
“Give me the phone, Annie. I understand more than you know.” Mrs. Pratt took the phone from the girl’s limp hand and spent thirteen minutes talking to Mrs. Grant. Annie paced back and forth in agonized anticipation. Hearing only one side of the conversation was bad enough, but Mrs. Pratt talked in short, clipped sentences, which revealed nothing at all.
When she’d replaced the phone in its stand, the housekeeper turned and folded her arms across her chest. She pursed her lips and stared at her young charge.
“Mrs. Pratt? What did Nana say?” Annie asked in such a trembly voice that she cleared her throat twice to strengthen it.
“First, just let me say that I would have preferred you consult with me before making grandiose plans that included me. Second, I almost feel betrayed that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me of your Grand Idea…”
“I didn’t know before I called.
Honest. The idea just came to me out of desperation and…”
“Please don’t interrupt. Third, your grandmother was nonplussed at your sudden desire to visit Maine, of all places, and so was I. I don’t know what’s cooking in that head of yours, but I suppose I’ll find out sooner or later. Anyway, Mrs. Grant has agreed to mail us the key and information via express mail…”
Annie let out a squeal and the housekeeper raised a hand.
“She said, and I quote, ‘I don’t know what’s come over the child, but I’m so excited that she’s showing some spunk that I’d agree to almost anything.’ End of quote. So.”
“So we’re going? Just you and me? I don’t have to go to that freaking camp? I can’t believe it. I’m so relieved. I’m so amped. Oh, dear, dear Mrs. Pratt. I love you. This is sweet. This is amazing. This is…”
“We still have to clear it with your father, so don’t get too excited yet. You kind of went at this from the wrong end, so to speak. I’m not sure what he’ll say of all this, but I can hazard a guess that he won’t be too giddy.”
“He won’t mind,” Annie half-sneered. “I mean, he’ll rant and rave and say I’m spoiled, but, well, I can almost swear to you right here and now that he won’t give it more than a passing thought. He’s too wrapped up with work and his fishing trip and the rafting thing. And he hasn’t paid for the camp yet—at least, not the whole amount. I’m sure he can get a refund.” Annie stamped her foot in childish defiance. “But you know something? Even if he can’t, I don’t care. I begged them not to send me there so it’s his own fault. We’re going. We have to.”
“Fine. Try to show a little restraint, however. Losing your temper is not the way to endear your father to your point of view.”
Annie scowled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s my girl. Will you be bringing your violin along? It would be nice on those long, dark evenings.”
Annie stuck her chin out. “No. I’m not bringing my violin along so don’t nag me about it.” She caught the disapproving look on her nanny’s face and hastened to amend, “I’m sorry. I know you never nag me. Just…well, let’s just not think about the violin for a while. Okay?”
EIGHT
Paul Wren, after an initial explosion of temper followed by a few minutes of icy silence, had a brief but intense discussion with Mrs. Pratt. Nineteen minutes later—Annie timed him—he gave his consent to the trip to Maine. They were in accord on one point—both were mystified by Annie’s bizarre behavior. Paul summed it up to quirky adolescence, and what he called her self-centeredness, but mellowed after Mrs. Pratt’s cunningly phrased suggestion that Annie was merely showing signs of ‘teenage-itis’. She was ‘coming out of her shell’ and should be ‘handled with care.’ Her father capitulated, and, as Annie had predicted, declared he didn’t care what she did over the summer as long as it didn’t interfere with his plans.
After a week of frenzied activity that included phoning the camp to make the cancellation and exchanging her ticket for a flight to Maine, Annie found herself sitting beside Mrs. Pratt on a jet bound for Portland. There, they’d rent a car and follow Mrs. Grant’s minute directions to the cabin on the edge of the rugged and primitive coastline—far from people, industry, and confusion.
Close to something no one could believe or even imagine.
* * * *
By the time they reached the cabin, it had been a long, tiring day and both Mrs. Pratt and Annie were ready to drop. Annie ran ahead to unlock the door, while the housekeeper took her time getting out, stretching, and gathering together purse and toiletry bag. Annie hauled the heavier suitcases and the sacks of groceries they’d purchased in the small town nearby into the two-story cabin. She was so grateful to Mrs. Pratt for agreeing to this incredible, spur-of-the-moment adventure, that she wanted to make her stay a relaxing one.
“Mrs. Pratt? You want the bedroom downstairs, right?” Annie called over her shoulder as she carried the housekeeper’s heavy suitcase into the cabin.
“Goodness sakes, yes.” Mrs. Pratt sighed. “There is no way in heaven I am going to climb those steep stairs every time I want to take a lie-down.”
“Okay. I’m taking my usual room upstairs—the dormer—if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is, dear heart. You go right along. You need me to help you make up the bed?”
“I don’t think so. I know where Nana keeps the sheets and stuff. I’ll hurry and get my room ready, then come down and make yours. Don’t you do a thing, except, maybe, make us something to eat. Oh. Do you need help unpacking the groceries?”
“No, love. You did all the heavy lifting. Surely I can do a little unpacking. Run along and get your room ready, and I’ll make us a simple supper.”
It was pitch dark outside when they sat down an hour later to tomato soup and soda crackers smeared with butter and strawberry jam. It was so quiet, Annie swore she could hear the ticking of Mrs. Pratt’s watch. Annie felt her first tickle of apprehension since hatching this incredible venture.
“Kinda spooky out, huh?” she said between spoonfuls of soup.
The housekeeper snorted. “Now don’t you ride that train of thought, young lady. I’m a city girl at heart, you know. I can’t even believe I’ve let you talk me into doing this, in the first place. I prefer to dwell on its peacefulness and tranquility—not on its spookiness, thank you just the same.”
Annie laughed. “Sorry.” She rested her head on one hand—elbow on the table—and stared off into space.
Mrs. Pratt snapped her fingers. “Annie. Come back.”
Annie nearly jumped out of her seat. “Oops, sorry again. I-I was just thinking…”
“You were miles away. Would this be a good time to tell me what this is all about?”
“All about?”
“Yes…you know darned well that you didn’t all-of-a-sudden fall in love with this place. What with canceling that wonderful camp and convincing your grandma that this was not some irrational fit you were throwing—not to mention your poor father—well, I just plain am flabbergasted. Something mighty funny is going on in your head. The first time you topsy-turvied like that was when you were four years old. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Your parents maybe didn’t, but I did. Then, some ten years later—poof. You go and do another inside-out change. What, in heaven’s name, is going on? Why did we have to drop everything, come all the way up here to this cabin so far away from anything civilized, and, I might add, a place you’ve loathed for years? Do I just mark it down to the capriciousness of youth? I don’t think so. Please explain it to me. And the explanation better be darned good.”
Annie winced and closed her eyes for a minute. When she looked again at the woman sitting across from her, it was with unveiled uneasiness. “Mrs. Pratt…you know how much I love you…you do, don’t you?”
“Yeees,” she drawled, “But what does that have to do with the price of tea in China, pray tell? Don’t stall, Miss Annie.”
This time Annie grimaced and a shudder passed over her. “Oh, Mrs. Pratt…”
“Don’t ‘oh Mrs. Pratt’ me. I want an explanation. I’ve been quite amenable to your capricious and unexpected whim and haven’t said more than two words on the subject, but now I want an explanation. You know that I won’t scold or lecture. You know I’m a good listener and, right now, I’m all ears.”
“Well, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I wish I could. Honest. This thing has been haunting me for years. I…I just can’t talk about it—not yet, anyway. I can’t explain it, Mrs. Pratt. I can’t. Give me a few days to sort it all out in my mind. Okay? I promise…I promise I will explain everything…but first I have to explain it to myself. Does that make any sense?”
Mrs. Pratt’s shrewd eyes continued to bore into her. Then she averted her gaze and grunted. “Okay. I’ll give you one week. But you must explain everything before we leave. Promise?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That night in bed, Annie tried to get comfortable. The
event of ten years ago bloomed now as clear as if it had happened only yesterday. She remembered every minute detail—each strange texture, distinct sound, and unusual smell.
Who are you? Where are you? Are you still out there somewhere? Can you see me now? Where did you come from? Will you ever come back? I need you…I need you…
She tossed and turned all night. Sleep came only in snatches. When daylight at last filtered in through the curtains at the dormer window, she felt like she’d run the treadmill in a hamster cage. Dejected and depressed, she got up and dressed for her first full day at the cabin.
Deciding that a walk on the rocky beach would clear her foggy head, she grabbed an old, baggy sweater off the hook behind her bedroom door. No sounds came from downstairs so she reasoned that Mrs. Pratt was still in bed. She let herself out, careful not to make any undo noise, and headed for the steep path that led to the water. Although narrow and rugged, she made it without too much trouble.
Annie found little beach to walk on. The visible beach was strewn with numerous rocks—large and small, slimy and wet, and covered in mussels and other marine life. Finding a dry place to sit, she stared out to sea and then up at the vast, overcast sky. Everything was as it should be. The monotonous lapping of the ocean on the shore, the occasional call of a bird, the utter stillness and remoteness of the place. As it had been for generations.
After half an hour of quiet contemplation, Annie trudged back to the cabin. When she reached the back door, she caught the whiff of frying bacon.
The housekeeper smiled as Annie entered the kitchen and sat down. “Wash up, honey, bacon’s almost done.”
Annie washed her hands at the kitchen sink and then fixed herself a cup of instant cocoa. Warming her hands on the steaming cup, she gazed out the window at nothing in particular.
“There you go again. Looking like someone in a trance. Anything exciting happen on your walk? Where’d you go, by the way?”
Centauri Serenade Page 5
