by Jean Little
Remembering how flustered Enid had grown, Min grinned.
“Here, Miss Cheshire Cat,” Jess teased as she held out slices of bread to Min. “You butter these on one side and I’ll get the cheese ready.”
Min bent her head and began. She felt useful and happy. When the sandwiches were ready, Jess had the frying pan hot and plunked them in. The milk for their drinks was heating in the microwave oven.
“What a great team we make!” Jess said, flipping the sandwiches over and giving Min a spoon to use to stir in the chocolate syrup.
“Yeah,” Min murmured. She felt her cheeks grow warm with delight.
Enid Bangs, like most of her foster mothers, had made sure Min filled and emptied the dishwasher, kept her own room tidy and did other cleaning chores. She was expected to make her own school lunch — bologna or tuna sandwiches usually — but she had never made Min welcome in the kitchen or taught her how to cook.
Jess, with Maude shadowing her, led the way down the hall to the living room. She turned on the gas fireplace and it did almost crackle. Min curled up on the couch and tried to believe what was happening to her was real and not some dream. Neither of them talked except to the cat. And Jess seemed perfectly comfortable sitting in silence. Min looked around. There were real paintings on the walls. There were bookshelves too and, on top of one of them, two or three framed photographs of children. She glanced at them and then stiffened.
She knew these kids. There was Tobias, looking younger, and Grace and Margaret when they were maybe two. There was another one with the baby twins cradled in their mother’s arms. She was gazing down at them as though they were two of the wonders of the world.
“I know those kids,” Min murmured. “Is that your godson? Toby?”
“He is indeed,” Jess said, turning her head to smile at the pictures. “Where did you meet up with them?”
Min reached to set down her empty mug and it slipped from her hand. She dove to save it even though she knew it had broken. Terror-stricken, she picked up the handle in one hand and the unbroken cup in the other. If only she had been more careful!
“Don’t look like that, Min,” Jess said, laughing. “I never did like that mug. The handle was too small to hold comfortably. Just be glad you had finished the hot chocolate before it fell.”
Min, still horrified at what she had done, sat frozen.
“Even if it were a Royal Doulton cup, my child, it would still only be a kitchen mug, not a golden chalice. Take the bits out to the kitchen and put them in the garbage under the sink while I get out a sheet and pillowcase and a Whispering Silk quilt.”
“What’s a Whispering Silk quilt?” Min asked.
“It is stuffed with silk from the cocoons made by silkworms, instead of down from goose feathers. A friend of mine sells them. They are lovely and warm and so light. You’ll see.”
Min did as she was told. Jess had followed her and turned down a hall leading out of the kitchen to the bathroom. The hallway had linen cupboards down one side where bedding and towels were stored.
“The bathroom, by the way, is here,” she called as she hauled out bedding.
Min was glad to be shown. After all she had gone through, she badly needed to go to the toilet. But asking where it was was embarrassing.
“I’ll wait for you,” Jess said. “I want to be with you when you see your room.”
Why? Min wondered. What if she didn’t like it? Was it some sort of test?
The room was at the front of the house, across the hall from the living room where they had eaten their sandwiches. It had walls the colour of ivory. The windows had venetian blinds, which Jess closed. They were deep blue. But what made the bedroom different and special was the Tiffany lamp next to the bed. It was dome-shaped and made of many bits of coloured glass. The light, shining out through the glass flowers and leaves, diamonds and starry bits, covered the pale walls with rainbow splotches. The lamplight, falling on the bed, was a plain warm yellow, but everywhere else was coloured.
The lamp was like a paintbox, Min thought later, when she had had a chance to study it, and the walls were the painter’s palette — or maybe the painting itself.
As she stood staring at it, her eyes wide, Jess reached out and gently spun the glass dome so that new patterns blossomed.
“That’s …” Min began.
But she could not find a word to fit.
“Enchanting, maybe,” Jess said, flipping open the fitted sheet, blue to match the blinds. “I don’t know either. When you come up with the perfect word, tell me.”
Min reached for a pillow and put it into its pillowcase.
“This room will be your private domain. Nobody will come in here without being invited. Maude will try, of course, but if you don’t want company, put her out. She’s used to it. It’s early, but I bet you’re tired out. How about you dig out your night things while I find you a good book to read until you fall asleep?”
“Yes, please,” Min said, grateful to have her longing for sleep so readily understood. Feeling shy, even though she was alone, she scrambled into her nightgown and slid under the quilt. She was lying there, watching the door, when Jess returned with three books. Min eyed them but yawned as she did so. Jess laughed.
“You needn’t read,” she said. “I personally can’t settle without a book. I think you’ll like any one of these.”
The phone rang at that moment. While Jess went to answer it, Min flipped through the books. Adam and Eve and Pinch-Me, The Great Gilly Hopkins and Chance and the Butterfly. She read the blurbs on the back covers. Her eyes widened. Had Jess done it on purpose? All three of them were about foster children!
In the distance, she could hear Jess laughing. She must still be on the phone. Min examined the books more carefully.
Were the kids foundlings? She checked. Gilly Hopkins had a mother. So did Sara Moone. She leafed through the third book. She could not be sure. But the girls were definitely not foundlings. They had been given up, but not thrown away the way she had been. Maybe it wouldn’t feel all that different, but Min thought it would.
“All right, all right. Call me tomorrow,” she heard Jess say.
What was that about? Min wondered, putting down the books in a tidy pile and trying not to grow tense. It would not matter to her, whatever it was about.
Somebody knocked. Min jumped and sat waiting. Nobody came in. It had to be Jess. She looked at the door, waiting for the woman to come back in.
Another knock.
Then Min remembered. Jess had said she would not come in unless Min asked her to. Feeling foolish, Min called unsteadily, “Come in.”
Jess opened the door and entered, smiling. “I thought you must have stepped out,” she teased, “or fallen asleep. That was Toby’s mother, Laura, on the phone. She’s a close friend, has been for years, but she’s about to complicate our lives. I’ll explain in the morning. You look as though you’re half asleep already. I brought you one more book. I thought you should have a funny one.” She handed over a copy of The Prince in the Pond.
Min stared at it. Without looking up, she managed to ask, “Is it about a foster child too?”
“What?” Jess said, glancing down at the books she had brought earlier. Then she exclaimed, “Oh, heavens! I never even noticed. They’re just three of my favourite books. I’ve met the authors. One of them has been my friend since she was a child.”
“Wow!” Min said, startled and impressed. She herself had never seen an author. One had come to her school when she was in Grade Three, but she had been sick that day and missed seeing him.
Jess reached out and lightly patted Min’s cheek.
“Sweet dreams, Min,” she said softly. “If you have a bad one, I’m right next door. Call me or come looking. I am an expert at driving away nightmares.”
Min pulled the quilt up until half her face was hidden. “Could you … could you sing to me like you did in the hospital?” she asked.
“So you were awake that night,” Jess
said softly. And she turned out the Tiffany light, sat down on the edge of the bed and began to sing, “Good night, little girl, good night …”
When the song ended, she rose and went out the door, closing it behind her. Then she opened it again. Maude Motley entered, waving her tail, and jumped up next to Min.
“Boot her out if she bothers you,” Jess called from the hall. The door closed again. Min reached out to stroke the cat. When she had curled up next to the pillow, Min, taking care not to disturb her visitor, slipped out of bed and went to the window to raise the blind. She wanted the light of morning to shine in as soon as possible. She stood and gazed out through the drifting snowflakes at the streetlight right in front of the house. The steady glow it cast reached right to the front walk. No darkness lurked beneath it. Feeling safe, she got back into bed, pulled up the cocoon quilt, gave Maude another stroke and closed her eyes.
She lay absolutely still, listening to the cat’s contented purr deepen into a snore.
Then, out of the blue, a whirlwind of ugly feelings caught her. They were as unexpected as a springing tiger, and as terrifying. She doubled up her right fist and pushed it hard against her mouth. Tears leaked from the corners of her wide, staring eyes and soaked into the pillow. She clenched her teeth and fought to quell the rising storm.
What was wrong with her? Bruno had had no power over her for years. Enid Bangs was not coming back for her. For the first time in her life that she could remember, someone had chosen to reach out for her without being asked to do so. Jess Hart had taken her and, without hesitating, carried her away out of the office and through the city to her home. Nobody had made arrangements to pay her. Mrs. Willis had even tried to stop her. Why was she mad when she should be overjoyed?
Because it can’t be true, Min shouted at herself. Don’t believe it. She will have changed her mind by morning. Don’t trust anybody. You should know that by now.
She could not hold back a gulping sob. The cat, startled awake, raised her head to stare. Then blackness closed over Min like a giant wave pulling her under. She went with it gratefully, diving deep into sleep. The bewildering outburst of joy and fury and terror washed away and were left forgotten on yesterday’s shore. The evil dream, which haunted so many of her nights, could not reach her. Deeply asleep for once, Min Randall smiled.
4
A Cry for Help
FULLUMP!
The cat, landing solidly on the floor next to the bed, woke Min. She lay absolutely still, staring around her, trying to decide where on earth she was and what had made the unfamiliar sound. Then she lifted her head from the pillow and looked over at Maude Motley, who was standing at the door, commanding Min to get up and let her out.
“Coming, Miss Bossy,” Min said, and rose to obey orders.
The morning sun was glistening on the heaps of fresh snow outside, making rainbows even lovelier than those created by the glass in her lamp. As Maude departed, Min started to yawn and then stopped to sniff instead. Bacon!
She yanked a sweatshirt out of her backpack, pulled it on over her nightgown and followed her nose down the hall, across the end of the dining room into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Min,” Jess said. She was still in her dressing gown but the island was set for breakfast for two.
Seeing the careful preparations, Min felt as awkward as an upside-down turtle. She had never been in this position before. Was she a guest then?
“Morning,” she mumbled, not meeting Jess’s smiling eyes. Her own face felt stiff with the salt tears that had dried on her cheeks. She was ravenous, but she did not know what was expected of her. She should have asked some questions before she let herself be swept away.
She gathered her courage, jerked up her chin and forced herself to stop staring at the floor. It was time she found out what this strange woman’s plans were. It was so hard, though, to begin.
“What …?” she faltered, and stopped. Maude Motley came in the cat door and wove a couple of comforting circles around her ankles, purring encouragement.
“I don’t know the answers myself, you poor child,” Jess said, flipping a blueberry pancake. “You must have guessed that I acted on impulse yesterday. Before we decide what will become of us in the future, I will make you a solemn promise.”
She paused a moment and Min looked sidelong up into her face, trying hard to be prepared for whatever was coming.
“I promise you that I will not abandon you. And you will not have to leave my house unless you have somewhere even better to go and you choose to go there. Now, take a seat and have some orange juice.”
Min perched on one of the stools, took a sip and tried to say thank you, but her voice would not come past the sudden tightness in her throat. She looked down at her lap and struggled to figure out what was going on inside her. It was partly resentment at being yanked out of one place and carried off to another without her consent, but at the same moment it was also joy at being spoken to as though she would be given a choice before it happened again.
She was relieved when the telephone rang. The jaunty tune it played broke the difficult stillness. Min sat down and went on sipping her juice while pretending not to listen.
“Good morning, Sybil,” Jess said, grinning at Min’s start of surprise. “Oh, you found someone to take Min. What sort of someone?”
Min put down her juice glass. She had gone stiff as a flagpole.
“A psychiatrist and a teacher of emotionally disturbed kids? Oh, my! That is impressive. Fast work. But, Syb, you must have forgotten. Min has someone already. Me,” Jess said pleasantly. “Tell those experts they can have some other needy orphan in plenty of time for Christmas.”
There was a pause. Min could hear poor Mrs. Willis’s voice, higher than usual, talking a mile a minute.
“What do you mean? Are you accusing me of acting on a whim? But, my friend, we both know I don’t have whims. Or, if I do — once in a while — I always carry through. I married Gregory on a whim and stuck with him. I even made friends with you on an impulse.”
There was another pause. Jess was smiling but her eyes were serious. She was quiet again and then she broke in on the other woman.
“I want her, Sybil. Don’t tell me you have no other needy orphans. I’ve met a few myself whenever I’ve come to your office to see you. How about that little boy with the adenoids and sticky-out ears? They could help him! He’d be just the ticket.” Her eyes were sparkling now as she sank onto another of the bar stools and paused to listen again.
Min felt breathless. What outrageous thing would Jess say next?
“Stop shouting, Sybil. After Gregory was killed and I told you I wasn’t going back into full-time practice but just filling in for people for a bit, you asked me if I wanted to return to being a foster mother, remember? You were sure I was lonely and you thought a child would heal my hurts. You actually said I’d be perfect as a parent, remember? Of course you remember.”
She paused long enough for Mrs. Willis to squawk, and then overrode whatever she said.
“I told you I wasn’t ready but, if I ever was, I’d get back to you. Well, I’m ready now and I’ve even chosen my own foster kid to save you trouble. So what’s the problem?”
Another pause. Mrs. Willis shrieked words Min failed to catch. She sounded as though she would like to smack her old friend. Min struggled not to grin.
Jess chuckled. “Such language! I am still a perfect parent, just as you said, sweetie. Min can stay with me for a few weeks or so to start with, and then we’ll see if the two of us suit each other. I know that she needs me at the moment so I’m taking a bit more time off. I’ve never told you the full story, in all its gory details, of my own early childhood, have I? Well, when I do, you will see why Min is going to remain with me at present. You know quite well that I am eligible. Nobody would dream of turning down the noble doctor, so cruelly widowed, so inspiring and wonderful. Now I must go. Min and I have a lot to do today. And we haven’t finished our breakfast. Bye, Syb
il.”
She hung up even though Mrs. Willis was still talking.
“Child, stop goggling at me as though I’d grown horns,” Jess said. “How about another pancake or two?”
Min stared down at her empty plate. Her mind was in such turmoil that she did not remember eating the first serving of pancakes, but they were definitely gone. She nodded and held out her plate for another helping while she wondered if she dared ask Jess about her mysterious childhood. She glanced at Jess’s face, now sober, and decided she had been nervy enough for one morning.
“You heard all that, Min, right? Syb found a couple willing to take you on and was about to tell me where to deliver you when I said no. She was more than slightly stunned, but I was able to pull the rug out from under her by telling her that you and I shared some ugly childhood experiences. I’ll tell you sometime, but not now. We have places to go and things to do.”
Min opened her mouth to ask if Jess was still lonely, but caught the words back. She hated being quizzed about her feelings. Jess was telling her so much already.
“What happened to your husband?” she said instead, keeping her eyes on her plate and speaking just above a whisper.
Jess answered at once, in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice that eased the knot in Min’s chest. “He was killed when the bus he was on was bombed. I had just gotten off so I escaped with only a few scratches. We were working in a refugee camp in Mozambique. They sent me home to recover, but I did not go back to the camp, not without Gregory. We worked as a team. Once the team was split apart, I … Well, use your imagination, Min. Are you almost finished? I have plans, remember.”
Min stuffed in her last bite and rose. She stood waiting, excited about Jess’s plans, sad about Gregory Hart’s death, confused about what was expected of her. “Plans?” she echoed.
“Go get dressed in your warmest clothes. We are going to the country.”
