The Unseen

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  The memory was so sharp and clear that she could feel the itchy tingle where the bites had been, and when she concentrated, she could bring back the soft warmth of those other creatures in the clearing. But what wasn't clear was why any of it had happened and what it meant. How could the feather, which should have been a reward for rescuing the white bird, be the cause of such a horrible experience? And what exactly had Belinda meant when she talked about the Unseen as reflections or mirrors? She knew those were questions only Belinda and the grandfather could answer. And knowing how long it would be before she could even begin to get an answer was terribly frustrating.

  After what felt like the longest day of her life, the rest of the Hobsons began to come home from school, and all of them seemed to feel that it was necessary to come in to stare at Xandra and ask all sorts of questions. Of course Gussie came the minute Clara brought her home from kindergarten. Bouncing into the room and dropping an armload of picture books, she was full of questions that tumbled out of her mouth one after the other. Xandra couldn't have answered them all even if she wanted to, which she didn't.

  “Xannie,” Gussie shrieked, rushing up to throw her arms around Xandra, causing her to lose her place in the book she was reading—or at least pretending to read. “They let you come home. I was afraid you'd be in the hospital for a long time. How is your …” And then, seeing the ice pack, “What's that on your leg? Oh, it's cold. Why are they freezing your leg? Does a broken leg feel better when it's frozen?” She noticed the crutches then and grabbed them and stood on tiptoe, trying to make them fit. “Will you have to walk on these now?” And when Xandra nodded, “Oh, you will? Always and forever? Will you have to walk on these forever and ever?”

  Xandra had pretty much given up on answering when Clara came in, carrying her purse and a bag of groceries. “Come with me, Augusta,” she said. “Don't make a nuisance of yourself. Let Alexandra rest.”

  “Oh, I'm not being a nuisance,” Gussie said, dropping the crutches so that one of them just missed falling on Xandra's wounded leg. “I just want to help Xandra get well. Can't I help you, Xannie? I know what I can do. I can read to you.” Grabbing one of her books, Gussie was opening it when Xandra had a better idea. Since Gussie had a reading vocabulary of about a dozen words, a better idea wasn't too hard to come up with.

  “I know what you can do for me,” Xandra said. “You can go get me something. Okay?”

  “Yes, yes. Okay.” Gussie was quivering with enthusiasm. “I'll go get you something. What can I get?”

  What could Gussie get that might take a long time to find? Xandra thought quickly and came up with “I want one of the animals off my bed. I want …I want …” (A long pause while she sifted through possibilities, looking for something small and hard to find.) “I know. I want my littlest teddy bear. The little tiny one about as big as this.” She held up a forefinger and thumb, thinking that finding that particular bear among forty-six other animals might keep Gussie busy for quite a long time.

  Gussie stared big-eyed. “But you said that if I ever touched one of your animals again you'd—”

  Glancing at Clara, Xandra interrupted quickly. “Never mind what I said. I've changed my mind. You just go find that little bear and bring it here. Okay?”

  After Gussie charged happily out of the room, Clara asked if there was anything Xandra wanted from the kitchen. “I'm on my way there right now,” she said, indicating the bag she was carrying. “A bit of last-minute shopping for Geraldine. She's planning a rather special meal tonight, I think.”

  “Special?” Xandra asked.

  Clara's big smile spread across her face. “In honor of the whole family being able to sit down to dinner at the same time. It's been a while, hasn't it?”

  Xandra said she guessed it had been.

  Turning to go, Clara stopped long enough to ask, “Or would it be easier for you to have your dinner in your room?”

  And without any hesitation Xandra said, “No. I'll eat in the dining room.”

  Clara left then, and as Xandra watched her go, she was suddenly aware of a fluttering warmth where the feather hung against her chest. Pulling it out, she ran its soft, delicate strength across her hands, closed the fingers of her right hand tightly around it and held it there. But that was all. She did not go on to press it against her forehead. She would not, would never again, use it to enter the world of the Unseen. She would simply keep it, hold on to it and to the memory of what it could do. It was then that she began to notice something, a faint movement at the very edge of her field of vision. Something small and flickering, like a fanning of feathers or a scurry of soft, furry feet. But then the quiver of motion was gone, and although she tried to bring it back, it refused to reappear. She was left alone to think and wonder.

  More time—quite a lot of time during which Xandra slept more than she read—passed before Gussie finally returned carrying the teddy bear. Clutching the tiny bear in both hands, she was full of talk about how hard it had been to find. Xandra had been sure it would be. Sure that Gussie would not only have had to dig through forty-seven stuffed animals, but that she also would have had to stop to admire and maybe even to play a little with almost every one of the fascinating creatures that she'd never before been given permission to touch.

  Xandra took the bear from Gussie, and after demonstrating how it could be made to stand on its hind feet, she began to make up a story about how she had seen the bear in a store and really liked it but didn't have enough money to buy it. “And when I started to leave,” she told a wide-eyed Gussie, “I looked back and saw him running along the counter toward me.” She made the little bear run down the arm of her chair. “And when it got to the end of the counter, it jumped down to the floor and dodged around other people's feet trying to catch up with me. I could hear it calling for me to come back. So I grabbed it up before it got stepped on and told the clerk to put it on hold for me. I said, ‘Put it in a box with a lid because if you don't, it might run away.’ The clerk looked at me like this….” Xandra made a slack-jawed, goggle-eyed expression. “But I made her find a box with a lid. And the next day I went back and there he was. So I gave the clerk the money and brought him home. He's always very happy to see me.”

  Xandra had never made up a story to tell Gussie before but she liked the unblinking, openmouthed way the kid listened. When Xandra stopped, she said, “Go on, tell me some more. Tell me some more not-true stories. Not-true stories are my favorite kind.”

  Xandra was considering another story when some other siblings came in and then quickly went away. This time it was Victoria and then Quincy, who only stayed long enough to learn that the leg wasn't broken before they left, probably to do more important things like playing the piano or feeding fish.

  Gussie had gone back upstairs before two more siblings arrived. There they were, both of the Twinsters, in a hurry as usual on their way to change out of their school clothes. Banging through the door, they strutted in, and once again Xandra almost had to agree with the Greek-god thing. To admit that with their bulging football muscles and helmets of curly hair, her Twinster siblings did manage to look a little like Greek gods.

  “Hey. So it's not broken after all?” one of them yelled. “So what was all the screaming about, kid?”

  Xandra had begun, “Dr. Frank said that sprained ankles hurt worse than—” when the other twin interrupted.

  “Hey, how'd you like that stretcher we made out of our jackets? That was pretty cool wasn't it? We learned how to do that last year in first aid class.”

  “No,” the other one said. “That wasn't in first aid. We did that in Boy Scouts a long time ago.”

  “You're crazy. That wasn't in Scouts. That was Mr. Watson in first aid. Don't you remember how he …”

  When they left, they were still so busy arguing about where they'd learned to make a jacket stretcher that they forgot to ask Xandra how she was feeling or even to say goodbye.

  A few minutes later Clara looked in again on
her way upstairs. “Are you sure you feel up to eating in the dining room tonight?” she asked again. “I wouldn't mind bringing you up a tray.”

  Much to her own surprise, Xandra insisted she could come to the table.

  AFTER CLARA LEFT the family room, there was still almost half an hour before dinnertime. Half an hour for Xandra to wonder why she'd chosen to eat in the dining room with all the other Hobsons when she could have had a private dinner in her own room, in her own bed, surrounded by her animals. It was a choice that had obviously surprised Clara, not to mention Xandra herself.

  It wasn't, she decided, that she was simply postponing facing up to the problem of getting up the stairs, even though there was the embarrassing possibility of having to be carried up by Quincy. Or even worse, by the twins on one of their jacket stretchers. She'd hate that, of course, but she was sure that wasn't the reason for her choice. After all, she was going to have to go upstairs sooner or later, so why not in time for a peaceful dinner in her own room?

  Another possibility that she explored and then firmly rejected was that, after a long day pretty much alone in the family room, she was feeling the need to spend some time with other people. That couldn't be it. After all, it had been a long time since she had chosen being with humans, particularly Hobson humans, over being by herself or with animal friends. And that wasn't about to change.

  At last she had to conclude that the only real reason for her uncharacteristic decision was that Clara's question had been so sudden and unexpected that she had simply blurted out the first thing that came into her mind.

  But unlike herself or not, she had agreed to eat in the dining room, and it was almost time for dinner to begin. It was quite probable that, within a few minutes, someone, or maybe many people, would be showing up to help her get there. Struggling to her one good foot, she grabbed the crutches and hopped and swung her way out of the family room, down the hall and into the dining room so quickly that she was the first one to arrive.

  It was an odd feeling. Being the first one to arrive for dinner wasn't a familiar experience for Xandra. In fact, she couldn't remember it ever happening before. Being last had always been much more her style. Last and, more often than not, more than a little late. But there wasn't much point in going out and coming back in again, especially now, when coming and going was so much more complicated than it used to be. So, sighing, she resigned herself to hopping and swinging on down the long table until she came to her usual place. She was in her chair with her crutches propped up on the table beside her, all alone in the huge room, for an unaccustomed and uncomfortable length of time.

  For the first few minutes she spent the time looking around the room, at the big marble fireplace directly across from her, and the portrait above it of someone who was supposed to be a more or less famous Hobson ancestor. And then down toward the kitchen door, where other large pictures, landscapes mostly, in gilded frames, hung along the wall. To her surprise, she found it all curiously interesting, almost as if she'd never seen it before, or at least not for a long time. As if, maybe, she'd always been too busy watching people reacting to her late arrival, as well as to the expression on her face, to notice much of anything about the room itself.

  She turned then to look behind her at where the long row of floor-to-ceiling windows opened out on the garden. On a garden where the shadows of an early-winter evening were quickly blurring the familiar shapes of shrubs and trees into the gathering darkness. Suddenly she grabbed the edge of the table, staring out into the garden, where a rounded shape that had appeared to be nothing more than a bush now seemed to be moving. The shapeless blob seemed to ooze forward—and then fade into the surrounding shadows.

  “Well, look who's here.”

  Strangely glad to hear a decidedly human voice, Xandra must have been smiling, maybe almost laughing, when she whirled around to see … the Twinsters. Both of them looking uncharacteristically uncool, as if they found something startling about Xandra's appearance.

  “Hey,” one of them said, sounding surprised, amazed even. “You're already here.”

  Xandra gulped and, still trying to suppress her relieved smile, said, “Yeah, here I am. Where'd you think I'd be at dinnertime?”

  With a more typically Twinster expression twisting his lip, one of the twins started to say, “Well, not here. I mean, at least not for another ten or—” He was looking at his watch when the other one whacked him with his elbow.

  “Nick just means Clara told us you were in the family room but you weren't so we didn't know where to look.” Then Nelson, with a grin slanting toward sarcasm, said, “We were about to get our jackets and head for the forest—” when Nicholas whacked him back.

  At that moment there was another interruption as Gussie appeared in the doorway.

  “Xannie,” Gussie shrieked as she dashed into the room. “There you are. We were looking for you.” Skidding to a stop, she almost tripped over Xandra's crutches.

  “You were looking for me? You and Clara?”

  “No, not Clara. Clara's still changing her dress. We were.” She pushed the little bear into Xandra's hand. “You went off and left him all alone in the family room and he was scared. He told me he was scared.” Leaning closer, she whispered in Xandra's ear, “What's his name?”

  “Okay, okay,” Xandra whispered back. “His name is Ursa. Ursa Minor but Ursa for short, and you can take care of him.” She held the bear up to her mouth, hiding him in the palm of her hand, and pretended to whisper before she gave him back to Gussie. “There. I told him you were going to take care of him. Okay?”

  Looking delighted, Gussie ran to her place at the table, dodging around other siblings who were just arriving. Quincy came in first, and then Victoria, and each one of them stared at Xandra, said, “Hi,” and then said it again. She couldn't help noticing that all of the siblings were looking a little bit startled. Some more and some less.

  Xandra said, “Hi,” and watched each one of their reactions, vaguely wondering why everyone looked so surprised. It did occur to her that they might have been thinking she wouldn't be able to come to the table so soon after her accident. Or else they were just amazed to see her there on time for once? It wasn't until later that it occurred to her to wonder if she had still been smiling. That, she had to admit, might have done it.

  Just about then several things began to happen at once. The phone rang and most of the siblings started to jump up, saying, “I'll get it.” And “No, it's probably for me. I'm expecting a call.” And “No, it's mine. I'm sure of it.” But by then it had stopped ringing and people said, “Oh, Clara must have it.” And “Yeah, Clara got it.” Then they all stared at the door, where Clara would show up in a minute to call somebody to the phone. All but Xandra and Gussie, of course—the only two Hobsons who didn't get many phone calls.

  But just as Clara appeared in the doorway, Geraldine stomped in from the other direction, carrying a tray full of bowls and platters.

  “Oh dear,” Clara said to Geraldine. “That was Mr. Hobson. He said to tell you to put something in the warming oven for him and Mrs. Hobson. They're both going to be late. But he said to go ahead with the children's meal. Here, let me help.” Hurrying down the long room, Clara took the tray from a glowering, grumbling Geraldine and they both disappeared into the kitchen.

  The Hobson siblings, all of them including Xandra, were left with nothing to do but stare at each other. So they stared and some of them, Victoria for instance, sighed loudly. It was Quincy who broke the silence. “So what else is new?” he said, shrugging and grinning in an angry way.

  “Yeah, another big togetherness night at the Hobsons',” one of the twins said sarcastically. And the other twin said, “And another important lesson in family values, in case any of us might forget what's really important around here.”

  Looking around the table from one face to another, Xandra was feeling puzzled, shocked almost. Shocked to realize that the rest of the siblings felt the same way she did, at least sometim
es, and about certain things.

  It was one of the twins, Nelson probably, who made a kind of whooping noise. “I got it,” he said. “Let's eat really fast and get out of here so when they show up …” He spread his hands in an erasing movement. “Nobody. When they show up, we'll be done. Done and …” He erased the air again. “Gone. Okay, everybody?”

  “Okay,” the other twin said, and so did Quincy and a moment later Victoria. And then Gussie was asking, “What? What are we going to do? Somebody tell me.” Jumping out of her chair, she was racing toward Victoria when Xandra stuck out her arm and stopped her. Pulling Gussie's head down beside her own, she whispered, “We're going to eat very fast and get out of here. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Gussie said enthusiastically. “Okay.” She started back to her chair at her usual dead run and then skidded to a stop. Turning to look back, she whispered, “Why?”

  Everybody laughed but it was Xandra who answered first. “For a surprise,” she said. And then everyone chimed in.

  “Just for fun,” one of the twins said.

  “It's a new game.” That was Victoria.

  And then Quincy said, “To give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  The kitchen door swung open and Clara helped Geraldine pass around platters of lamb chops and bowls of vegetables and potatoes.

  “Well,” Clara said cheerfully, “what a nice meal. Geraldine, you've given us a banquet as usual.” Carrying an empty platter, she once again followed Geraldine into the kitchen before she returned and pulled out her own chair. By the time Clara had lowered herself into her chair, carefully unfolded her napkin and picked up her fork, Geraldine's “banquet” had almost disappeared.

  While she shoveled food into her own mouth, Xandra watched Clara's sympathetic smile turn into wonder as, one by one, all the siblings gulped down their last half-chewed mouthful, asked to be excused and left the room.