The World From Up Here

by Cecilia Galante

  I pulled a little on his hand, already knowing it was no use. Jackson pricked his ears as I tried again. “Russell, it’s right next to …”

  Russell dug his heels into the floor. “No way, Ho-say. I’m not staying here unless I can sleep with you.”

  I let go of his hand, stared at him for a minute. The only thing Russell knew for sure right now was that Jackson and I were still here with him. Everything else was up in the air, with no real promise that when things came back down again, they would be the same as before.

  “Okay, buddy,” I said. “Don’t worry. You can sleep in here with me.”

  Downstairs, Aunt Marianne had rolled up her sleeves, tied an apron around her waist, and was in the process of setting out several dishes filled with food on the kitchen table. I looked around nervously as Russell and I stood there watching her, but there was still no sign of Silver.

  “What’re you doing?” Russell asked.

  “Making dinner.” Aunt Marianne nodded at the dishes. “These are called Make-It-Yourself Kabobs. Silver and I eat them a lot, and I think you might like them. After you pick what kinds of things you want on your kabobs, you can skewer them and I’ll go out back and grill them up. Go ahead and help yourself.”

  I surveyed the table. Inside the little dishes were all sorts of different things—cubed pieces of chicken, chunks of steak, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, yellow and orange peppers, and purple onions. I couldn’t remember the last time Momma had made anything with vegetables. She usually whipped up a quick batch of pasta along with a jar of sauce, or we ordered pizza. Sometimes we even had pancakes and scrambled eggs. In the last month, of course, she hadn’t made anything. Dad had brought home takeout most nights.

  Russell frowned. “We don’t eat vegetables. I need pancakes.”

  “Pancakes?” Aunt Marianne dumped a pile of mushroom chunks into a bowl. “I have pancakes. Wren, do you want pancakes, too?”

  I shook my head, a little in awe of Aunt Marianne’s unflappability. It didn’t seem like anything fazed her. Maybe I’d been too quick about judging her before. “I’ll be fine with the kabobs,” I said. “But thanks.”

  “There’s another episode of Captain Commando on now,” Russell said. “I have to watch him or else I go insane.”

  “Go right ahead,” Aunt Marianne said. “I’ll call you when your pancakes are ready.”

  “Come on, Jackson!” Russell ran out of the kitchen and plopped down on the rug in front of the TV. Jackson trotted obediently after him, the edges of his purple bandanna fluttering around his neck, and settled in a pile at Russell’s feet.

  The sound of feet pummeled the steps. I held my breath and clutched the edge of the counter as Silver bounded across the living room and into the kitchen. She had changed out of her school outfit into gray sweatpants, a beat-up T-shirt with a faded picture of Strawberry Shortcake on the front, and pink fuzzy socks. Her long hair hung down her back like a column of rippling light. I felt nauseated standing there next to her, as if I were an unwanted intruder she was about to discover in her very own kitchen.

  “Hey,” she said, glancing quickly at me.

  “Hi.”

  “Mmmm, kabobs,” Silver said, leaning over the table and popping a yellow pepper chunk into her mouth. “I want extra veggies on mine, Mom.”

  “We don’t eat any vegetables!” Russell called from the living room. “I’m having pancakes.”

  Silver stopped chewing as she turned and looked at Russell. I closed my eyes, praying for the floor to open up beneath me and swallow me whole. “You don’t eat vegetables?” Silver asked. “Ever?”

  Russell watched Silver carefully, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the TV screen. I could tell he thought she was pretty. Russell liked pretty things. “Just corn,” he said. “With butter and salt. Nothing else. Definitely nothing green.”

  Silver held up an orange pepper. “This isn’t green.” She held up a yellow pepper chunk. “And neither is this.” She did the same thing for the purple onion, the mushroom, and the cherry tomatoes. “You gonna try ’em?” she asked. “They’re not green.”

  Russell scowled. “I want pancakes.”

  “Okay.” Silver shrugged and popped another pepper into her mouth. “But if you don’t at least try it, you’ll never know what you’re missing.”

  I watched Russell out of the corner of my eye as Silver kept chewing. He scowled again and looked back at the TV. But I could tell by the way he kept sneaking glances her way that she’d had an effect on him.

  Maybe even a good one.

  “So how was school today?” Aunt Marianne asked, surveying the three of us as we began to eat. Along with the kabobs and Russell’s pancakes, she had set out a bowl of buttered noodles and a small wicker basket filled with rolls. There was lemonade in big blue glasses with slices of lemon floating on top, and cloth napkins, too. I wondered if Aunt Marianne was just trying to impress us, since we were her guests. It was hard to imagine anyone eating like this every night.

  “It was good for me,” Silver said. “Not so good for Mr. Tunlaw, our history teacher.” She looked over at me. “Right, Wren?”

  It felt weird to hear her call me by my name. Technically, up until this point, I wasn’t even sure she remembered my name. Plus, with everything else going on, I’d almost forgotten about poor Mr. Tunlaw. “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “What happened?” Aunt Marianne asked.

  “He got stung by a bunch of wasps,” Silver said. “Like six or seven times. They had to take him to the hospital. Mr. Pringle said he was allergic.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Aunt Marianne put the serving spoon back and stared at Silver. “That’s terrible! Is he all right?”

  Silver shrugged. “No one really knows. Mr. Pringle said he would tell us, but we hadn’t heard anything by the end of the day.”

  “Where did the wasps come from?” Aunt Marianne asked.

  “There was a nest behind the board,” Silver answered. “I guess he must’ve bumped against it or something by accident …”

  Aunt Marianne shook her head. “It can be very dangerous to get stung like that. Especially if you’re allergic. I hope he’s all right.”

  “Is he gonna die?” Russell crammed a huge piece of pancake into his mouth. A thin stream of syrup dribbled down his chin.

  “No, Russell. They have medicine at the hospital. He’ll be okay.” I mimed wiping my chin, hoping he would copy me. Instead, Russell opened his mouth so I could get a good look at all the disgusting, chewed-up food inside. I shook my head and looked away.

  Aunt Marianne sighed. “I’m sure you’re right, Wren. They’ll take good care of him in the hospital.” She spooned a pile of noodles onto her plate. “What’s Mr. Tunlaw teaching you in history, anyway?”

  “Oh!” Silver straightened up a bit in her chair. Her face brightened. “He actually gave us this really cool assignment today.”

  “Oh?” Aunt Marianne raised one eyebrow. “What about?”

  “He said we have to do a project about Pennsylvania. Anything at all, as long as it has to do with the history of our state.” Silver leaned forward. “And I know exactly what I’m going to do mine on. It’s gonna be awesome!”

  I’d almost forgotten about Silver’s conversation in history class, but now it came back to me like a slap in the face. Maybe there was a chance she’d changed her mind, though, especially after everyone’s negative reaction to it. If she had any sense, she’d have thought of something else by now.

  “Well …” Aunt Marianne coaxed. “Are you going to tell me about it or not?”

  “I’m going to do a paper about Witch Weatherly!” Silver grinned.

  Just hearing Witch Weatherly’s name out loud again made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.

  Russell dropped his fork. It made a dull clattering sound against the floor. “Witch Weatherly?” he repeated.

  Silver nodded. “Yup.”

  Aunt Marianne stopped chewing. “What in the world wou
ld possess you to do a history report on her?”

  Silver’s eyes went wide. “Because she sounds so amazing! You’re the one who told me about her, Mom!”

  “Well, I know,” Aunt Marianne said. “But …”

  Silver cut her off. “Just the fact that she’s one hundred and eight years old is enough of a reason to want to meet her. She’s like a legend! She’s probably seen or heard about everything that’s ever happened in Sudbury! And I mean, how much more historical can you get than that?”

  Aunt Marianne blotted her mouth with her napkin. “All that may be true, honey, but she’s a very old woman, and from what I’ve heard, she’s extremely private. I really don’t think she would take kindly to a young girl going up there, pestering her about her personal life.”

  “I won’t pester her,” Silver argued. “I’ll be very polite. And think about how amazing my paper would turn out! Can you imagine how cool it would be if I went up there and came back with an actual person-to-person interview?”

  Had Silver been listening at all to any of the things said in class about Witch Weatherly? Had she really missed the parts about the red raven and the pits with the pointed sticks? And what about the hornet-head snakes? Or Shining Falls?

  Somehow, I found my voice in the back of my throat. “There’s a reason people won’t set foot near her place, you know.”

  “Yeah!” Russell shouted. “She’s a witch!”

  “Oh, I know people say that.” Silver looked at her mother. “What do you think, Mom?”

  “We already talked about this, honey.” Aunt Marianne speared a piece of chicken. “I really don’t think there’s any such thing as witches.”

  Silver turned to me. “Wren, you don’t believe she’s a witch, do you?”

  I stared at Silver, hoping that my eyes conveyed just how much I did believe such a thing without actually having to say it.

  “Of course she’s a witch, you idiot!” Russell looked horrified.

  “Russell!” I hissed. “No blankety-blanks!”

  “Well, she is an idiot,” Russell mumbled. “That lady’s name is Witch Weatherly. So of course she’s a witch.”

  “People aren’t always what other people say they are.” Silver was watching Russell with steady eyes. It was hard to know if her feelings were hurt or not; the expression on her face hadn’t changed. She got up suddenly and went over to the window. “See that smoke coming out between those trees over there? All the way at the top?” I stared straight ahead as Russell scrambled out of his chair and ran to the window. “Ever since we moved here, that smoke has been coming out of someone’s chimney. Now if what people around here say is true, and Witch Weatherly is the only person who lives on Creeper Mountain, that smoke has got to be coming out of her house. Which means that she lives only a mile or so behind us.”

  I reached down and hung on to the sides of my chair so I would not fall off. She could see the smoke from here? A mile or so? Were we really that close to Witch Weatherly?

  “Silver.” The pleading tone in Aunt Marianne’s voice was gone. She was all business now. “I appreciate you wanting to do a good job on your history paper, but I do not want you going anywhere near Creeper Mountain or bothering Ms. Weatherly. Now, I mean it, honey. Aside from it being completely impossible for you to even get up that mountain since it is so overgrown and dangerous, Witch—” Aunt Marianne caught herself and then cleared her throat. “Ms. Weatherly is very old, and very private, and very—” Aunt Marianne stopped again and stared down at the tablecloth. “Well, odd, I guess, is the word I’m looking for here. She’s odd, Silver. She’s been living alone for years and years. She’s not used to having people around. If you just showed up, it could—it would—make things very uncomfortable.” Silver opened her mouth, but Aunt Marianne lifted her hand. The silver bracelet around her wrist tinkled. “No. Not another word. You are not to go and that’s final. I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to find another topic to do your history report on.”

  Silver glowered at her mother. “What happened to living out loud?” she asked. “What happened to doing things our way?”

  “This has nothing to do with living out loud,” Aunt Marianne said, casting a sidelong glance in my direction. “This has to do with respecting someone’s privacy. It’s as simple as that. And that is the end of the discussion, Silver.” She raised an eyebrow. “I mean it.”

  “Fine.” Silver slid back into her chair and toyed with a chunk of yellow pepper at the end of her fork. “Whatever.”

  “Your momma’s smart,” Russell said. “ ’Cause there’s poisonous snakes on that mountain, and that old lady has a gigantic red bird that likes to eat eyeballs.” He ripped off a chunk of pancake and stared at Silver. “You have pretty eyes,” he said. “You should really try to keep them.”

  I snuck a glance in Silver’s direction. Usually, Russell’s final assessment of a situation, which he always blurted out whether someone wanted him to or not, infuriated me. Silver, however, didn’t seem to mind.

  In fact, I wondered if she had even heard him at all.

  Dear Momma,

  I wrote in my notebook that night after Russell had fallen asleep in bed next to me.

  I miss you. I don’t understand why no one can tell me what’s going on yet, but Dad said that he would explain everything later. Aunt Marianne and Silver’s place is nice. They’re nice, too. I thought it was going to be weird because Silver is so popular at school and we really don’t know each other, but it’s actually turning out to be weird in a whole other way. I don’t know if I can explain it right now, but I will try later. Things were a little hard for Russell at first, but Jackson is here, and Aunt Marianne lets him watch Captain Commando, and she made him pancakes for dinner, so I think he is okay now.

  I stopped writing and looked over at Russell, who was dressed in his Captain Commando T-shirt and a pair of Incredible Hulk underwear. He snored loudly next to me. Russell doesn’t like to wear pajamas. He says they make him too hot—even in the middle of winter. A piece of his brown hair hung over his eyes, and his hand flopped down off the side of the mattress, inches away from Jackson, who was curled up on the floor next to the bed. He actually looked sweet, lying there sleeping. But that was probably because his mouth was shut and he wasn’t moving. I reached over and smoothed his hair along the front of his forehead. He mumbled something and rolled over. I went back to Momma’s letter.

  I hope you are feeling all right. Our teacher, Mr. Tunlaw, got stung today by wasps, and is in the hospital, too. No one knows yet if he is going to be okay, either, but we are all trying to think positive. Please write back to me soon and tell me how you are. And don’t worry about anything; I will make sure Russell brushes his teeth every day and takes his medicine at night.

  I love you.

  Wren

  I put my head down on top of the letter, and took a deep breath. It hurt, missing Momma like this. It hurt even worse not knowing how she was feeling, or what she was thinking. I think sometimes Momma and I are cut from the same cloth. Except for the fact that she is a lot older, we have a lot in common. We both love pizza, for instance, although she’s not as crazy about pepperoni as I am. We both like to sleep in late on the weekends, and neither of us ever go anywhere without a sweater, because we always get cold. We worry about a lot of the same things, too. If Dad is later getting home some nights than he usually is, the two of us will pace up and down in front of the curtains in the living room until the headlights of his truck finally appear through the dark. And if Russell’s been too quiet for a while (which is almost never), Momma and I will bump into each other as we rush into his room to check on him. It’s almost as if we think the same things, feel the same way. And when I know she isn’t okay—like right now—I don’t feel like I’m okay, either.

  After a while, I lifted my head again. I folded the letter into threes, stuffed it inside an envelope, and put it on my dresser. I shoved my underwear into the waistband of my pajama bottoms and we
nt into the bathroom. Besides washing out my underwear, I also had to floss and brush my teeth, but I planned on being quick. I didn’t want to hold anyone up—especially Silver. She probably had a whole nightly beauty routine that took hours.

  I finished my teeth and gargled twice. Then I pulled out my underwear. The little orange soap dispenser next to the sink was the only type of cleaning liquid I could find, but it would have to do. I poured a little of it into my palm, worked up a sudsy lather, and began to scrub. The soap smelled good, like peaches and vanilla. I rinsed it off, wrung my underwear out, and hid them back inside my pajamas. Then I tiptoed back into my room. I shut the door tight, hung the underpants over the knob of the closet door, and slipped into bed next to Russell. He made a grunting sound as he turned over again and smacked his lips.

  Outside the window, I could hear the slow, steady sound of raindrops hitting the glass. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Rain didn’t scare me, but storms did. I could hear the big oak trees in the yard swishing in the wind. Slowly, the rain picked up. More wind blew. The sky outside lit up with a slash of white lightning. I held my breath—one, two, three—and then a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut, burrowing in closer to Russell.

  Listening to the storm howl outside made me think of another thunderstorm that had happened just a few weeks ago. It had been a big one, with booming thunder, and fingers of electricity that snaked down from the sky. The power had gone out after a sudden clap of thunder and, outside the house, the wind rattled the shingles on the roof. Terrified, I ran into Momma and Dad’s room.

  Dad already had one arm wrapped around Momma, who was dressed in his bathrobe again, and he let me slip in under the other one. Rain pelted their bedroom windows with such force that it sounded as if great handfuls of marbles were being thrown against the glass. Every time the thunder bellowed, I screamed and buried my face into Dad’s side.