“Oh, yes.” Meg hadn’t been to church for a long time. She was glad to go, particularly since she’d be there with her grandmother.
“And after lunch you take me to the bus station,” Grandma went on. “Just you.”
Breakfast passed without more questions, except for Bill asking Meg if she’d had a good time last night. “Yes,” Meg replied uncomfortably. She resolved to tell Bill later that she hadn’t stayed at Linda’s party.
Meg’s mother said nothing. She seemed to have left them just as Meg’s father had. In her place was a quiet stranger who seemed always to be thinking of other things. It was Grandma Korshak who reminded Meg not to dawdle over her bacon and eggs and asked her if she had a dress ready to wear to church.
The white walls and tall stained-glass windows of the church offered a special welcome that morning. Meg sat between her mother and her grandmother and let the organ music wash over her. She felt serene for the moment, as if her problems couldn’t follow her here. She hoped her mother felt the same way.
“Nice windows.” Grandma’s face was rosy in the reflected light. “The middle one is the best.”
Meg followed her grandmother’s gaze. A golden ladder stretched upward against blue glass sky. At its top, a cluster of angels hovered.
“Jacob’s ladder,” Grandma whispered. “He dreamed that he saw a ladder going up to heaven. God spoke to him from the top of the ladder and said the land where he was sleeping was his to keep. Wasn’t that a wonderful thing?”
Meg looked at Grandma sharply. Was it the beauty of the design that pleased her grandmother, or was it Jacob’s dream? The sleeping figure at the foot of the ladder was somehow reassuring. Like the artists at the museum, Jacob had dreamed, and his life was better because of it.
The hymn singing was Meg’s favorite part of the service. “When I fall on my knees, With my face to the rising sun, O Lord, have mercy on me.” She sang enthusiastically, blending her voice with a quavery soprano and a booming bass behind her. Later, when the minister asked the congregation to put aside their sorrows and give thanks for their blessings, Meg felt as if he were speaking directly to her. She thought of Rhoda Deel’s welcoming smile the night before. Of all the millions of people who might have moved into the empty second-floor apartment, Rhoda had come. Wasn’t that a kind of miracle?
She peeked at her family. Her mother’s face had tightened under the minister’s suggestion to count her blessings, but Bill and Grandma looked thoughtful. Thank you for my family, Meg prayed. Thank you for my friends. And then, Please make my father sorry he went away. Make Bill go to college. Don’t ever let me have a “real” dream again … at least, not the scary kind.
After the service they walked to a cafeteria nearby, where Grandma made scornful comments about the soup and rolls, admitted the roast beef was pretty good, and insisted they all have double-dip sundaes for dessert. “You must come out to Waukesha soon,” she said as they left the restaurant. “I’ll make bean soup you won’t forget.”
When they returned to the apartment, Grandma called Meg into the bedroom to help her with her suitcase. “I told Bill you will go alone with me to the bus station,” she whispered. “Your mama wouldn’t want to go, anyway.”
That was true; her mother had already said her good-bys and gone back to her bedroom. Meg darted down the hall to Bill’s room and told him that if Gracie called he should say Meg would be back in a little while. Soon she and Grandma were out on the street again, with Meg carrying the suitcase. It was very light; her grandmother didn’t need much but her nightgown and an extra dress. Most of the space had been taken up by the jars of preserves and boysenberry sauce she brought each time she came.
“Now,” Grandma said, as soon as they were settled on the city bus, “what is it you want to talk about, Meggie? Your dad and your mama, I guess. But I don’t know what’s going to happen there. I’m so sorry for your mama. I don’t like this thing your father’s done.”
“It’s not that, Grandma,” Meg said. “It’s something else. I wanted to ask you about the dream you had. The one about Dad going away.” Meg hesitated. Grandma was looking at her with a strange expression.
“I’m sort of interested in dreams,” Meg went on cautiously. “Especially dreams that come true.” She waited, but her grandmother didn’t say anything. “What I want to know is, do you have them often?”
“Pretty often,” Grandma said. “Why do you care about that?”
“I just wondered.” “Pretty often”—what did that mean? “It seems funny,” Meg continued. “I mean, you act as if it was just an ordinary thing. And it isn’t!” Her voice rose in spite of herself. “It’s kind of—kind of crazy.”
She hadn’t meant to use that word, but she couldn’t help it. Crazy had been lying right there on her tongue, waiting to be spoken.
Her grandmother didn’t seem to mind. “Not crazy,” she said, with a little chuckle. “When I was a girl, I thought, yes, there is something wrong with me. I would stare in the mirror and think, you look like nothing much, and your clothes are like everybody else’s, but inside you are different. Then I found out that my mama sometimes dreamed the truth, too. And she told me, ‘We are lucky, you and I. We have a secret window to show us things.’ I’d never thought of it as good luck. My older sister, she could sing like a lark, and my brother painted pictures, but I was the one with the secret window. It was my talent. My difference.” Grandma looked at Meg shrewdly. “Don’t you think a person is fortunate to have such a talent?”
Meg turned away. Grandma seemed to guess that she had “real” dreams, too, and wanted her to say she felt lucky. Well, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t!
“Other people would laugh if you told them all that,” she said bluntly. “You’d better not tell anyone else.”
Grandma nodded. “I don’t talk about it much. But I use my talent when I can. Like now. When I had the dream about your father going away, I knew you’d be unhappy, so I came. I wanted to be with you for a little bit.”
Meg thought about the pancake breakfast on Saturday, the shopping trip with Mom, the hour at church, the cafeteria dinner—all the things Grandma had arranged to help them through this painful weekend. Because of the dream, she’d been there to take charge when they needed her most.
“We’ve always had artists and writers—talented people—in our family,” Grandma continued. “I was proud of my brother and my sister, and I’m proud of your father’s gift, too. I didn’t want him to leave his family—that’s a bad thing—but I want him to be a good writer. We can’t choose the things that make us special, but we must use what we have.”
“I don’t care what he does,” Meg said fiercely. “I’m sorry, Grandma, but I hate him.”
Her grandmother patted her hand. “People with special gifts can be hard to live with,” she said. “My brother, my sister. Your father. Your grandfather used to say I wasn’t so easy to get along with either.” She looked somber. “Your mama never wanted to hear about my dreams. She’s had a hard life, Meggie, and she doesn’t like things she doesn’t understand. You know, I think she’s been afraid for a long time that your father might leave. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so afraid …”
“It wasn’t Mama’s fault,” Meg said. But she wondered if Grandma might be right. If her mother hadn’t forced a decision, maybe things would have gone on as they were until Dad decided for himself whether he was going to be a successful writer.
She brushed the thought away. No one had made him leave. Writing is my life, was what he’d said, and the next day he was gone. He was different from other fathers, all right, and the difference was terrible.
“Here’s our stop.” Meg tugged Grandma’s suitcase from under the seat and helped her down the steps of the bus. “Thanks for telling me about your dreams, Grandma. I’m really glad you came to see us.”
Grandma gave Meg a fierce hug. “You’re a good girl, Meggie,” she said. “Is there anything else you want to ask me?”
There was. “About the dreams,” Meg said. “Do you ever get scared? What if you have a dream that’s scary—a real nightmare? What if it makes you do something stupid?” She was thinking about how she’d run from Linda Bell’s house.
Grandma hugged her again. “If that happens, I just wait,” she said softly. “After a while, it nearly always comes clear. No good to worry. We have to be glad for what we know and what we have.”
Minutes later, with her grandmother on the intercity bus for Waukesha, Meg thought about those words. Be glad for what you know and what you have.… A new friend, for instance, and a brother, a mother, a grandmother.
A secret window.
Would she ever be grateful for her “real” dreams? She doubted it! Looking into the future was just a family trait that she wished had ended with her grandmother.
CHAPTER 12
Bad News from Gracie
“Hey, what happened at that party last night?” Bill was curled up on the couch in the living room, a book balanced on his knees, a half-dozen others on the floor within arm’s reach. “I thought you said you had a good time.”
“What do you mean?” Meg looked over her shoulder. She hoped her mother was still lying down. “Did Gracie call me?”
“She sure did. She wants you to meet her at Darys’ to talk about the party. And she didn’t sound as if she was looking for a giggle-and-gossip session, either. She sounded M-A-D!” He grinned at her over his book. “Need a bodyguard? My rates are reasonable.”
“No, thanks.” Meg tried to smile and failed. Gracie must be really angry.
“I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t tell Mama Gracie was mad, okay?”
Bill nodded. “If you aren’t home by suppertime, I’ll call Gracie and ask where she’s hidden the body.” He went back to his reading, and Meg hurried out of the apartment. Sometimes Bill went too far with his so-called humor. But she knew it wasn’t his teasing that made her so jumpy. It was the thought of facing her friend.
Gracie was waiting in front of Darys’ Drugstore. Her arms were folded over her chest, her face was pale, and her whole body was rigid with anger.
“You fink!” She hurled the words across the sidewalk as Meg drew near. “I bet you really feel great about what you did!”
Meg stepped backward. “Now wait—” she began, then tried again. “I’m sorry I ran away last night. It was just—just a feeling I had that I shouldn’t stay. Did you have fun?”
“Fun!” Gracie’s voice cracked on the word, just as the door of the drugstore opened and Mr. Dary came outside and stretched. “Nice day,” he said pleasantly. “Doesn’t that sun feel good, girls?”
“Yes, it does,” Meg murmured, her eyes on Gracie’s face.
“Let’s walk,” Gracie said rudely. “I want to talk to you in private, Meg.” She started down the street, and Meg, with a quivery smile at Mr. Dary, hurried after her.
“What’s wrong, Gracie? Did something happen at the party after I left?” She held her breath.
Gracie strode on, arms swinging, hands clenched in tight fists. “Did something happen?” she repeated. “As if you don’t know! I didn’t think you were a snitch, Meg Korshak, but I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong! Now I know what kind of person you are, and I’ll never forgive you for what you did. Never!”
“But what did I do? I didn’t want to stay at the party, so I came home. That’s all. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t think you’d care this much. I had this funny feeling that I didn’t belong there.”
They’d reached the corner, where an empty concrete bench marked the bus stop. Gracie sat down with a thump, and Meg sat beside her.
“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Gracie said. She was suddenly close to tears. “You didn’t belong there. You’re a baby and a stool pigeon, and by tomorrow morning there won’t be a single person in school who’ll have anything to do with you. You’ll see!”
“Gracie, will you just tell me what I did that was so terrible? Please?” Meg struggled to keep her own anger under control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie!” Tears streamed down Gracie’s cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice them. “You called the police and told them there was a wild party going on at Bells’. Don’t say you didn’t—it had to be you. It’s all your fault that we had to go to the police station, and they called everybody’s parents, and Linda and two of the boys are being charged with possession of marijuana. I just hope you’re satisfied!”
“The police!” Meg gasped. “I didn’t call the police. Why would I do that? I didn’t call anybody. I just went back to our apartment building, and I stayed overnight with the girl downstairs. You know, Rhoda—”
“I don’t care where you stayed.” Gracie was sobbing. “I was in the police station. I was searched. My mother was called to the police station, and she’s so mad she’s ready to kill me. I’m grounded for three months. The only reason I’m here now is because she had to work an extra shift. If she finds out I left the house, she’ll probably make it six months, but I don’t care. I wanted to tell you face to face what I think of you.” She hiccupped noisily.
Meg put out a hand, but Gracie snatched her arm away. “So now you know.” She was still sobbing. “I hate you, and Linda hates you, and every single person at that party hates you. Everybody hates a fink! Linda’s folks probably hate you, too, because one of the boys was drunk and tried to get away from the police, and he broke a beautiful vase in the living room.” She rubbed her eyes. “You’re so mean!”
“Gracie, I didn’t.” Meg was stunned, angry, hurt. “I wouldn’t snitch. It wasn’t any of my business if the kids were smoking. I wasn’t even sure it was marijuana.” She leaned forward, trying to make Gracie look at her. “I don’t tattle. Did I tell anyone that you put Mrs. Cobbell’s hat on that statue?”
Gracie shook her head irritably. “That was different. That was just a joke. And I told you I was sorry. This was much, much worse.” She dug for a tissue in her shoulder bag. “If you didn’t leave Linda’s to call the police, why’d you go?” she demanded. “Tell me that.”
“I did tell you. I had a feeling—”
“Hah!” Gracie jumped up. “You had a feeling! I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Not ever! You’ve spoiled everything. Linda says she never should have invited a couple of babies to her party. She blames me for bringing you. If you want to know what I think, I think you were jealous because Linda liked me, and you wanted to make trouble. Well, you did. You’ve made lots of trouble! Fink!”
She was gone, stomping down the street, her dark hair bouncing on her shoulders. Meg was unable to move.
I’m going to pretend this didn’t happen, she thought. But she couldn’t forget the things Gracie had said. She shuddered when she thought about the police. If she’d stayed at the party, she’d have gone to the station with the others. She’d have been searched. Her mother would have been called. She pictured her mother, already so stiff and silent under the weight of her father’s going. I’ve come to get my daughter out of jail, officer. I want you to know that her older brother would never get into such trouble. The second child in our family was strictly an accident.
“Coming or not, sister?”
Meg looked up. A bus had rolled up to the corner and the driver was looking at her through the open door.
“I’m sorry—I was just thinking.” Meg got up hurriedly. The driver slammed the door and drove off.
What a mess it all was!
As she started home, Meg was more confused than she’d ever been in her life. The dream about the blue light had saved her from a dreadful experience, that was true. Even though it was embarrassing to have run away from the party, it would have been worse to have stayed. Still, she couldn’t tell anyone about the dream, so she was in trouble, anyway. Who wants a talent if it makes everyone hate you? she thought bitterly. Who cares about having a secret window? I just want to be like everyone else.
Then, as she turned
the corner, a familiar figure crossed Brookfield Avenue. It was Rhoda, looking more like a skinny little boy than ever in her blue jeans, T-shirt, and a bright orange baseball cap. She had a Yo-Yo in her hand and was sailing it expertly ahead of her. Watching her, Meg felt better.
“Rhoda!” she shouted. “Wait a minute. I’ll walk with you.”
Rhoda turned and waved, and Meg began to run. All at once she felt light, as if with each long step the burden of Gracie’s anger was left a little farther behind.
CHAPTER 13
A Long, Long Day
The dream was quick and terrifying. Meg stood on a high place—a cliff—and looked down at glittering water. Far out from shore, a small red rowboat bobbed like a toy. One oar dangled in the water, the other floated away. The boat was empty. But someone she cared about had been in the boat just a minute before. As she stared, the water turned dark, and the boat began to move swiftly away.
Meg screamed, a harsh, hurting sound that brought her mother rushing into the bedroom.
“Meg, what in the world!”
Meg struggled to sit up. Her throat ached with the sound she’d made.
“You must have had a nightmare,” her mother said. She sat on the edge of the bed. “You made a simply terrible sound—as if you were choking.”
“I’m okay now.” Meg longed to hurl herself into her mother’s arms. Instead, she lay back on the pillows. “I’m fine.”
“We’re all having trouble sleeping, I guess.” Her mother sighed and looked at Meg. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this,” she said. “I’d like you and Bill to be happy all the time.” She smoothed Meg’s hair back from her face. “You probably think grown-ups understand their own feelings and have good reasons for what they do. I remember when I believed that. The truth is, we just do the best we can, from day to day, and lots of times everything goes wrong. Then we’re unhappy, and our children are unhappy, too. And have nightmares.” She shook her head. “What was it you dreamed?”
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