The Secret Window

by Betty R. Wright

  “Nothing important, Mama.” Meg pretended to yawn. “Just silliness. I’m fine now.”

  Her mother sat for a minute longer, absentmindedly smoothing the bed covers. “Well, good night, then,” she said at last. “You’ll sleep all right now, won’t you? I’ll leave the lamp on if you want.”

  Meg waited until she heard her mother’s door close behind her. Then she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to her bureau. She wouldn’t sleep again until she wrote down the dream.

  What could it mean? Water, she wrote, crouched close to the open window. A little red boat—nobody in it. Whom did she know who might have been in the boat?

  The answer was right there in Meg’s head, as it had been from the moment she woke up. She shivered, in spite of the warm night. Dad is at Lake Superior, she wrote. He’s all alone up there. She imagined her father on the shore of the great lake, pushing off in the red boat.

  With a little moan she closed the notebook and pressed her forehead against the screen. In the quiet of the night she could almost hear her heart thumping. It had happened again, this sudden, unwanted look into the future. And what was she to do about it this time?

  She switched off the lamp her mother had left on and went back to bed. There was nothing she could do tonight. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, trying to ignore the insistent voice—the angry voice—that whispered in the darkness:

  You don’t have to do anything. No one asked him to go away and live by himself. Why should you worry? He isn’t worrying about what happens to you.

  It was raining when Meg woke the next morning, a hard splat of sound against the window her mother had closed some time during the night. Meg remembered the dream, and she saw again the darkening water and the helpless boat. She burrowed deeper under the sheet and tried to forget.

  “Meg, get up.” Her mother opened the bedroom door. “Someone’s on the phone for you.”

  Reluctantly Meg pushed back the covers and went out to the kitchen. It was Rhoda calling. She sounded sleepy.

  “I just wondered if you’d like me to walk to school with you. I mean, I don’t have anything else to do this morning.”

  What a good friend Rhoda was! Yesterday afternoon she’d listened sympathetically to Meg’s half-tearful story of her meeting with Gracie. And this morning she’d realized Meg would be dreading school.

  “You don’t have to,” Meg said. “I’m okay. Thanks, anyway.”

  “I wish I was going to classes,” Rhoda said. “I guess I could have, if I’d said I wanted to. It didn’t seem worth it for just a few days. We could have eaten lunch together today.”

  “I wish you were, too,” Meg said. “But, honestly, it’s okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

  “Right. I guess I’ll go to the branch library and apply for a card today.” Rhoda paused as if searching for words. “Don’t let any of those creeps make you feel bad,” she said with sudden violence, and hung up.

  The rain continued. Meg’s mother made her carry an umbrella when she left the apartment. She tilted it against the wild, wet wind, while little umbrella islands bobbed past her.

  The walk was too short. As Meg opened the big front door, something dropped with a crash at her feet. It was her overnight case. She closed her umbrella and discovered Linda Bell standing in front of her. Several girls and boys stood nearby, watching curiously.

  “I don’t want your crummy junk lying around my house.” Linda’s voice was low and shaking with anger. “From now on, you’d better keep out of my way, or you’ll be sorry.”

  A trickle of rain wriggled down Meg’s spine. She felt like a clammy mess next to Linda, who was beautiful even when she was having a tantrum.

  “Why’d you do it?” Linda demanded. “Just tell me that one thing.”

  Meg picked up the overnight case and took a deep breath. “Gracie told me what happened,” she said. “But if you believe I called the police, you’re wrong. I’d never do that. I’m sorry about your party—thanks for bringing my overnight case.”

  She tried to walk away, but Linda moved in front of her. “I shouldn’t have invited you.” Her voice turned shrill. “I’ll know better next time—if there ever is a next time! My mother and father got called home from their trip because of you, and I’m going to be grounded forever because of you. Nasty snitch!” She whirled around to the group gathered behind her. “Let’s get out of here,” she snapped. “I don’t like the atmosphere.”

  When they’d gone, Meg climbed the stairs to her locker on the second floor. Gracie’s locker was next to hers, but Gracie had arrived early and was already hurrying down the hall to her first class. The sight of her friend running away hurt more than the scene with Linda. Gracie and Meg had gone to kindergarten together. They’d shared comic books, made scrapbooks of their favorite stars, traded clothes and secrets, spent long, lovely Saturday afternoons talking and dreaming about the things they’d do when they were older. Gracie was part of Meg’s life. Losing her was like losing a sister.

  Meg crammed the overnight case into her locker and took out the books she’d need for her first two classes. Was it her imagination, or was everyone looking at her disapprovingly as she made her way through the crowded corridors? By the time she reached her homeroom, she was sure she’d be an outcast forever.

  It was a pleasant surprise to find her classmates laughing and to hear her name called as soon as she came through the door.

  “Meg, over here. We’re deciding what to take to the picnic tomorrow.” Chris Svenson’s face was glowing with enjoyment at being the center of a group. “I thought it’d be fun if we each brought a different kind of food and shared it. Do you want to go along, or would you rather bring your own lunch?”

  The class picnic! Meg wondered if her life would ever be calm enough so she’d stop forgetting things. “I’ll bring whatever you want,” she said quickly. “That’s a neat idea.”

  After more discussion, it was agreed that Meg and two other girls would make sandwiches for eight people. Chris offered to bake a cake, and the others would bring potato chips, pickles, carrot sticks, and apples. Soda and milk were to be provided by the school.

  “Now don’t anyone forget what you’re supposed to bring,” Chris ordered. She leaned across the aisle to Meg, just as Mrs. Cobbell rapped for order. “Want to sit with me on the bus tomorrow?” she whispered. “I’ll save you a seat.”

  Meg nodded. Chris’s invitation was the only sign that the other girls knew what had happened over the weekend. Before, Meg had always sat with Gracie on field trips.

  The day seemed endless. Meg ate lunch with Chris, and Gracie sat across the room with another group. Gracie’s friends giggled and looked over at Meg repeatedly, in a way that made her heart sink. By the time her last afternoon class ended, with Gracie sitting icily across the aisle, Meg could hardly wait to get home. It might not be the most cheerful place in the world, but no one hated her there.

  A cheerful whistling greeted her as she opened the apartment door. Meg followed the sound to the kitchen and found Bill sitting at the table. He was looking with a pleased expression at the papers spread in front of him.

  “Hi there.” He leaned back, tipping his chair at a dangerous angle. “How was your day?—as if I had to ask.”

  “Awful,” she told him.

  “Gracie still mad?”

  Meg nodded. Bill hadn’t asked any questions last night when she came back from the meeting with Gracie. He waited now, but when Meg said nothing, he turned to another subject.

  “I’m filling out my application for the university,” he announced. “Next fall you can come to Madison and we’ll take in a football game or two.”

  Meg forgot all about her bad day. “You’ve changed your mind about not going to school!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad! Does Mama know? Was it what Rhoda said that made you decide?”

  “I’ll tell Ma tonight. And, yes, I guess it was Rhoda who got me thinking. She was right—I just wanted to get even
with Dad for going away. I hate to admit it,” he added teasingly, “but she’s pretty smart for a little kid. And for a girl!”

  Meg dropped in a chair and stuck out her tongue at him. “We women are going to take over the world,” she drawled. “You’re going to need all the education you can get.”

  “Right.” He was suddenly serious. “You know, all day yesterday I went over the whole thing in my mind—Dad leaving and how I felt about it. All that. It’s a real pain, but I finally decided it isn’t the end of the world. He has his life to live, I have mine. And I have better things to do with it than get even.”

  Meg listened intently. She wanted to understand this. She wanted to let Bill’s words carry her up out of the gray world she’d been living in since their father left.

  “But he shouldn’t have gone,” she protested. “How can you forgive him for that? I can’t!”

  Bill looked thoughtful. “I guess I can’t either,” he said. “But he’s gone, and from now on that’s going to be his problem, not mine.”

  “Do you still love him?” Meg asked. “Do you miss him?”

  Bill’s face tensed. “I can’t stop loving him because he’s done something dumb,” he said slowly. “But I can’t change what he’s done, either.”

  Later, while Meg washed greens for salad and peeled potatoes, she thought about what Bill had said. From time to time she looked at him, hunched over the forms on the table. He’s a good person, she thought. Like Rhoda. Better than I am. I’m just full of meanness.

  That evening, when her homework was completed, she took out her box of stationery. She wrote quickly, before she could change her mind.

  Dear Dad,

  Last night I dreamed about a little red rowboat in the water. It was empty, and one of the oars was floating away. I didn’t actually see you in the dream, but I was pretty sure you’d been in the boat and had fallen out.

  Do you remember that time I dreamed about the burning house just before the Pancinos’ Christmas tree caught fire? You said then I shouldn’t talk about my dreams, so I never have. But I want you to know about this one. Sometimes my dreams do come true.

  Please be careful.

  Your daughter,

  Meg

  Meg read it over carefully. It didn’t sound especially friendly, but it wasn’t unfriendly, either. She sighed. She couldn’t be like Bill just by wishing it, but maybe the letter was a step in the right direction.

  CHAPTER 14

  Trouble at the Picnic

  “Oh, Rhoda, that’s terrific! When did you decide to go?”

  Rhoda grinned at Meg. They’d met in front of the apartment, where Rhoda had been waiting, a wide straw hat in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.

  “Mr. Walsh—that’s the adviser I talked to about my schedule for next year—called last night and asked if I wanted to go to the class picnic. He said it’d be a good chance to meet the kids before next fall, and he’d take me around and introduce me to everybody. At first I was going to say no—but then I thought, ‘Why not?’” She cocked her head jauntily. “When I told him you and I lived in the same building, he said you could do the introducing instead of him. You don’t have to do that, though,” she added hastily. “I’ll just tag along after you, okay?”

  It was more than okay. Meg had never said more than a “Good morning” to Mr. Walsh, but he must be the best adviser in the entire school.

  “If I’d known last night, I’d have told you not to bring lunch,” she said excitedly. “We have the food all organized, and we’re going to have twice as much as we need.” The girls started up the block together. Looking around her as they walked, Meg noticed, for the first time, that it was a beautiful day, just right for a picnic.

  When they reached the school grounds, buses were waiting to take the three seventh-grade homerooms to Westerbrook Park. Chris Svenson had saved seats in one of them for their group, and the girls easily made room for Rhoda.

  “She’s nice,” Chris said softly, as the bus started up. “But when I saw you both coming across the schoolyard, I thought, ‘Meg must have a little brother I don’t know about.’ And then when you got closer, I saw the person walking with you was wearing those tiny gold earrings—”

  “I’m going to be a late bloomer,” Rhoda said, popping up over the seat in front of them. Chris ducked her head in embarrassment. “If I don’t grow up to win the Nobel Prize in chemistry, I expect to be a sex symbol. Either way, you can say you knew me when.” She joined in everyone’s laughter, then sat back and asked the girl next to her about Westerbrook Park and what would be happening at the picnic. Meg knew she wouldn’t have to spend much time introducing Rhoda to her classmates. By the end of the day she’d probably have talked to everyone, and everyone would like her.

  As they pulled into the Westerbrook parking lot, Meg saw Gracie stepping down from the other bus. For a moment, they stared at each other through the dusty window. Gracie looked pale, and there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes.

  “That’s Gracie, right?” Rhoda was peering over the seat again. “Wow! Either she’s still mad about the party or she always looks as if she’s going to kill somebody. Which is it?”

  “Come on, people—out of the bus!” Mrs. Cobbell saved Meg from having to answer. The girls gathered up their boxes, bags, and suntan lotion and hurried down the aisle. As they stepped out of the bus, a member of the Picnic Committee handed each of them a card.

  “It’s for the softball games,” Meg explained. “Everybody gets to play.” She looked at her card. “Game number one—girls against boys. Blue team.”

  “I’m blue, too,” Rhoda said. “How’s that for luck!”

  The girls crossed the lawn to a table where Chris collected the food they’d brought. “We’re going to have a feast!” she gloated. “I wish we could eat right now.”

  “Tennis first,” one of the girls said. “See you later.” She hurried off toward the courts, just as a whistle sounded shrilly from the baseball diamond.

  “That’s for us,” Meg said. “Game number one. Come on, Rhoda.”

  The teams organized quickly. Jean Monroe was named captain of the blue, and Meg found herself in line after Gracie in batting order. Jean came next, then Rhoda.

  “Let’s go, team!” The girls met Jean’s shout with cheers, and the game began. The first batter struck out, and then it was Gracie’s turn. She looked stiff and angry as she stalked to the plate, and the blue team grew silent. The first pitch was fast and low, and Gracie swung at it carelessly. Bat and ball connected in a solid hit.

  “Run!” Jean screamed. Meg joined in the clapping as Gracie, jolted into action, raced to first base.

  Meg was up next and struck out. Then Jean went to bat. She let two pitches go by and swung at the third. The looping ball went over the second baseman’s head into center field, for a single. Gracie moved to third, and Rhoda picked up the bat.

  It looked too long for her and too heavy.

  “Join the Little League, kid!” one of the boys shouted from the outfield. Rhoda didn’t seem to hear him. Her face was calm, and a funny little smile tugged at her lips. There was something about the way she stood there, waiting for the pitch, that made Meg hold her breath.

  Smack! The sound was like a small explosion. Some of the teachers turned to look, and the blue team screamed with joy. The ball streaked high and fast across the field and disappeared into the bushes beyond. Two fielders scrambled after it, while Gracie, Jean, and then Rhoda came flying into home.

  They were met with cheers and hugs, and for just a moment Meg and Gracie were part of a shrieking tangle of players. Then Gracie pulled away and ran over to the sidelines.

  The game continued, with Rhoda making another homer and driving in two more runs.

  “Where did you learn to hit like that?” Meg demanded when the last inning ended and the teacher-umpire had announced the final score: Girls 9, Boys 7. Meg and Rhoda sat on a blanket under a maple tree and rubbed tanning lotion on their
faces and arms.

  “My dad was a Little League coach when we lived in New York.” Rhoda kicked off her sneakers and wiggled her toes. “I never joined a team, but I used to sub once in a while, and my dad and I practiced together a lot. Back when I was a mere child,” she added with dignity, and they both laughed.

  Some of the picnickers produced Frisbees, and soon the air was full of flying saucers. Rhoda proved to be as skilled with a Frisbee as she was with a baseball bat, and the girls played until their legs gave out under them.

  Promptly at noon Chris assumed her position as organizer of the feast. She spread a checked cloth on the table they had claimed and set her magnificent chocolate cake in its center. “Let’s eat,” she called, and soon the rest of the food was arranged in boxes and plastic bowls around the cake centerpiece.

  Rhoda sat across from Meg. Her wide-brimmed straw hat was tipped far back on her head, and she ate with cheerful concentration.

  “What kind of sandwich is that, Rhoda?” Chris asked. “It looks yummy. I’ll trade you this ham-and-cheese for whatever it is.”

  Rhoda took another foil-wrapped packet from her lunch bag. “It’s my own invention. Peanut butter, bologna, pickles, and just a tiny bit of horseradish—on pumpernickel,” she said. “You’ll love it.”

  Chris withdrew her outstretched hand. “I guess I’ll stick with what I have.”

  “Anybody else want one? I brought plenty.”

  Rhoda just laughed when the other girls shuddered and refused. Nothing bothers her, Meg thought. She is who she is, and she doesn’t worry about things that aren’t important, or things she can’t change. Meg remembered what Bill had said the night before. I’ve got my life to live. He and Rhoda liked other people, but they liked themselves, too. It was a good way to be.

  Chris’s cake was as delicious as it looked. Meg was finishing her second piece when she looked up and saw Gracie a few feet away, glowering. Jean Monroe was with her.

  “Some people don’t care whom they eat with.” Gracie’s voice was loud, meant to be heard. Silence fell over the group gathered around the table.