by Marta Acosta
“It was violet, not purple, and that is my trademark.”
Her mother rolled her eyes exactly the way Mary Violet did.
We talked about our classes and teachers, and when Mrs. Holiday got up to switch on the lights I noticed how late it was and said good-bye. Mrs. Holiday asked, “Would you like a ride?”
“It’s only a few blocks. I’ll walk.”
“Try to celebrate the trees, Jane.”
I nodded even though I had no idea what she was talking about.
Mary Violet went outside with me. “My mother’s an intellectual so we don’t expect her to act like a normal person.”
“Like you’re a judge of what’s normal. She’s wonderful. See you tomorrow.”
“Au revoir.”
I’d walked a little ways when Mary Violet came skipping after me. “Jane, I’m really glad Mrs. Radcliffe extorted us to hang out with you.”
“Me, too.” I felt oddly shy. “Au revoir.”
The streetlights came on while I was walking back to campus. The neighborhood was quiet except for occasional noises—the slamming of a car door, the swish-swish of automatic sprinklers. Ahead, the school was a dark mass looming against the sky. The lights at the school’s entrance cast ominous shadows of the stone angels.
As I approached the main building, I looked up and saw a man’s silhouette in the window of a third-floor classroom. Mr. Mason was working late, and I felt a twinge of empathy for him in his solitude and his heartache.
The breeze grew stronger, as it had every evening, and now the night was no longer silent but filled with the sounds of the trees—rustling and sighing, stirring and creaking, so alive. Mrs. Holiday had told me to celebrate the trees, so I stood and listened until I understood why some people talked about how they loved the roar of the ocean.
Then my skin goose bumped all over because the noises began to take on the rhythms of a language. I raced frantically to my cottage. My hand was shaking as I fitted my key in the lock. As I stepped inside, I fumbled for the light switch. Light filled the room, diminishing the shadows to nothing more than the absence of light.
My creepy feeling intensified as I read the assignment for Mrs. Radcliffe’s class, “Wake Not the Dead.” Although I had to refer to the footnotes constantly, I soon became so engrossed that I hurried through the paragraphs.
A powerful lord is passionately in love with his beautiful bride, who dies young. He marries a kind woman and they have children, yet he remains obsessed with his dead bride. He forces a wizard to bring her back to him even though the wizard warns, “Wake not the dead.”
The bride returns from the grave and the lord is enchanted by her, but death and destruction soon come to his castle. She kills his children, his wife, his servants, and the villagers. He discovers much too late that she’s a bloodthirsty vampire.
A loud creeeeak made me jump. It was only a tree. I needed to hear another voice, a human voice, so I called Mary Violet.
Her sister, Agnes, answered her phone and told me MV was taking a bubble bath. “Do you want me to give her a message?”
“Yes, tell her that imagination is highly overrated.”
Agnes snickered. “Now she’ll try to drown herself, but she’ll keep popping up like an inflatable raft.”
I put the phone down, reassured that I could contact people in an emergency. My night was restless, and I put my pillow over my head so I would not hear the wind and the trees.
In the morning, I walked out my front door into the misty morning. The heavy pot of flowers on the porch had been knocked over and broken. Dirt spilled out and the pansies were trampled.
After my lonely life I dare say I should have loved any one who really needed me, and from the first moment that I read the appeal in Mrs. Vanderbridge’s face I felt that I was willing to work my fingers to the bone for her. Nothing that she asked of me was too much when she asked it in that voice, with that look.
Ellen Glasgow, The Past (1920)
Chapter 11
No one was here now, but someone had been here last night while I slept. My heart raced and then I calmed myself enough to think. Catalina was nasty, but straight up about it, not sneaky. Jack had come by before and parked his bike against the porch railing. Could he have visited again and knocked over the flowerpot by accident?
I searched the ground for clues, but the dry soil was hard and didn’t show anything but old bike treads. I continued to examine the ground as I walked to the amphitheater. I came across empty vodka minis, a candle stub, a flattened cigarette box, and a rusty razor blade. So people visited the grove and maybe someone got curious about the cottage.
I considered the possibilities and the probabilities. Someone could have been walking by and decided to see if the cottage was empty, as it had been before. Someone might have been spying on me. Someone might have dropped by to visit me. The potted plant could have been knocked over intentionally or accidentally, or maybe one of the animals that lived here broke it somehow.
I thought of the impossibilities and improbabilities. Jack would say that elves had broken it when they came to take me back to the wood.
I wasn’t going to give in to my imagination. I’d find out more before I made any conclusions. I arrived at Latin class before Catalina. She came in with waves to her friends. Her amber eyes skimmed indifferently over me, like I was a piece of furniture. I spent the rest of the day trying to discern any laughing or stares directed my way. I was tense when someone touched the back of my arm in the cafeteria. I jerked away and saw Constance behind me.
“Wake not the dead!” she whispered in a spooky voice. “What a sick story.”
Hattie and Mary Violet joined us. “We’ve decided to have a sleepover at your cottage tomorrow night,” Hattie said. “If that’s okay with you.”
I wanted company. “That would be great.”
Mary Violet said, “I can arch your eyebrows and trim your hair.”
Constance waved her hands, palms outward and fingers splayed. “Under no circumstances should you let MV near you with scissors. I made that mistake once and my mother cried when I came home.”
“You looked like a Parisian model with your hair so short,” Mary Violet said.
“I did not. I had to get an emergency weave because my ears stick out like handles on a jug.” Constance raised her braids to show us.
“Embrace your flaws. I would if I had any,” Mary Violet said.
“Right, Miss Thing.” Constance pinched her friend’s plump pink cheek.
Hattie offered to bring spaghetti, Constance would bring Caesar salad and garlic bread, Mary Violet would bake brownies, and I would get the drinks.
Hattie gave me a ride to Greenwood Grocery after school. Under the fluorescent lights, her pale skin had the slight blueish tinge of nonfat milk. This was my first time having my friends over, so I chose two six-packs of the Italian lemon soda that Lucky had given me even though it cost twice as much as the store brand of soda.
“We all like that,” Hattie said. “Mrs. Radcliffe always has it at her house.”
“That’s where I had it.” I tried to sound casual. “Lucky’s coming over tomorrow at noon for chemistry tutoring.”
“Really?” She tilted her head.
“Yes, and it’s cool because I can add it to my résumé and earn money, too. I was thinking of making lunch.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Radcliffe doesn’t expect you to teach and feed him.”
“Maybe not, but it will be lunchtime. What do you think I should make?”
“Lucky likes roast beef sandwiches, extra rare. Mrs. Radcliffe says good beef shouldn’t be overcooked.”
Hattie walked to the store entrance to make a phone call while I went to pay. I spotted Orneta at the far register. I steered my cart there, and she said, “Hey, Jane from Hellsdale, how’s it going?”
“Hi, Ornery. It’s a major transition.”
“No kidding.” She picked up the package of beef and pointed to the price label. W
hen I leaned in to see what she was trying to show me, she whispered, “They been watching you here.” Her eyes went toward the corner of the store and I saw a convex mirror there, reflecting the store aisles.
“I didn’t boost anything!” I whispered back.
She glanced back. “Maybe cuz you’re from outside.” In a louder voice, she said, “Yes, that’s a dollar sign, not a five! Sorry, miss.”
A man in a store smock with “Manager” on a lapel pin came up. “Is there anything I can help you with, Orneta?”
She smiled at him. “No, sir, my contacts blurred up for a second, but I’m fine now.”
When I went to Hattie, she asked, “Who was that?”
“Her name’s Orneta. I met her when I came here with Mrs. Radcliffe.”
“The checkers at the store are always nice.”
On the ride back to campus, Hattie talked about her favorite places in town and again mentioned how nice the locals were.
“Hattie, everyone does seem really friendly, but do they really like outsiders?”
“No one likes, you know, a bad element. Why?”
“Just curious. See you tomorrow.”
By the time I got inside my place and unpacked my groceries, blood from the roast beef had soaked through the white butcher paper package. I placed the meat in a plastic bag and put it in the fridge. I went to the porch and cleaned up the mess from the broken flowerpot.
Then I vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed out the bathroom, and emptied the trash. I gathered branches, twigs, and fern and did my best to arrange them in a vase. When evening came, I closed the curtains so that no one could spy on me from outside. I dragged and pushed the small sofa so that it blocked the front door. After checking all the locks, I flicked off the lights in the living room and left on a bedroom lamp and the porch light.
Now no one outside could see me in the dark living room, but I would see anyone prowling close to the porch. I gathered the comforter and pillow from the bed and set myself on the sofa to sleep.
* * *
As soon as I awoke, I thought, Lucky’s coming! I checked outside, but everything was the way I’d left it. I shoved the sofa back into place, and my thoughts bounced from Lucky to the slumber party as I showered and dressed in new jeans, a clean white t-shirt, and my new black tennis shoes. I wore my hair loose and parted on the side, like Hattie. It didn’t fall smoothly like Hattie’s, but it shone more than it had when I lived at the group home because now I had time to wash out the shampoo and use conditioner. I let it dry without messing with it so the waves were even and almost pretty.
I made two roast beef sandwiches, sliced them diagonally, and placed them on plates with potato chips. I set the table with glasses and napkins. I checked the time. It was only ten A.M.
I drafted my article on the financial aid program, but I couldn’t stop watching the minutes ticking slowly by, which was so pitiful because it was only a tutoring session. I tried to recall every detail about Lucky, from the way he lounged against the counter, to his wink, and the concentration on his face as he bandaged my finger.
Then noon came. I paced up and down the small living room, biting my ragged nails, and ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. I counted one hundred, two hundred, three hundred before opening it.
Lucky stood there in a snug long-sleeved Evergreen Prep t-shirt holding a chem book and a paper bag. “Hey, Jane.” His smile was so bright that I thought it would illuminate all my defects: the uneven surfaces, blemishes, and dullness of my insignificant person.
“Hi, Lucky.”
“Bet you hate spending Saturday teaching a knucklehead.”
“Of course not. I’m happy to help.” The words sounded stiff and boring to my ears, like a customer service rep’s response.
“Yeah, right. You don’t have to be polite about it, because I’d hate having to tutor a dunce.” He held out the paper bag. “My mom sent cookies because she thinks we’re ten years old.”
When Lucky Radcliffe walked into my cottage, it seemed smaller. While he wandered around, I surreptitiously stared at him. He looked like he’d just gotten up; he had stubble on his jaw, his clothes were rumpled, and his gold and honey hair was tousled.
“You moved things around.”
I imagined that long body stretched out on a bed, and I nervously bent down to arrange the paper and pencils I’d put on the coffee table. “You were here before? When Bebe was here?”
“Yeah, and when it was empty, too. I helped fix it up. I painted the bedroom.” He walked to the fireplace and touched the mantel. “Mom wanted it to be like new for you.”
He didn’t say anything else, and I realized that I was standing there stupidly when I was supposed to be in charge of our session. “I made sandwiches. We can eat and study.”
“I ate cookies on the way here. I’m thirsty, though.”
I nodded, hiding my disappointment, and went to the kitchen. I put the sandwiches in the fridge and returned to the living room with two cans of soda. Then it seemed too late to go back and pour the drinks into glasses, the way he was used to at home.
We sat on the sofa and I opened his textbook. “Okay, we’ll go over the basics, so I can figure out where you’re at.”
“My head hurts already.” He reached for the bag of cookies. “Oatmeal with dried cranberries. Even Mom’s desserts are good for you.” He handed it to me and took one for himself.
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” I said, annoyed.
“There’s always room for a cookie.” He winked at me, and I forgave him.
I flipped open his textbook to the first chapter. “Did you bring your calculator?”
“I guess I should have, huh?”
“It’s okay. You can use mine.”
As we leaned over the coffee table to read the book, our shoulders occasionally touched. Although I was painfully sensitive to each contact, I tried to act casual.
“Jane, Jane, how can you like this stuff? My mind goes into overload.” He leaned back and threw his arm over the back of the sofa, brushing my shoulders.
My heart beat faster. “You’re doing fine. You get it. You should spend some time reviewing exponential numbers and memorizing chemical symbols.”
“No wonder my mom likes you, because you’re all business. How’s school going? Who are you hanging out with?”
“Your mother sort of set it up for Hattie Tyler to introduce me to her friends, Mary Violet Holiday and Constance Applewhaite.”
“That’s what I mean about treating us like we’re ten. Do you like them?”
“Actually, I do, but I would have been okay meeting people on my own. They’re coming for a sleepover tonight.”
“Sounds like fun. Should I crash?”
I turned my eyes down to the textbook as I felt the heat rise in my face.
“Relax. If Mary Violet’s coming, it’s going to be too girly for me. Girly movies and girly gossip. Don’t tell them how stupid I am about chem.”
“I would never say that!”
“I was joking, Jane. You can say whatever you want. They’re cool girls, especially Hattie. She goes out with Jack.”
“She told me. I was a little … surprised.”
“Because he’s so grungy and she’s a goddess? Yeah, but Hattie doesn’t care that he’s a slacker. She thinks he’s artistic.”
“Being artistic is nice, I guess, but I’m more interested in real things.”
“You haven’t seen Jack play yet. He’s like a grimy, hairy Pied Piper, only instead of rats, he attracts girls. Hey, I’m taking up all your time.” He picked up his textbook and stood. “How about next Sunday around four thirty? Mom says you should come to the house and stay for dinner.”
I nodded and walked him to the door. “We can go over any assignments you have then.”
“I hate chem, but I’m okay in biology.” Lucky suddenly grasped my hand. Turning it over, he ran his finger on the inside of my wrist, tracing the blue veins. My wrist was so narrow in hi
s large hand, and I felt vulnerable and nervous.
“Jane, did you know that the human body contains about five liters of blood?” His voice was quiet and intense. “It travels twelve thousand miles through your circulatory system every day.” His finger pressed on my wrist. “I can feel your pulse. It’s strong. The blood inside is warm, Jane, full of oxygen, minerals, and protein.”
I gazed into his eyes, able to see each eyelash and the gradations of silver and blue.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. His lips were parted and his expression was deadly serious and I thought he might lean over and … Then he dropped my wrist. “See you next week.”
Lucky walked out the door and sauntered off along the path.
My knees were weak from my desire for him. I went over and over what Lucian Radcliffe had said and done, but I couldn’t make any sense of it.
I came to an open spot of ground in which stood a little cottage, so built that the stems of four great trees formed its corners, while their branches met and intertwined over its roof, heaping a great cloud of leaves over it, up towards the heavens. I wondered at finding a human dwelling in this neighborhood; and yet it did not look altogether human …
George MacDonald, Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women (1858)
Chapter 12
Hattie and Constance arrived in the early evening, and Mary Violet showed up ten minutes later, saying, “Bonne soirée, belles dames. That’s French for ‘What’s up, my bitches.’” She threw a sleeping bag on the sofa and set a platter of brownies on the coffee table. “This cottage is like something in a fairy tale.”
Constance said, “I’m sure you’d be happier if it was made out of gingerbread and candy.”
“True, but getting boiled alive isn’t my idea of fun. Honestly, the old fairy tales are as bad as reading The Stranger.”
“Were halflings awful?” I asked MV.
“No, they were usually delightful. I meant gruesome old folktales, like the ones that inspired the Grimm brothers.”
