CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning at breakfast Rose Rita tried to get Mrs. Zimmermann to talk about the photograph, but Mrs. Zimmermann rather curtly told her to mind her own business. This of course made Rose Rita more curious than ever, but her curiosity wasn't getting her anywhere. The mystery would have to remain a mystery, at least for the time being.
A few days later Rose Rita and Mrs. Zimmermann were in a town over near the Wisconsin border. Once again they had settled down in a tourist home for the night. Rose Rita went out to mail a couple of postcards, and on her way back she happened to pass a high school gym where a Saturday night dance was in full swing. It was a hot night, and the doors of the gym were open. Rose Rita stopped a minute in the doorway and looked in at the kids who were moving slowly around on the dance floor. A big ball covered with little mirrors revolved overhead, scattering coins of light on the dancers below. The room was softly lit with blue and red light. Rose Rita stood and stared. It was really a beautiful scene, and she found herself thinking that maybe going to dances would be fun. But then she glanced along the wall and noticed some girls standing by the sidelines. No one was dancing with them. They were just standing there, watching. It didn't look like they were having a very good time.
A wave of sadness swept over Rose Rita. She felt tears stinging her eyes. Would she be in that wallflower line next year? It would be better to climb on a train and ride out to California and be a hobo. Did they let girls be hoboes? Come to think of it, she had never heard of a girl hobo. What a lousy deal girls had, anyway! They couldn't even be bums if they wanted to.
Rose Rita felt angry all the rest of the way home. She stomped up the steps of the tourist home and slammed the screen door behind her. There on the porch sat Mrs. Zimmermann. She was playing solitaire. As soon as she saw Rose Rita, she knew something was wrong.
"What's the matter, my dear? Is the world getting to be too much for you?"
"Yeah," said Rose Rita sullenly. "Can I sit down and talk to you?"
"Sure thing," said Mrs. Zimmermann as she gathered the cards into a heap. "This was getting to be a pretty dull game, anyway. What's on your mind?"
Rose Rita sat down on the glider, swung back and forth a bit, and then said abruptly, "If I keep on being friends with Lewis, am I gonna have to go out on dates with him and go to dances and all that stuff?"
Mrs. Zimmermann looked a bit startled. She stared off into space for a minute and thought. "No," she said slowly, as she rocked to and fro on the glider. "No, I don't see that you have to do that. Not if you don't want to. You like Lewis as a friend and not because he shows up at your door with a bunch of flowers in his hand. I think it should probably stay that way."
"Gee, you're great, Mrs. Zimmermann!" said Rose Rita, grinning. "I wish you'd talk to my mom. She thinks Lewis and I are gonna get married next year or something."
Mrs. Zimmermann made a sour face. "If I talked to your mother, it would make things worse, not better," she said, as she started laying out another hand of solitaire. "Your mother wouldn't like it much if I started butting in on her family's business. Besides, she may be right. In ninety-eight percent of the cases, a friendship like yours and Lewis's either breaks up or turns into a dating friendship. You may discover next year that you and Lewis are going different ways."
"But I don't want that to happen," said Rose Rita stubbornly. "I like Lewis. I like him a whole lot. I just want things to stay the way they are."
"Ah, but that's just the trouble!" said Mrs. Zimmermann. "Things don't stay the same. They keep changing. You're changing, and so is Lewis. Who knows what you and he will think six months from now, or a year from now?"
Rose Rita thought a bit. "Yeah," she said at last, "but what if Lewis and me just decided to be friends the rest of our lives? What if I never got married, not ever? Would people think I was an old maid?"
Mrs. Zimmermann picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle it slowly. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "some people would say that I've been leading the life of an old maid for some years now. Since my husband died, I mean. Most women would've remarried, quick as anything, but when Honus died, I decided to try single life—widowhood, call it what you like—for a while. And you know, it's not so bad. Of course, it helps to have friends like Jonathan. But the point I'm trying to make is, there isn't any one way of doing things that's the best. I was happy as a wife, and I'm happy as a widow. So try different things. See what you like best. There are people, of course, who can only do one thing, who can only function in one kind of situation. But I think they're pretty sad people, and I'd hate to think you were one of them."
Mrs. Zimmermann stopped talking and stared off into space. Rose Rita sat there, with her mouth open, waiting for her to say more. But she said nothing. And when she turned and saw the anxious way Rose Rita was looking at her, she laughed.
"I'm through with my sermon," she chuckled. "And if you think I'm going to give you a handy-dandy recipe for how to live your life, you're crazy. Come on. How about a quick game or two of cribbage before bedtime? Okay?"
"You're on," said Rose Rita, grinning.
Mrs. Zimmermann got out her cribbage board, and she and Rose Rita played cribbage till it was time to go to bed. Then they went upstairs. As always there were two adjoining rooms, one for Rose Rita and one for Mrs. Zimmermann. Rose Rita washed her face and brushed her teeth. She threw herself down on the bed, and she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
Later that night, around two in the morning, Rose Rita woke up. She woke up with the feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong. But when she sat up and looked around, the room looked absolutely peaceful. The reflection of the moon floated in the mirror over the bureau, and the streetlamp outside cast a puzzly black-and-white map on the closet door. Rose Rita's clothes lay neatly piled on the chair next to her bed. What was wrong then?
Well, something was. Rose Rita could feel it. She felt tense and prickly, and she could hear her heart beating fast. Slowly she peeled back the sheet and got out of bed. It took her several minutes, but she finally got up the courage to go to the closet and yank the door open. There was a wild jangling of hangers. Rose Rita gave a nervous little yelp and jumped back. There was no one in the closet.
Rose Rita heaved a sigh of relief. Now she was beginning to feel silly. She was behaving like one of those little old ladies who peek under their beds every night before they turn out the lights. But as she was about to get back into bed, Rose Rita heard a noise. It came from the next room, and when she heard it, all her fear came rushing back. Oh come on, Rose Rita whispered to herself. Don't be such a scaredy-cat! But she couldn't just go back to bed. She had to go look.
The door between Mrs. Zimmermann's room and Rose Rita's room was ajar. Rose Rita crept slowly toward it and laid her hand on the knob. She pushed, and the door moved softly inward. Rose Rita froze. There was somebody standing by Mrs. Zimmermann's bed. For a long second, Rose Rita stared wide-eyed and rigid with terror. Suddenly she gave a wild yell and leaped into the room. The door crashed against the wall, and somehow Rose Rita's hand found the light switch. The bulb in the ceiling flashed on, and Mrs. Zimmermann sat up, disheveled and blinking. But there was no one standing by the bed. No one at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mrs. Zimmermann rubbed her eyes. Around her lay the rumpled bedclothes, and at the foot of the bed stood Rose Rita, who looked stunned.
"Good heavens, Rose Rita!" exclaimed Mrs. Zimmermann. "Is this some kind of new game? What on earth are you doing in here?"
Rose Rita's head was in a whirl. She began to wonder whether she might be losing her mind. She had been sure, absolutely sure, that she had seen someone moving about near the head of Mrs. Zimmermann's bed. "Gee, I'm sorry, Mrs. Zimmermann," she said. "I'm really awfully sorry, really I am! I thought I saw somebody in here."
Mrs. Zimmermann cocked her head to one side and curled up the corner of her mouth. "My dear," she said dryly, "you have been reading too many Nan
cy Drew novels. What you probably saw was my dress on this chair. The window is open, and it must have been fluttering in the breeze. Now go back to bed, for heaven's sake! We both need some more shut-eye if we're to go gallivanting all over the Upper Peninsula tomorrow."
Rose Rita stared at the chair that stood next to Mrs. Zimmermann's bed. A purple dress hung limply from the chair's back. It was a hot still night. Not a breath of air was stirring. Rose Rita did not see how she could possibly have mistaken the dress on the chair for somebody moving around in the room. But then what had she seen? She didn't know. Bewildered and ashamed, Rose Rita backed toward the door. "G-good night, Mrs. Zimmermann," she stammered. "I... I'm really sorry I woke you up."
Mrs. Zimmermann smiled kindly at Rose Rita. She shrugged her shoulders. "It's okay, Rosie. No harm done. I've had some pretty wild nightmares in my time. Why, I remember one where... but never mind. I'll tell you some other time. Good night now, and sleep tight."
"I will." Rose Rita turned out the light and went back to her own room. She lay down on the bed, but she didn't go to sleep. She put her hands up behind her head and stared at the ceiling. She was worried. First there had been that photograph, and now this. Something was happening. Something was going on, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what. And then there was that business of the break-in at Oley's farm, and the empty ring box. Did that have anything to do with what had happened tonight? Rose Rita thought and thought, but she didn't come up with any answers. It was like having two or three pieces of a large and complicated jigsaw puzzle. The pieces didn't make any sense all by themselves. Rose Rita figured that Mrs. Zimmermann must be as worried as she was. In fact, she was probably more worried, since the strange things were happening to her. Of course, Mrs. Zimmermann would never let on that she was upset. She was always ready to help other people, but she kept her own problems to herself. That was her way. Rose Rita bit her lip. She felt helpless. And she had a strong feeling that something really bad was going to happen soon. What would it be? That was another thing she didn't know.
Next day, toward evening, Mrs. Zimmermann and Rose Rita were bumping along a rutty back road about twenty miles from the town of Ironwood. They had been driving for about an hour on this road, and now they were about ready to turn back. Mrs. Zimmerman had wanted Rose Rita to see an abandoned copper mine that had once belonged to a friend of her family. At every turn in the road she had expected to see it. But the mine never appeared, and now Mrs. Zimmermann was getting discouraged.
The road was just plain awful. Bessie jounced and jiggled so much that Rose Rita felt as if she were inside a Mixmaster. Every now and then the car would go banging down into a pothole, or a rock would fly up and hit the underside of the car with a sound like a muffled bell. And it was another hot day. Sweat was pouring down Rose Rita's face, and her glasses kept getting fogged up. Sandflies buzzed in and out of the open windows of the car. They kept trying to bite Rose Rita on the arms, and she slapped at them till her arms stung.
Finally Mrs. Zimmermann put on the brakes. She turned off the motor and said, "Darn it all anyway! I did want to show you that mine, but it must have been on another road. We'd better turn back if we're going to... oh, Oh Lord!"
Mrs. Zimmermann clutched the steering wheel and doubled over. Her knuckles showed white under her skin, and her face was twisted with pain. She clutched at her stomach. "My... God!" she gasped. "I've... never..." She winced and closed her eyes. When she was able to speak again, her voice was barely a whisper. "Rose Rita?"
Rose Rita was terrified. She sat on the edge of her seat and watched Mrs. Zimmermann. "Yeah, Mrs. Zimmermann? What... what's the matter? What happened? Are you okay?"
Mrs. Zimmermann managed a feeble smile. "No, I'm not okay," she croaked. "I think I have appendicitis."
"Oh my gosh!" When Rose Rita was in the fourth grade, a kid in her class had died of appendicitis. His folks had just thought that he had a bad stomachache until it was too late. Then his appendix broke open, and he died. Rose Rita felt panicky. "Oh my gosh!" she said, again. "Mrs. Zimmermann, what are we gonna do?"
"We... we have to get me to a hospital quick," Mrs. Zimmermann said. "The only catch is... oh. Oh no, please no!" Mrs. Zimmermann bent over again, writhing with pain. Tears streamed down her face, and she bit her lip so hard that it bled. "The only catch..." Mrs. Zimmermann gasped, when she could talk again, "...the only catch is that I don't think I can drive."
Rose Rita sat perfectly still and stared at the dashboard. When she spoke, her lips barely moved. "I... I think I can, Mrs. Zimmermann."
Mrs. Zimmermann closed her eyes as another wave of pain swept over her. "What... what did you say?"
"I said, I think maybe I could drive. I learned to, once."
Rose Rita was not exactly telling the truth. About a year ago she had gone out to visit a cousin of hers who lived on a farm near New Zebedee. He was fourteen, and he knew how to drive a tractor. Rose Rita had pestered him until he finally agreed to teach her how to shift gears and let the clutch in and out. He taught her on an old wrecked car that sat in a field near the farmhouse, and after he had showed her the ropes, Rose Rita practiced by herself until she had all the gear positions straight in her head. But she had never actually been behind the wheel of a moving car, or even a car that just had the motor running.
Mrs. Zimmermann said nothing. But she motioned for Rose Rita to get out of the car. When she did, Mrs. Zimmermann dragged herself over into the seat where Rose Rita had been and slumped there against the door with her hand on her stomach. Rose Rita walked around and got in on the driver's side. She shut the door and sat there staring at the wheel. She was afraid, but a voice inside of her said, Come on. You've got to do it. She can't, she's too sick. Come on, Rose Rita.
Rose Rita slid forward until she was sitting on the edge of the seat. She would have moved the seat up, but she was afraid it would hurt Mrs. Zimmermann. Fortunately Rose Rita was tall for thirteen, and she had grown a lot in the past year. Her legs were long enough for her to reach the pedals. Rose Rita tapped the accelerator cautiously. Could she really do it? Well, she'd have to try.
Mrs. Zimmermann had left the car in first gear. But you couldn't start a car when it was in first gear, it had to be in neutral. At least that was what Rose Rita had heard from her cousin. Cautiously she pushed the clutch pedal in and eased the lever up into neutral. She turned the ignition key, and the car started instantly. Now, with her right foot on the gas and her left on the clutch, she pulled the gear shift lever forward and down. Slowly she began to let the clutch out the way she had been taught to do it. The car shuddered, and the engine killed.
"You've... got to... give it the... gas," Mrs. Zimmermann gasped. "When you... let the clutch out... give 'er the gun."
"Okay." Rose Rita was tense and trembling all over. She put the car back in neutral and started it up again. This time when she let the clutch out, she really floored the gas pedal. The car took a little jump forward and stopped again. Apparently too much gas was just as bad as too little. Rose Rita turned to ask Mrs. Zimmermann what to do now, but Mrs. Zimmermann had passed out. She was on her own.
Rose Rita gritted her teeth. She was getting mad now. "Okay, we're gonna try again," she said in a quiet firm voice. She tried and again the motor killed. It killed the next time, too. But the time after that she managed, somehow, to let the clutch out and press the gas pedal at just the right rate. The car moved slowly forward. "Yay, Bessie!" Rose Rita yelled. She yelled so loud that Mrs. Zimmermann opened her eyes. She blinked and smiled feebly when she saw that the car was moving. "Atta girl, Rosie!" she whispered. Then she slumped over sideways and lost consciousness again.
Somehow Rose Rita managed to get the car turned around and headed back toward Ironwood. It was dark now, and she had to turn the lights on. The road was totally deserted. No farms, no homes. Rose Rita remembered one ruined shanty that they had passed, but it didn't seem likely that there was anyone living in it. No. Unless a car just h
appened to come along, there would be no help until they reached the two-lane blacktop that led back to Ironwood. Rose Rita swallowed hard. If she could just keep the car going, maybe everything would turn out all right. She glanced quickly at Mrs. Zimmermann. She lay slumped against the door. Her eyes were closed, and every now and then she would moan faintly. Rose Rita clenched her teeth and drove.
On Bessie crawled, up and down hills, over bumps and rocks, and in and out of potholes. Her pale headlight beams reached out before her into the night. Moths and other night insects fluttered past. Rose Rita felt as if she were driving along in a dark tunnel. Dark pine trees lined the road on either side. They seemed to press forward until Rose Rita felt hemmed in. An owl was hooting in the woods somewhere. Rose Rita felt lonely and frightened. She wanted to drive fast to get out of this awful place, but she was scared to. The road was so bumpy that she was afraid to speed up. It was frightening to have a big heavy car under her control. Every time the car hit a pothole, the wheel lurched violently to the right or the left. Somehow, though, each time Rose Rita managed to get straightened out. Oh, please, she prayed, get us there, Bessie. Please get us there before Mrs. Zimmermann dies. Please...
Rose Rita was not sure when, but after she had driven along the dark winding road for some time, she began to have the feeling that there was someone else in the car with them. Rose Rita didn't know why she had this feeling, but it was there, and it was very persistent. She kept glancing up toward the rear-view mirror, but she never saw anything. After a while the feeling got to be so maddening that Rose Rita stopped the car. She put it in neutral, pulled on the emergency brake, and, as the car throbbed, she turned on the overhead light and glanced nervously into the back seat. It was empty. Rose Rita flipped off the light, put the car back in gear, and drove on. But the feeling kept coming back, and she found that it took a strong effort of the will to keep her eyes from wandering toward the rear-view mirror. The car was rounding a sharp curve when Rose Rita happened to glance up, and she saw, reflected in the mirror, the shadow of a head and two glittering eyes.
The Letter, the Witch, and the Ring Page 4
