Andi Unexpected

by Amanda Flower

Before our parents died, Bethany and I had regularly attended church back home. I think Bethany used our parents’ death as an excuse not to go now. She hadn’t been to church in a while. And eventually I’d stopped attending too because everyone treated me like the poor little orphan. Maybe in Killdeer it would be different.

  “So what if I have?” I snapped. “Our parents died, and you turned into a brat.”

  “Andi!” Amelie gasped.

  Bethany pushed back from the counter. Her jaw was clenched.

  I felt a twist in my gut. Did I say that because I’m hurt she told Bergita that she misses Mom and Dad more than I do? I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  My sister wouldn’t look at me while she put her plate in the dishwasher. My heart sank. I’d just ruined all of the progress we’d made while working in the attic together. She’d never forgive me.

  “I’m going to my room,” Bethany said.

  Amelie tapped the counter with her blue fingernails. “Andi, we’ll all go to church tomorrow.”

  “Not me,” Bethany said, inching her way out of the kitchen.

  Amelie frowned. “Yes, you will—unless you’d rather stay home and mow the lawn?”

  Bethany stomped out of the room.

  The next morning, Amelie, Bethany, and I piled into the back of Bergita’s minivan. Bergita and Colin rode up front. As we headed for the College Church, I thought to myself that a university was a pretty strange place to attend church; but according to Amelie, Michael Pike Senior wanted the chapel built on the campus. And the College Church still held Sunday services even after Michael Pike College had evolved into Michael Pike University.

  Bergita smiled in the rearview mirror. “This is the church I attended as a child, Andi. The one where I got in trouble while snatching those cookies.”

  Separated from the surrounding dorms, classroom buildings, and library by lush green lawns aptly named The Green, the church building was made of gray-purple stone, a unique color I’d seen repeated throughout the campus—even on the newer buildings. I couldn’t identify it, so I asked Colin why the stones looked that color.

  “It’s quartzite,” he said. “Quartzite starts out as sandstone, but then it changes due to the heat and extreme pressure caused by the rock’s proximity to volcanic belts or earthquake fault lines.”

  Bethany stared at him. “Do you read the dictionary for fun?”

  Colin blushed.

  I would have to add geology to my list of sciences to investigate. In the short time that I’d known Colin, I’d learned that he has a wealth of knowledge. He claimed it was from watching Jeopardy every night with Bergita, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he read a lot of books too.

  As we walked from the parking lot to the church, its stone steeple strained toward the heavens, as though trying to reach the highest cirrus clouds above. The dark outline of the heavy iron bell stood out against the late June sky.

  Before we entered the church, Amelie pointed at a tiny brick building that looked like a little house behind the church. “You were asking about Great-Grandpa Patterson, Andi?”

  I looked in the direction she pointed.

  “See that little building over there? It’s just an office now, but they used to use it as a guesthouse for special speakers who visited campus. Nowadays the speakers stay in a hotel. But at the time when your great-grandfather taught here, he insisted that guest speakers have a nice place to stay on campus. Since it was his idea, they named the house after him.”

  We walked over to the building.

  “Don’t be too long,” Bergita called after us. “We’re late already.”

  Mounted on the side of the building, a plaque said, BOGGS GUESTHOUSE, 1950.

  “Wow,” I said. “It’s our name.”

  Amelie grinned, and even Bethany looked a little impressed.

  The inside of the church building didn’t appear modern in the least. The odor, a musty mixture of old wood, ancient books, and furniture polish, accosted my nostrils. It smelled like the inside of every historical landmark I’d ever toured during school field trips. From the beamed ceiling to the flagstone entry, everything seemed preserved as though I had stepped back in time. But this would have been much further back than the time of the first Andora—a time of footmen, horse-drawn carriages, and corsets. The thought of corsets made me happy that I didn’t live during that era and could wear jeans and a T-shirt to school.

  Bergita led us to a pew near the back. The way she chose the seat made me think it was her regular pew. Several people greeted her on the way in. I sat between Colin and Bethany. Bergita and Amelie sat on either end.

  Bethany shook her head at me. “You could have dressed up a little for church, Andi.”

  “I did,” I whispered back.

  She snorted. My fashionista sister had purposefully chose her outfit this morning—a ruffled skirt and top—while I wore jeans and sneakers. But I’d replaced one of my usual science camp T-shirts with a green button-down shirt.

  The pipe organ labored on in the choir loft. Its long heavy tones made me drowsy. My eyes drooped and were half-closed when the call to worship began. The congregation stood and read from the folded bulletins that the ushers had handed to us as we entered the church.

  Colin elbowed me in the ribs, and I glared at him, rubbing my side. Colin’s elbow was particularly sharp. He ducked his head. “Do you see that lady in the front row?”

  “Where?” I stretched my neck, trying to spot the woman in question.

  “You’ll see her better when we sit down. She’s Miss Addy, the person I want you to meet. I bet she’s old enough to know something about Andora. Bergita says she’s older than dirt.”

  “I guess that would qualify.” I stood on my tippy toes. Half a dozen older adults were standing in the direction that Colin had nodded, but none of them fit his description.

  The hymn ended and we sat down. A woman in a canary yellow suit read a passage from the Old Testament.

  “First row. Blue hair,” Colin hissed.

  Miss Addy’s shoulders barely cleared the top of the pew. Her hair was gleaming white and styled in an elaborate array of pin curls. Despite my distance from her, I could see her bright pink scalp through the curls.

  Bergita poked Colin in the side. “Hush up.”

  We didn’t say anything more after that.

  After the service, we filed out with the congregation onto the front lawn. Colin and I hovered by the door waiting for Miss Addy to emerge. Amelie chatted with someone who looked like a professor, and Bergita gossiped with some friends. Bethany was nowhere in sight.

  Miss Addy stepped outside, squinting at the sunshine and supporting herself with a sturdy dark wood cane. She stopped and shook the pastor’s hand. The pastor’s face opened in a fake smile. Miss Addy punctuated her statements to him with a stomp of her cane. After a few minutes spent critiquing his sermon, she carefully made her way down the stone steps. As soon as she hit the brick walkway, Colin moved in. I followed.

  “Good morning, Miss Addy,” he said.

  She squinted at him. “Colin, the Carter boy,” she said to herself. “Where are your parents? I saw Bergita inside but not your mother and father. Don’t they have time for Sunday services?”

  Colin swallowed. “They had to work at the hospital today.”

  “On the Sabbath!” she gasped and shook her head. “That’s horrible. I’m glad your grandmother has enough to sense to bring you in spite of your parents. Children should grow up in church. There’s no other acceptable way.” She spotted me hovering behind Colin. “And who is this?”

  Colin stepped out of the way, and I grimaced. There went my human shield.

  “This is Andi Boggs, Amelie’s niece.”

  “You’re the child who lost her parents in that plane crash down in the tropics, aren’t you? I thought there were two of you.”

  “I have an older sister named Bethany. She’s here too,” I said.

 
; “That’s good. We don’t see much of your aunt.” Her small, dark eyes bore into me. “What is your name again?”

  “Andi.”

  She shook her head. “Andi’s not a fit name for a girl. Parents today think they have the license to name their children whatever they wish. Ridiculous. You hardly hear any good solid names anymore. I miss names like Ruth or Mary or Rebecca. It’s all Apple, Mango, and Pear these days. What, do people think they are making a fruit salad instead of naming a child? My land, everyone has a strange, off-putting name. It’s shameful.”

  “Andi is short for Andora.”

  Miss Addy let out a puff of air. “What did you say?”

  “My full name is Andora Boggs.”

  “Oh, well, that’s … better.” Her hand fluttered to the floral scarf around her neck. “Well, I must find Mrs. Chesterton. She promised to take me home. They won’t let me drive anymore, you see.” She lost her grip on her cane, and it fell to the ground.

  I bent to pick up the cane and handed it to her. “Does that name mean something to you? Is there something you can tell us about the Andora Boggs who was born in December 1929?”

  Miss Addy’s eyes widened. “Andora? No, I … sorry, I really must go now. I hope to see you and your aunt here at church more often. Good day.” She whirled around without another word and scurried away faster than I would have thought possible, holding her cane just above the ground. She never looked back.

  I glanced at Colin. “Well, we know one thing for sure.”

  Colin frowned. “What’s that? She didn’t tell us anything.”

  “You’re wrong. Her reaction told us a lot. I’m willing to bet Miss Addy knows exactly who Andora was. But for some reason she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  CASE FILE NO. 12

  After church, we ate lunch in the university’s cafeteria. In the large dining hall, summer students shouted to each other across the room. We sat at a long table beside a huge window. On either side of our table, students ate, studied, and laughed at equally long tables. The window gave a clear view of the campus grounds and the church. The pastor stood on the front steps of the church, locking the doors.

  I took a big bite of my pizza.

  “Colin just told me about your run-in with Miss Addy,” Bergita said.

  A piece of cheese lodged in my throat, and I gulped down half of my Coke.

  “I hope that’s okay,” Colin said quickly. “Bergita knows Miss Addy better than we do, and she might know why Miss Addy reacted that way.”

  I swallowed and gave Colin a pointed look. “What do you think about it, Bergita?”

  “Don’t know. But it makes me think you’ve stumbled onto something. Miss Addy is a straightforward kind of lady. She says what she thinks and doesn’t care who hears her. I bet she knows all about your Andora.”

  The screech of a chair scratching across the linoleum floor caught my attention. I looked behind me and saw Dr. Girard leaving a table packed with students.

  I glanced at Colin, but he was digging into his cheeseburger and hadn’t noticed.

  Bergita started telling us a story about the time when my dad was fourteen and fell off the roof of our house. “He was always getting into or climbing onto something—”

  My eyes followed Dr. Girard as he threw away his trash and dropped off his tray on his way out of the dining hall.

  “I have to use the bathroom,” I interrupted.

  Bergita blinked. “Sure thing, honey. You go right ahead.”

  Bethany, who was bent over her sketchbook, sighed. “Andi, you’re not in preschool. You don’t have to make a public service announcement when you have to use the potty.”

  I jumped up from my seat and followed Dr. Girard. Outside the cafeteria, I spotted him walking toward the church. If I followed him, I’d need to cross directly in front of the big window where my family and the Carters were eating lunch. Dr. Girard had almost reached the steps of the church. I hoped Bergita kept the group occupied with more of her stories.

  I tailed him, not sparing even one glance behind me. What was Dr. Girard up to, and why had he left so quickly when Bergita said Andora’s name? Was it a coincidence? Something told me it wasn’t. He’d reacted to her name. I knew it.

  Instead of going up the church steps, Dr. Girard followed the brick sidewalk on the left side of the building. He walked with long, confident strides and breezed right past the church and headed toward more academic-looking buildings. Passing students greeted him along the way; whenever he stopped to talk to them, I ducked behind a nearby bush or trash can.

  At last, he arrived at a stone building with the name WHIT HALL carved in stone above the door. I hid around the corner of the building, with one eye peeking out and watching his every move. Dr. Girard used a key card to enter the hall. He threw the door open with a flourish and waltzed inside. I sprinted for the door and caught it just as it was about to close.

  CASE FILE NO. 13

  Whit Hall’s main entryway had a vaulted glass dome for a ceiling and polished marble floors. I shivered. The thick stone walls and marble floors kept the building a chilly temperature.

  Dr. Girard was long gone. I stumbled forward, unsure of which way I should turn. Then I saw the building directory bolted to the wall. Under HISTORY DEPARTMENT it read, DR. ANTHONY GIRARD, DEPARTMENT CHAIR, ROOM 102B. A friendly arrow pointed me in the right direction. How convenient.

  The rubber soles of my sneakers squeaked on the glossy marble floor. So I took them off and carried them in my hand. Walking on the cold marble barefoot felt like tip-toeing on ice. I moved stealthily down the hallway.

  When I reached the history department suite, the outer door was standing ajar and the lights were on inside. I slipped inside. A generic-looking reception area with two large connected desks dominated the front of the suite. On both desks sat computers and stacks of files. A hunter green sofa with two matching armchairs sat in one corner. A fake dusty palmetto plant sat between the chairs. The room possessed about as much appeal as a dentist’s waiting room.

  Dr. Girard’s voice floated down the hall that led deeper into the department. I couldn’t make out any of his words. So I moved around the reception desk and peeked down the hallway. Counting four or so doors down the darkened hallway, my eyes settled on the only one with light streaming under it.

  I inched along the wall, hopping from doorframe to doorframe and working my way toward the lit office. The door stood open just a crack. When I was two doors away from my target, I could hear Dr. Girard clearly.

  “I’m telling you, Miranda, this has all the makings of a small-town exposé.” He paused. “I know I need more proof. But I’m on it. We could turn this into a series on children from the Great Depression. Tom Brokaw made a mint off of The Greatest Generation, so why can’t I?” Another pause. “Yes, yes, you’re right. I won’t get carried away. Have you heard any word?” Pause.

  Dr. Girard had to be talking on the telephone.

  “Excellent, excellent. So they’re interested.” Pause. “I can have the full proposal to you by the end of the month.” His voice sounded angry. “Well, you want me to check out the facts, don’t you? That will take time. All I have are rumors and old newspaper clippings.” He sighed. “I don’t want to approach the family just yet. But I will in good time. All right. I’ll be in touch.” I heard a soft click as though he’d just replaced the handset. Then I heard the soft squeak of body weight shifting in a chair. My heart leapt into my throat.

  Dr. Girard began whistling an unrecognizable tune, and suddenly the light went out in his office. I looked up and down the hallway for somewhere to hide. Nothing. I quietly ran back to the reception area clutching my sneakers to my chest. Scooting under one of the massive reception desks, I tucked the rolling desk chair in after me just as Dr. Girard’s whistles filled the hallway. His melody passed overhead, the whole room darkened as he flipped off the light switch, and I heard the soft click of the suite door as it closed.

  I relaxed as I
peek out from under the desk. I would wait a few minutes just to make sure Dr. Girard was really gone before I left.

  Then, to my horror, the door handle moved and the door cracked open again.

  “Good morning, Joan. What are you doing here on a Sunday afternoon?” Dr. Girard asked.

  “You know a secretary’s work is never done. I thought I’d just finish up some projects while the office is quiet. I leave for Hawaii on Friday.”

  “I hope my book proposal is one of those projects,” said Dr. Girard.

  “It is,” she said.

  The secretary? That meant I was probably hiding under Joan’s desk. I had to move. The doors lining the hallway were all closed. I prayed one of them was also unlocked.

  The door to the suite opened a little wider, and I could see Dr. Girard through the crack. I had to move now. I ran to the first door at a low crouch and tried the handle. I was in luck, the door was unlocked. I slipped inside the room just as Joan turned on the lights in the reception area.

  I leaned against the closed door and listened to the muffled sounds of Joan moving around the main office. I had to get out of here. Who knew how long she planned to stay? I looked around and found I wasn’t hiding in a professor’s office but a workroom. An enormous copier stood on one side of the room, and the other side was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves holding reams of paper in every color I could imagine.

  Outside the workroom, rock music started playing. That was good because it would be harder for the secretary to hear me, but it was also bad because I might not hear her if she decided to make copies.

  My eyes fell on a window.

  Duh! A window.

  It was conveniently located for pesky kids and cat burglars alike. A long table covered with office supplies like tape dispensers, staplers, and stacks of legal pads sat underneath it. I climbed onto the table, taking care to be as quiet as possible. I placed my sneakers beside me on the tabletop and unlocked the window. It opened easily. With care, I popped out the screen and stuck my head through the opening. Luckily, the history department was located on the first floor of the building. Below me, I spotted a bed of flowers, but I didn’t see anyone around. The secretary must have opened her window too because the rock music seemed to be even louder outside. I wouldn’t have to worry too much about being quiet. Which was good.