As far as school work went, it was a good year, the best Robin had ever had; but in other ways it was often a time of confusion and unhappiness. Sometimes it was like walking along the top of a wall with a bad fall waiting on either side.
She hadn’t been at Lincoln School very long before she found out that it did make a difference whether or not you were one of the “Santa Luisa kids.” In the seventh grade it was a quiet difference; no one called you names or refused to talk to you. In class and in the halls everyone was friendly. But at noontime, when everybody sat around in groups to eat lunch, all the kids who had grown up in Santa Luisa ate together. And the Village kids and others from farm labor families had their own groups. The Santa Luisa kids belonged to the school clubs and won all the elections; and for parties or anything outside of school the difference was even more important.
Because of Gwen, Robin was sort of in between. Gwen was important in the seventh grade at Lincoln School. And it wasn’t just because she was a McCurdy. There were others, like Laura Greenfield, whose families were well-known, but who were not important the way Gwen was. It was her bouncy good nature, her blond cuteness, and her cheerful impudence. Everybody liked Gwen—and Gwen liked Robin. And that didn’t change, even when Gwen was back among all her old friends, as Robin had thought it might.
Gwen wasn’t the kind of person who paid attention to the way things had always been done. If she wanted Robin to eat with her gang, Robin did; and with a few exceptions, like Laura, no one seemed to mind.
Laura was the kind of girl who had always had everything, and didn’t like any of it much. She was smart, but her grades weren’t very good. Robin thought it was because Laura used all her time and energy finding out people’s tender spots. She was an absolute genius when it came to knowing just what a person couldn’t stand to be teased about.
“Robin,” Laura would say in a sticky voice, “where’d you get that cute dress. Isn’t that the cutest dress? Don’t you like Robin’s dress? Where’d you get it Robin?”
So Robin would have to say that the dress came from the Dollar Store. There was no use lying about it, because one just like it was hanging in the window of the store. Then Laura would say: “Oh, really! Well, I’m going to have to tell my mother to shop for me at the Dollar Store. She always goes to the same old places like Olivia’s or Beauchamp’s.” Then Laura and one or two others would giggle. But Laura had to be careful not to let Gwen notice what she was doing. Lots of times Gwen didn’t notice. But when she did see what Laura was up to, she usually said something simple and right to the point, like, “Why don’t you shut up, Laura?” And Laura did.
At home at Las Palmeras there were good times and bad, too. There were good times at the McCurdy’s. At least twice a week Robin spent the afternoon there, studying with Gwen. Besides practicing the piano, she helped Gwen with her English and history assignments; and Gwen, who was best at arithmetic, made Robin really learn the multiplication tables for the first time in her life. Sometimes, when they were studying, Carmela would bring up some hot chocolate or Mrs. McCurdy would drop in to see how they were coming along.
When they were through studying, Robin would go home to the Village; but when winter came, it was dark by then, so Mr. McCurdy would walk part way with her or even drive her home in his car. Robin liked Mr. McCurdy and she could tell that he liked her. On the way to the Village they always found interesting things to talk about. That is, Robin did most of the talking, but Mr. McCurdy had a way of getting her started. Next to Dad, Robin had never met a grownup who was so easy to talk to.
Of course, there were good times at Bridget’s, too. Robin still staked Betty out every day and got up early to have time for a little visit with Bridget. Several times, in the evening, Dad walked Robin over to the cottage for a visit and stayed to talk for a while. Bridget and Dad always had a lot to talk about. Dad said it was remarkable how much Bridget knew, considering how little she was able to get around. She took an interest in things that you wouldn’t expect her to care about.
That winter, the bad times came when Gwen was busy with her family, or away on party invitations that, of course, did not include Robin. Then there were two whole weeks when Gwen was home with the flu. Without her, Robin didn’t seem to belong anywhere. Laura and her friends made it plain that Robin didn’t belong with the Santa Luisa gang; and the Village kids were just as bad when she tried to eat with them. Even Theresa, who had always been friendly, turned her back and said something about why didn’t she go back to the “reech keeds.” Sometimes, when she came home from school smarting from something Laura had said, or when someone from the Village called her “stuck up,” it seemed as if everything was just in miserable confusion.
There were other bad times when from behind a book she watched Dad sitting at the table in the cabin. His head would sink low over his cup of coffee, and his freckles would stand out sharply against the paleness of his skin. He would sit there as if he was just too tired to get up and go to bed. As Robin lay on her cot pretending to read, she would get angrier and angrier. She was angry at whatever it was that trapped people in jobs that weren’t good for them. She was angry at the tiny, ugly cabin that didn’t even have a decent chair for Dad to stretch out in, the way Mr. McCurdy stretched out in his big chair in front of the fireplace. She was even angry at Mama, who went on bustling cheerfully around without even noticing how tired-to-death Dad was getting.
But of course, there was a way to make everything all right. There was always something she could do whenever there was too much worry or confusion or anger. There was the Velvet Room. Once in a while Robin was able to visit it by sneaking away right after school. A few other times she managed to go in the evening right after dinner, but she couldn’t stay long because it soon got dark. But it helped even when it wasn’t possible to go there. Just knowing it was there made all the things that seemed to be pressing in on her move back. The Velvet Room was the center of everything all that fall and winter; a quiet core in the middle of confusion—like the eye in the center of a storm.
The Letter That Changed Everything
CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT. It was a good Christmas; at least it was much better than any the Williams family had had since they left Fresno. Bridget came to dinner on Christmas Day, and it was a real holiday meal. There was even a Christmas tree. Of course, it wasn’t a very big tree, and the decorations were only popcorn and tinsel from cigarette packages; but it was a real tree, and there were presents under it.
During most of the two weeks’ vacation, Gwen was busy with trips to Los Angeles and holiday parties; but Robin found plenty to do. She spent most of several days at Bridget’s cottage. She was making some new dish towels for Mama, and Bridget was teaching her how to embroider them. In between cross-stitching and making French knots, she played with Bridget’s animal family, and, of course, she made several visits to the Velvet Room. Except for one thing it was a very satisfactory vacation. And that one thing seemed to cancel out everything else.
Dad was worse. It was unmistakable. He looked paler and thinner than ever, and at times he seemed almost too tired to talk. Mama didn’t notice, or at least she didn’t seem to. She certainly didn’t mention it, and all her plans were just as cheerful and hopeful as ever. But it was plain enough to Robin. She remembered how Dad had been just before he got so sick the last time. And there was something else she remembered, over and over and over. No matter how hard she tried not to think about it, it kept coming back to her—the words she had overheard the doctor say to Mama in the hall of the county hospital. “Your husband must not have pneumonia again, Mrs. Williams. He won’t make it through another time.” That was just exactly what the doctor had said.
But there was nothing Robin could do, nothing at all. There was nothing anyone could do. So most of the time she just tried hard not to think about it. When school began again and she had to get ready for semester examinations, there wasn’t much time for either fun or worry, and she was almost glad.
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There wasn’t even time for the Velvet Room. She did regret this. And then early one Saturday morning, late in January, she was on her way home from Bridget’s when she heard the thud of hoofs and Gwen’s voice calling her name.
She answered and ran toward the sound. Gwen, on Mirlo, appeared around an orange tree. “Hi,” Gwen said, “I was looking for you at your house, and your mother said you were at Bridget’s. Here, give me your hand.”
Robin put her foot in the stirrup; Gwen tugged; and in a moment they were galloping off through the orchard. “Where are we going?” Robin asked.
“To Palmeras House,” Gwen said. “Mrs. Criley and Carmela are going to clean it today. I thought you’d like to see it. You’re always talking about it and everything. I asked Dad, and he said it would be all right if we went in and looked around while they’re cleaning.”
Robin was horrified. Would she be able to pretend well enough? How could she “ooh” and “ahh” over everything as if she hadn’t seen it before? And besides, she didn’t want to see Mrs. Criley and Carmela in her Velvet Room. She didn’t even want to see Gwen there, really. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could share with anyone.
“My mother didn’t say I could go, did she?” Robin asked desperately. “She told me I had to hurry right home today to help with the washing.”
“She said it was all right,” Gwen said. Robin had forgotten that Gwen was able to talk Mama into anything. There just didn’t seem to be any way out of it. There was nothing to do but pretend as best she could and hope that Gwen didn’t notice anything.
When they reached Palmeras House, a truck was turning into the weed-grown drive. It stopped just opposite the entryway, and Mrs. Criley and Carmela got out. Then a terrible thing happened: Fred Criley got out of the driver’s seat. He went around to the back of the truck and unloaded a lot of brooms and mops and a vacuum cleaner. Then he unlocked the big double front doors, and the three of them went in, with a clatter of mops and pails. Robin started after them in dismay. As if things weren’t bad enough, to see Fred Criley in the Velvet Room would be just too awful.
Gwen had jumped down off Mirlo and was tying him to a railing. “Come on,” she said. “What’s the matter with you? You look funny.”
“Nothing,” Robin said, getting down off the horse. “It’s just that old Fred Criley. I don’t like him.”
Gwen nodded. “Me neither. He makes me sick.” She shrugged. “Come on. He won’t bother us. Let’s go in.”
Pretending wasn’t as hard as Robin had thought it would be. Right at first, when they stepped into the wide entry hall with its upward sweeping staircase, Robin’s, “Oh, isn’t it beautiful!” sounded stiff with pretense; but then she started imagining that she really hadn’t seen any of it before, and after that it was almost fun: like being an actress. She was sure Gwen didn’t suspect a thing.
They went through the downstairs and the Spanish wing first. When they were in the room with the built-in bookcases, Gwen didn’t say anything about the secret passage, so either she didn’t know about it or she wasn’t supposed to tell.
When they finally reached the Velvet Room, there was no one there but Carmela. She was down on her knees cleaning the woodwork, and when the girls walked in, she jumped as if she’d been stuck with a pin. “Oh!” she gasped. “Madre mía! You frighten me.”
Gwen smiled at Robin. “Carmela doesn’t like it here very much,” she whispered. “She’s always worrying about La Fantasma.”
As Carmela went back to her polishing, Robin thought gratefully that it was a good thing she had been too busy to visit the Velvet Room lately. Carmela would really be nervous if the room had been freshly dusted when she arrived that morning. As Gwen showed Robin all around the room, she concentrated on keeping up her pretense of surprise. The beautiful old books, the huge leather inlaid desk, even the velvet-draped alcove, all the things with which she was so intimately familiar had to be commented on and admired. Even though Robin was very busy keeping her mind on saying just the right thing, something kept bothering her. Something seemed to be missing. She actually looked around several times to see what it might be before she realized that what she was missing wasn’t anything she could see—it was a feeling. The room, with Gwen beside her and Carmela bustling around in the background, was only a beautiful room. The feeling was gone. The thing she’d been missing was the wonderful private promise of the Velvet Room.
It was a frightening thing to discover. If she went away as soon as possible, and then didn’t come back for a few days, would all be the same again? She tried to steer Gwen toward the door, but there were still a few more things to see. They were still standing in front of the whatnot case when the door opened and Fred Criley walked in. He swaggered over and stood looking over their shoulders.
“What’s all that stuff?” he demanded.
Gwen twisted her mouth in distaste. “Pictures and things,” she said shortly.
“Them real jewels?” Fred asked, pointing to the small stones in the frames of the miniatures.
Gwen shrugged. “I guess so,” she said. “Would you like to go now, Robin? We’ve seen just about everything.”
“All right,” Robin said, trying not to let her enormous relief show in her voice. “We might as well.”
For weeks and weeks Robin had put herself to sleep at night by thinking about the Velvet Room, but that night she couldn’t. The peace and comfort were gone. When she tried to picture it, Fred Criley’s cocky face kept drifting into the scene. Finally, she just gave up and went to sleep feeling lost and lonely.
The next day, she knew she couldn’t wait long to go back. She had to go that day. And finally she found a chance to slip away. She was almost afraid to go. On her way there—in the orchard, through the tunnel, even in Palmeras House itself—she felt tense and worried. What if it wasn’t the same? What if the magic was still missing? But the moment she opened the door and stepped inside the Velvet Room, she knew that everything was all right.
It looked the same, of course, only cleaner; but that wasn’t what was important. The important part was that it felt the same, the same as ever. She closed the door behind her, ran into the middle of the room, and spun round and round until she landed in a heap on the floor, dizzy and giggling. Whatever else happened, no matter what else went wrong, there would always be the Velvet Room.
But the very next day the letter came that changed everything. Robin went to the mailbox herself. She noticed that there was a letter from Uncle Joe, but she didn’t feel particularly curious about it, even though it wasn’t like Uncle Joe to write a letter.
Uncle Joe Spaulding was really Dad’s uncle, and though he was Dad’s only relative, he had always seemed like a stranger to Robin. Even when the Williamses had seen him fairly often, before they left Fresno, he’d seemed like a stranger. Uncle Joe was just that kind of man.
Robin remembered that when they had visited him at his store, he would give each of the children one-half of an apple. He never gave them a whole apple, and not even a piece of candy from the counter near the cash register. Uncle Joe ran a shabby little grocery store and souvenir shop a few miles outside Fresno, on the highway that led to the mountain resorts. Out behind the store was a row of motor cabins that hadn’t been used for years and years. Uncle Joe had closed them up when his wife died because he was too stingy to hire anyone to do the cleaning and make the beds. Spaulding’s Grocery and Souvenirs didn’t have any close neighbors, and Uncle Joe didn’t have any friends. Robin thought he liked it that way. She had heard him say once that the reason he liked the tourist trade was that you seldom had to meet the same customer twice.
Robin didn’t hear about what was in the letter from Uncle Joe until that night right after dinner. Mama was never very good at playacting, and there was something unnatural about her voice when she said, “Robin, I’m going out to get some wood now. You come along and help.” Robin was puzzled. The woodbox was almost full, and besides, the boys usually got the wood.<
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Mama didn’t look at Robin on the way to the woodpile; but when she started loading the wood on Robin’s outstretched arms, she suddenly said, “Robin, we’re going to have to move.”
Robin almost dropped the stack of logs. “Move?” she cried. “When? Where?”
“I haven’t time to tell you about it now. Dad’s going to tell all of you soon, but I wanted to talk to you first. Dad’s worried about moving for a lot of reasons, but because of you most of all.” Mama had forgotten about loading wood, and Robin stood there with her heart feeling just as her arms did under the heavy pile of logs. “It’ll be harder for you to leave than the rest of us—because of Bridget and Gwen and doing so well in school and all. But you’re just going to have to pretend that you don’t care much. This new job won’t be nearly so hard for your Dad, and he’s just got to take it!”
Robin was so surprised at the fierceness in Mama’s voice that for a moment she forgot the dreadfulness of what she had just heard. So Mama had known and worried about Dad all the time she had seemed so unnoticing. With a feeling of shock Robin wondered what else Mama had been hiding beneath her cheerful chatter.
When they came back into the cabin, Robin tried to look natural, but Dad glanced at them sharply as if he suspected something. He went back to his newspaper, however, and nothing more was said until Rudy and Theda had finished their homework. Robin had pretended to do hers, but her mind was in such a turmoil that she accomplished very little. Finally, Dad put down his paper and said. “Well, now, if you’ll all put your books down, there’s something I want to talk over with you. You, too, Cary. I think you’re old enough to vote in this election.”
The Velvet Room Page 12
