Child of Darkness (4 page)

"We want you to be as comfortable as a baby blue-bird in her nest," Nana Prescott told me.
I mouthed my thank-you's, but I was still too nervous and afraid to really smile. The two of them watched me look over the room, both standing in the doorway, smiling like proud new grandparents should smile. The happier and more excited about me they were, the more nervous I grew, and the tighter and tighter I drew that cocoon around me. I'm sure that, among other things, was what eventually discouraged them.
As soon as I had put away my things, I went with Nana Prescott to the kitchen.
Once again she was the nervous one, babbling about her childhood, her school days, her parents and grandparents, moving from one topic to another like a bored television viewer flipping channels. It was as though she was told she had to get everything about her past out and in my head before I went to sleep. I was polite and spoke a little more about myself, mainly because I was curious about her and Papa Prescott and their children and grandchildren. I looked at all the pictures and heard her descriptions of everyone.
"They're all going to love you," she predicted. "You'll see."
Was that possible? Could anyone just look at me and love me, or was that just another one of the lies that trailed adults like so many ribbons caught in the wind?
I helped her set the table, and then I went up to my room and looked at the books on the shelf, children's book and young adult books their daughter Michelle had read and kept. Some of them I had read, too, but others attracted my interest. Strangely, I felt guilty every time I saw something I liked or took pleasure in anything that would be mine.
At dinner, Nana Prescott bragged to Papa Prescott how much I had helped her. I had done very little, but I could see she thought exaggerating would make me feel good. I did enjoy the dinner she made. It was tastier than the food at the orphanage, and there was her homemade blueberry pie and ice cream for dessert. Papa Prescott talked about his golf game, even though it was pretty clear Nana Prescott had no interest and thought he should be talking about something that would interest me. It was as if he didn't see her, or me, for that matter. At times it was more like he was talking to himself aloud.
Is this what happens to people when they grow old together? I wondered. Do they begin to separate in lit- tle ways until they wake up one morning and discover they are all alone again? They didn't have what I had, I thought. They didn't have the something wonderful that held us all together, all of us tied together by whispers and shadows. Yes, that was what I missed the most now. Just thinking about it made me sad.
"Are you all right, dear?" Nana Prescott asked me. She saw the expression on my face, I guess.
I nodded.
"She's just tired," Papa Prescott said, smiling at me. "It's been a big day for her."
Why didn't he say
you? It's been a big day for you? I
wondered. He made me feel like we were all talking about someone else, or like I was in a glass case and they were observing me.
Finally, I went up to bed.
The first night I went to sleep in my new room, I continued to have a battle with myself. One part of me wished I was back in the orphanage, even under the control and terror of Madame Annjill. Once again, I was reminded about betraying my real family. Another part of me didn't want to feel that way. It wasn't a rich and ornate bedroom, but after spending the last six years in a room with three other girls, each of us confined to a small space for our possessions and schoolbooks, I was excited.
This was the first night I had slept anywhere but the orphanage for nearly four years. I couldn't keep my eyes closed, even though I was so tired. Every sound in the house made my lids snap open. I would wait and listen for the next tinkle, the next creak. Was that the sound of the front door opening? A window? Were those footsteps on the stairway? Was that my bedroom door being opened?
At one point it was opened. Nana Prescott had come to my room to look in on me and see if I was all right. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. She stood there for a few more moments and then quietly closed the door.
Immediately afterward, I heard Noble say, "Hey."
I turned and saw him standing there. He didn't look happy, even though I was overjoyed to see him.
"I was afraid you wouldn't know where I had gone," I said. "I haven't seen you for so long."
"That's not my fault. You stopped looking for me. You even stopped thinking about me."
"No, I didn't."
"It doesn't matter. I'll always know where you are," he told me. "And I'll always see you."
I watched him walk around the room, looking at everything.
"It's a nice room, isn't it?" I asked him.
"No," he said. "You have a nicer room waiting for you at home. This room smells like a laundry. Whoever cleans it uses too much soap and polish. It reminds me of a hospital room. And what are you looking out at here?" he continued after he went to the window. "Another house and a busy street. I've already checked their backyard. They don't have a garden; they've never had a garden, and that swing set is pathetic."
"Papa Prescott's going to fix it and make it look brand-new again," I said.
"Papa Prescott?" he said, grimacing with distaste. "That's what they want me to call him."
"Please," Noble said.
He turned around and put his hands on his hips. "They want me to be happy," I told him.
He shook his head.
"You won't be happy here, Celeste," he declared. "Don't ever think or imagine you will."
Then he turned and walked into the darkness of a comer and was gone.
"Noble," I called. "Noble!"
I must have been shouting because Nana Prescott came to my door quickly. She was in her nightgown, her blue-gray hair down to her shoulders. Silhouetted in the hall light, she looked like some deformed creature. Then I did scream.
Papa Prescott came quickly behind her, tying his robe as he approached.
"What is it?"
"I don't know. What's wrong, Celeste, dear?"
She flipped on the light. I was sitting up, staring at the comer in which Noble had disappeared. Tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Was it a nightmare, dear?" Nana Prescott asked.
She approached me tentatively, hoping for some sign from me that I welcomed her comfort, but all I could do was stare at the corner and hope Noble would come back.
"What was it?" Nana asked now, stopping a foot from the bed. "Celeste?"
I didn't respond.
She turned to Papa Prescott and shrugged. "What should I do?"
"Celeste," he said more firmly. "What seems to be bothering you? Did something frighten you?"
Finally I turned to them and wiped my cheeks, flipping the tears to the side.
"Noble was here, and I'm afraid he won't come back," I said.
"Who?" Nana Prescott asked. "Did you say someone was here? Celeste?"
I didn't answer. I dropped myself back, my head on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.
"She must be having a dream. I think she's still in it," Papa Prescott said.
"Yes, that's it. Poor child. The hard times she's gone through as an orphan are unimaginable," Nana Prescott said, and finally came to my bed and fixed my blanket around me. "There, there, dear. Papa and I are right nearby if you need us. Would you like me to leave the door open?" she asked.
I looked at her.
"Yes," I said. "Leave it open. Maybe he'll return." "Maybe who will return?"
"Noble," I said. I loved saying his name, and it had been so long, so very long, since I had told it to any-one.
They looked at each other.
"She'll feel better in the morning," Nana Prescott forced herself to conclude.
"Yeah, we all will," Papa Prescott predicted, and they walked out, she pausing once to look back at me.
"Come back, Noble," I whispered. "I won't be happy here. I promise."
But he didn't appear again that first night. Nevertheless, I knew he was sulking somewhere in the shadows. I could feel him there. Afterward, I knew he was following me everywhere, too. He even followed me to the new school I was to attend, and after I had been assigned my desk and had been introduced to the class by my teacher, I spun around and caught him standing in the back of the classroom. He smirked, fell backward into the wall, and was gone.
Over the next few weeks, I never stopped looking for him. My teacher complained to me and then to the Prescotts that I wasn't paying attention, that I was very distracted. She told them she couldn't understand how I had been doing so well in school. My first grades on her tests were always failing, and whenever she called on me in class to answer a question, I would simply stare at her.
Nana Prescott continually asked me why I was doing so badly. She volunteered to read with me, but I knew that would make Noble even angrier, since it was what he always did with me. I told her I didn't need her to do that.
"Noble will help me," I said.
"Who is Noble?" she asked.
"My brother."
"Your brother, but where ... when do you see him?"
"Whenever he wants me to," I said.
She shook her head and busied herself with some household chore. Later, she and Papa Prescott talked about me. I could hear them speaking softly in the liv-ing room after I had gone up to bed. Noble told me to tiptoe out to the top of the stairway to listen.
"I don't know," Papa said. "I don't like it. We might have bitten off more than we can chew, Julia."
"Oh, I'm sure she'll get better after a while. It takes time to get used to a new home, Arnold. Children often invent imaginary friends."
"This isn't an imaginary friend. It's her brother who died. Can't say it doesn't give me the creeps to hear her talk about him," he said. "And the way she stares at nothing, as if she sees someone. Frankly, it gives me the chills. Funny how Annjill didn't mention anything about this."
They were quiet.
I started back to my room. Noble was standing in the doorway.
"See what I mean? You don't belong here," he said, turned and went inside.
But he wasn't there when I entered. I went to bed and waited and listened for him. He didn't return, and I fell asleep.
The following day Mr. Fizer, the school counselor, asked to meet with me. He had curly blond hair and very friendly and warm blue eyes. I saw the picture of his wife and two children on his desk. He had a girl who looked to be about fifteen in the picture and a son, whom I had seen in the hallway, who was eight years old and two grades below me. I couldn't help wondering why there was such an age difference between his two children. In the family portrait, I thought his wife looked older than him.
"It's always hard to start a new school," he said almost as soon as I sat in the chair in front of his desk. "We all understand that, Celeste, but Miss Ritowski thinks you're having more serious problems. Is there anything bothering you that I can help you with, perhaps? I really would like to help you and to see you succeed."
I didn't answer. I stared at him, actually right through him.
"You're with very, very nice people. I've known the Prescotts for a long time. I went to school with their son, in fact," he said, smiling.
The windows of his office were behind his desk, which I thought was a bad idea. Anyone who was called to his office and sat in front of him could ignore him and gaze out the windows to see birds and even students who were having physical education classes on the ball field.
"Don't you like Miss Ritowski? All her students are very fond of her," he added before I could say other-wise.
I shrugged, which encouraged him.
"You shouldn't be finding the work too hard, not from the school history you have," he added, tapping on a folder opened on his desk. "So," he continued, leaning toward me, "why aren't you doing better, Celeste? I can't believe you're really trying. Are you really trying?"
I was about to answer him when I saw Noble walking up from the ball field. I was sure it was Noble, even though he was walking with his head down. I remembered too well that plodding gait of his and the way his head and shoulders would bob along with each carefully chosen step.
"Celeste? Are you listening to me?"
"My brother isn't happy about my being here," I said, my voice laden with anger.
"Pardon me?" He leaned back. "Your brother?" He thought a moment and then leaned forward again and quickly read some pages in my folder. "When have you spoken to your brother?"
"I saw him last night," I said.
Now Mr. Fizer was the one simply staring.
"Oh," he finally said. "Well, then, we'll have to find out why your brother is unhappy about your being here," he said, forcing a smile. "How do I get to speak to your brother?"
Noble turned abruptly to the right and disappeared from view.
"You can't talk to him," I said.
"Why not?"
"He doesn't talk to strangers," I said. "He never liked it when any came to our home. He would pretend they weren't there."
"Okay, if he won't talk to me, then maybe you can tell me why he is unhappy about your being here," Mr. Fizer said.
"He thinks I should go home," I said. "He's afraid I will forget."
"Forget? Forget what?" Mr. Fizer asked.
"My family," I said.
"Oh. Well, I don't think you will ever forget your family, but that doesn't mean you can't let other people help you and care for you and eventually love you the way your family loved you," he said.
"No one can love me like that," I told him, my eyes so narrow and fixed on his face, he actually raised his eyebrows and look flustered. "Don't ever say such a thing," I chastised, as if he was the child and I was the adult.
"Yes, well, I don't mean to upset you. I'm here for you if you need to talk. Any time, Celeste, any time at all," he said.
I pressed my lips together and turned away from him, slamming the door shut on everything else he said.
There were more conferences, but none with me. The talks were between the Prescotts and my teacher. Nothing they did or said changed anything, and the Prescotts grew more and more concerned. I overheard Papa Prescott tell Nana Prescott that it was even affecting his golf game. They began to argue more and more about me.
When I began to sleepwalk, as Nana Prescott described it, Papa Prescott grew even more concerned. She found me downstairs in the living room talking to Noble, and once she found me in the kitchen having a glass of milk while I talked to him. Each time, I told her what I was doing, and each time she had me go back to sleep.
I knew they were having endless conversations about me with their children, too. None had come yet to see me, but Nana Prescott spoke to someone, perhaps Madam Annjill, who advised her to do more family-type things with me.