The Daring Escape of Beatrice and Peabody (16 page)

It takes a while to quiet my heart. When it is still, I begin:

‘Heidi.
Chapter One.’

Susan gets up from where she is lying beside Ruth Ellen on the blanket and comes and sits in my lap so she can watch what I am doing. Jonathan goes over by the coat hooks.

‘Get back here,’ I tell him. ‘Now, sit down and listen.’

Our teacher barely looks up from her knitting. Her baby blanket is now as big as her lap.

Her knitting needles
click-click
as I read: ‘The little old town of Mayenfeld is charmingly situated. From it a footpath leads through green, well-wooded stretches to the foot of the heights which look down imposingly upon the valley. Where the footpath begins to go steeply and abruptly up the Alps, the heath, with its short grass and pungent herbage, at once sends out its soft perfume to meet the wayfarer.’

‘Ahhhh,’ says Ruth Ellen, already calming a bit. ‘I didn’t know you could read so well, Bee.’

‘Keep going,’ says Thomas.

And I do:

‘One bright sunny morning in June, a tall, vigorous maiden of the mountain region climbed up the narrow path, leading a little girl by the hand. The youngster’s cheeks were in such a glow that it showed even through her sun-browned skin. Small wonder though! for in spite of the heat, the little one, who was scarcely five years old, was bundled up as if she had to brave a bitter frost. Her shape was difficult to distinguish, for she wore two dresses, if not three, and around her shoulders a large red cotton shawl. With her feet encased in heavy hob-nailed boots, this hot and shapeless little person toiled up the mountain.’

‘She must be so hot,’ whispers Ruth Ellen.

It is surprising to see everyone sitting still. Just a few minutes ago, Susan was telling me she lubbed me a dozen times, and Thomas and Robert were running around the room pretending they were fighter bombers, and Jonathan was wandering over to see if there were any banana peels left in the trash bucket.

Now even Jonathan is sitting close to me so he can see the picture of the little bundled girl climbing the hill. We are all flopped around each other and everyone is quiet and listening, even Susan. She gets tired of sitting in my lap pretty quick and goes back to Ruth Ellen and Ruth Ellen runs her fingers through her hair, and that is enough for Susan. Soon she is sleeping.

I don’t get a chance to keep going, though, because a man with bottle-round spectacles walks into our room.

‘Beatrice Rose Hockenberry?’ The man is old as Ellis and his hair is slicked to the right with pomade. His trousers fold in funny places from all the wrinkles and look as if they were made for somebody taller, the way they drag on the ground. He waits for someone to answer, but I hide behind my hair.

No one moves, not even Jonathan. We are not used to visitors. The man turns to Mrs Spriggs. She is tucking her knitting into the desk drawer. ‘Beatrice?’ she says sharply.

I pull my hair tighter. Susan holds on to my leg. ‘I lub you, I lub you.’ Whatever could the man want? A slow trembling moves into my belly. I hand the book to Ruth Ellen.

Mrs Spriggs hurries her big old self over and pulls Susan off. ‘I’ll be right back,’ I whisper. ‘Draw me a little pig, okay?’

I follow the man down the long hallway. We walk into the office and past the lady in the half-moon glasses. She is filing her cherry fingernails and doesn’t look up.

He leads me into a small room off to the side, with a desk and chair pushed against the wall. He turns the chair around and motions for me to sit. He leans against the desk. It is very hot from the sun racing through the big shut window.

‘I am Mr Taft. I am from the school district. I am conducting research. Do you know why I’ve asked you here, Miss Hockenberry?’

I shake my head.

‘Your principal says he does not know much about you and I would like to get to know you a little better.’

I hold my hair tight.

The pomade has dripped onto his forehead and his skin gleams. ‘Now, we know nothing about your mother and father, or how you came to be at this school, for that matter. It seems you have no records.’

I nod.

‘Can you tell me about that?’

Oh, golly. I pull my hair tighter. I watch the floor. I take a deep breath and whisper how my mama and papa were killed in an accident when I was four and how Ellis kept me on and how Pauline took care of me. ‘She taught me stuff.’

He writes it all down.

I kick at a piece of lint on the floor.

‘Where did you live?’

‘In the back of our hauling truck. We moved from
town to town with our travelling show.’

The man leans forward. ‘You didn’t actually live anyplace?’

‘We lived all over. We worked for Ellis’s travelling show.’

‘What did you do there?’

‘I worked the hot dog cart with Pauline. I did not like it, that is why I came here, to this town, for a fresh start. I live with my aunts now.’

He writes that down. Then, ‘What did, ah, Pauline, ah, teach you?’

‘How to read, how to do math, all about the stars and the planets and trees and birds and the weather and about manners and, well, just about everything a girl could need to know. A lot more than I’m learning here, actually.’

He writes that down. I stand up. ‘Can I go now?’

‘Sit down, young lady.’ He looks down at his papers, then at me. ‘We haven’t gotten to your anger yet. We need to talk about that.’

‘I never said I was angry.’ I wonder about this man’s hearing. Lordy.

He writes quite a bit down, then looks back at me. His glasses make his eyes big as half dollars. ‘My report here says you showed indications of anger and difficulty when reacting to your handicap.’

‘My what?’

‘The birthmark on your face. I would like to talk about that.’

I scrape my heel against the floor. ‘I do not talk about that,’ I whisper.

He writes that down. ‘Well, I
want
you to talk about that, Miss Hockenberry. Do you know how you got the birthmark?’

I sigh. I think I had better get this over with so I can get out of here. I sigh again.

‘I was sleeping in the back of our hauling truck one night after Pauline shut down the hot dog cart and Ellis closed the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel and the Tilt-A-Whirl. And after every one of the stars had blinked out for the night so no one could see, that is when an angel came and kissed me on the cheek.’

He leans back, takes his glasses off and very slowly wipes them. Then he puts them back on.

‘You do not get a mark on your face by being kissed by angels, Miss Hockenberry. You are born with it. It is a birthmark.’

I sit back on the hard wooden chair and look out the window. I watch the sun shining through the pine tree where Mrs Spriggs knits.

‘I know all this,’ I tell him, speaking very carefully because he writes everything down. ‘Folks have always been telling me this, how my face is something gone wrong. Pauline made sure I knew all about how the mark is so deep you cannot wash it off. Except maybe with lemons you can fade it some.’

I sit up. ‘When you think about it, though, isn’t it better to believe in a kiss so soft you cannot hear it or see who is giving it to you? You are special when you think like this.’

He writes that down, too. ‘You are talking about
make-believe
, Beatrice. Don’t you know the difference?’ He looks up and waits for me.

You start to wonder about folks who are always trying to make you come around to their way of thinking, like they are the only ones who know the true way about things.

I am in the bathroom doing my business when Francine and her friends come in. I yank my feet high on the seat and wrap my arms around myself and try to block out what they are saying:

‘I’m going to bury her in spit the next time I see her.’

‘At least she’ll look better than she does now.’

(Lots of laughing.)

‘I bet she cries all the time. I would if I looked like that.’

‘Maybe she never looks in the mirror. I know I couldn’t.’

(More laughing.)

‘She could use pancake makeup like the movie actresses do, and hide it.’

‘She’ll always be an ugly duckling, no matter what. No swan could ever hide under that face.’

Could too, could too, could too
. I lean my face against the wall of the john, holding on to my sobs so Francine and her friends won’t hear.

I am weeping when Ruth Ellen finds me. Of course, she is a good friend so she makes me open the door and tell her what is wrong.

Sticks and stones do break bones and names do surely hurt me.

‘Oh, Bee.’ She turns my face to her and wipes my tears off my diamond. She hugs me awful hard and it turns out her hugs are almost as good as Pauline’s.

That afternoon, Ruth Ellen’s mama picks us up from school so she can show me how to make chicken soup. She has been promising me because I asked her one day what was the most nourishing thing I could make.

‘Why, chicken soup, of course.’

I don’t tell her why I need to know: Mrs Swift and Mrs Potter are getting thin as paper now that I am going to school and being friends with Ruth Ellen and I don’t have time to make so much cake. Some days I can almost see through them.

Ruth Ellen and I climb into the front seat and we are all squished tight as clams, which is just how I like it. I start feeling a little better about everything.

When we get out past Sam’s Drugs, we see Francine
walking home. She is wearing the dress her papa gave her. I pull my hair tight across my diamond.

‘Poor child,’ says Ruth Ellen’s mama. ‘Poor, poor child.’

Of course we want to know why Ruth Ellen’s mama would say such a thing about someone so horrid.

‘Well,’ she says after biting her lip for a minute, ‘I am only telling you so you will have some compassion for someone who is hurting. Do you understand?’ Ruth Ellen nods. I am not so sure.

‘I want you to know that we are not the only ones with pain in our life. Okay?’

Ruth Ellen nods again. I am still not sure.

‘Well, her father left. He ran off with a showgirl. Her mother was so depressed that her doctor sent her away for some rest and now Francine lives out past the cemetery with her grandmother. It is very sad to have so much trouble in your life.’

I wonder about somebody like Ruth Ellen’s mama feeling kindness for somebody as awful as Francine when she and Ruth Ellen and Sammy have it harder than anybody I know. There is still no word from their papa.

‘Well, first you need a chicken,’ Ruth Ellen’s mama tells me. ‘Like this.’ She pulls a bowl from the icebox that holds a picked-over chicken. I have to bend real close and squint my eyes to see even a few bits of chicken clinging to all those bones.

‘There’s hardly any chicken left,’ I say, standing up, taking the apron Ruth Ellen’s mama is handing me.

‘Yes, you do need someone to show you how to get four meals from a chicken, don’t you, sweetheart? My mama taught me and her mama taught her and I suppose it went all the way back. It’s a very important skill to learn.’

I tie the apron strings round and round my belly, trying not to show everybody that I feel brokenhearted over not having a mama or a Pauline to show me things.

Ruth Ellen’s mama pulls an onion and some carrots from a box under the sink and celery from the icebox. She hands me a knife. ‘This is to flavour the broth, so big chunks are fine. There’s no need to peel the onion. It will make the broth golden. Just chop it into four pieces.’

She scrapes four carrots with the edge of her knife, chops them up and plops the orange chunks in the pot.
I cut the celery. She pours in enough water to cover the bones and I shake in salt and pepper.

Ruth Ellen’s mama checks the stove by holding her hand over the burner and decides it is not hot enough. She reaches into the apple crate beside the stove and pulls out some of the wood we found the other day and shoves it into the stove. Then she puts the pot on the biggest burner.

Ruth Ellen pesters me to come outside with her because she wants to build fairy houses by the victory garden, but I tell her to take Sammy out and play with him. I need to learn more about cooking.

‘Can’t your aunts show you how?’ Ruth Ellen can be quite a bother when her leg is hurting and she wants to get her mind off things.

I do not want to get into a conversation about my aunts. I look from Ruth Ellen to her mama to Sammy. They have all stopped what they are doing and are looking at me. They are wondering about my situation, now that Ruth Ellen brought it up. I can feel it in the air. ‘My aunts can’t cook,’ I say softly.

Ruth Ellen’s mama reaches over and scoops up the carrot peels and tosses them in the compost bucket for the chickens. ‘Well, you are always welcome here whenever you want. You know that, Bee, right?’

My throat closes and all I can do is nod.

Later on, after we sit down and say a long prayer
for Ruth Ellen’s papa, and after her mama has to wipe away quite a few tears (and some from Ruth Ellen’s and Sammy’s cheeks, too), we get to eat the best chicken soup I have ever tasted, rich and golden and sure to nourish even my aunts back to health.

Ruth Ellen and her mama and Sammy drive me home, and this time when we pull up to my house, they all pile out before I can say no.

I am trying to think how I can get rid of them, but then Peabody barrels off the porch and Ruth Ellen’s family makes a big fuss over him. They don’t see him much now that I leave him home with Cordelia. Peabody might be house-trained, but he is not chicken-trained, and Ruth Ellen’s hens have too many tail feathers missing.

‘We’d love to see inside.’ Ruth Ellen’s mama is already standing on the porch looking in the window. There’s a light on in the kitchen and one in the library. ‘I haven’t been in this house since I was a girl.’ She giggles, sounding young enough to slide down the stair railing. ‘Not since Bernadette’s birthday party.’

I am near the porch swing, so I don’t have to stumble too far when I fall into it. ‘You knew my mama?’ I whisper.

‘Your mama?’ Ruth Ellen’s mama raises her eyebrow. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘My mama’s name was Bernadette. Bernadette Hockenberry.’

‘Yes, Bernadette married Tommy Lee Hockenberry. You are their daughter?’

I nod. ‘And she lived here?’

‘Well, of course she did, sweetheart. We were all the same age. My friends and I came to Bernadette’s sixteenth birthday party. Her father – your grandfather, I guess – rented a monkey and a trainer for the day. Only rich folks could rent a monkey like that, and a carnival truck pulled up right here in front of these roses and a young man came in with the monkey. Of course, that was the only party your grandfather ever allowed.’

My head spins. My heart whirls. I say it again. ‘My mother lived here?’

‘Well, yes, dear. Of course she did. Sweetheart, are you all right? You look a little pale.’

In this house that I picked out myself, the birthday-cake house with the frosting dripping off and all the protection? My mama lived here?

I try to hold myself together before all my pieces slip apart. I breathe slowly and listen to my mind try to explain things to me.

Ruth Ellen’s mama feels my forehead to see if I have a fever. ‘Didn’t your aunts tell you all this? I know you were young when your mother and father died, but didn’t anyone tell you these things?’

I shake my head.

‘Pleeease.’ Ruth Ellen interrupts. ‘You promised me I could come over. I want to see the inside.’

‘You have to let us in,’ says Sammy, who is already turning the knob and opening the door.

I hop up and rush to stop him, but I am weak from all my parts falling on the ground. Before I can count to three they step inside, and I don’t see any way out of it without being rude.

‘Oh, it looks just the same. Look at that staircase. Bernadette’s room was up there, the most beautiful bedroom I have ever seen.’ Ruth Ellen’s mama goes over and puts her hand on the rail. Sammy is already running up the stairs.

‘Wouldn’t you like to wait in here?’ I say quickly, telling Sammy to get down here and shooing everyone to the parlour and showing them where to sit. I point out how the little lace runners are for keeping your head off the upholstery.

‘Would you like some tea? And some honey cake? I made it myself.’

‘I love cake,’ says Sammy, jumping off the sofa, and Peabody jumps down with him.

‘You wait here,’ I say sternly. ‘I will bring everything out.’

Then I go out and get the tea ready and cut fat pieces of honey cake, wishing I didn’t have to keep my aunts secret. ‘Would you like some cake?’ I whisper, but Mrs Swift and Mrs Potter are so quiet you would think I live alone.

‘You do your shopping yourself?’ Ruth Ellen’s mama asks when I carry everything in on the same tray I used for Mrs Marsh. ‘You do all the cooking? And the cleaning? And get your own ration stamps?’

‘I don’t use sugar,’ I whisper.

Ruth Ellen’s mama looks slowly over at Ruth Ellen. I start to feel a little self-conscious. I pull my hair down and look in my teacup.

Generally, it is not good to feel sorry for yourself. You can get in a pickle that lasts for days. I make myself stand up. ‘Well, would you like to see the rest of the house?’

‘Oh yes,’ says Ruth Ellen.

First because it is so impressive, and because I am not sure how Ruth Ellen’s leg will do on the steep stairs, I show them the library.

‘Some terrible things have been written about my aunt so she is correcting that. She’s writing her autobiography.’

Ruth Ellen’s mama walks over to the desk and looks through the papers and at the pen and the inkpot.

She picks up one of the books on the desk. ‘Why, these are all biographies of Abigail Swift.’

‘Yes, my aunt.’

‘Your aunt is Abigail Swift? The aunt you live with now?’ She waits for me to answer but I am getting a little worried about how things are going. Peabody is flopped on Mrs Potter’s sofa watching us. He is wondering how things will turn out, too.

Ruth Ellen skip-hops over to look at the papers on the desk. Her mama flips through the book. ‘Why, Bee, Abigail Swift would be one hundred and twenty-five years old! Surely this cannot be your aunt. This is Abigail Swift, the famous abolitionist and suffragist.’

‘Yes,’ I say, fumbling with my words. I can tell Ruth Ellen’s mama thinks I am making everything up.

She puts the book gently on the desk. She reaches for my shoulder and rubs it while I am fighting back tears. ‘Why don’t you come home with us, Bee? You could stay with us for a while.’

I back up and scoop up Peabody. I want my bed upstairs. I want to hide under my blankets and make Peabody hide with me. I want all the thoughts rolling in my head to go away. I shake my head.

‘My aunts would wonder where I am. Besides, Peabody wouldn’t want me gone. And I have to take care of Cordelia.’