The Velvet Room (3 page)

“Of course, of course,” Doctor Woods said again, digging into his bag. “Just a precaution. Mr. McCurdy likes to be sure the folks who live here in the Village are in good health, being so close to the big house and all.” He deftly scooped Shirley out from behind Mama and pried her mouth open. “Say ah! That’s a girl.”

He poked and peered his way down the line, teasing Theda and joking with Cary. Robin was last. “Well, well. Here’s the little bitty girl with the big eyes,” he said. “Let’s take a look at you. Don’t look much like your brothers and sisters, do you? Now just open your mouth. That’s the way. You the last one, or are there five or six more around somewhere?” Robin was glad the depressor was holding her tongue down so she didn’t have to answer.

But Theda did. “There’s Dad,” she said. “He’s working.”

“Already saw your dad. Mr. Criley told me where to find him, so I just stopped off at the mule barn on my way down here.” He began putting things back in the bag. “Well, you folks have a clean bill of health for the time being, Mrs. Williams. But you ought to try to get a little meat on those kids’ bones. Particularly that little one. Lots of milk would help.”

As soon as the doctor’s car bounced away through the gap in the eucalyptus trees, Robin drifted out the door and down the steps. She went slowly, because if she hurried, someone might guess she was doing what the family called “wandering off” and try to stop her. And she just had to get away.

L
AS PALMERAS VILLAGE WAS
a row of twelve two-room cabins. At one time they had been covered with a coat of yellow paint, but that had obviously been long ago. They sat up off the ground on foundations of narrow poles, so that to Robin they looked like boxcars with wooden legs instead of wheels. They had a movable, unattached look. It wasn’t a bit hard to imagine the whole string of them stumping off stiffly through the orchard. But of course they didn’t. Instead they just crouched there on their wooden legs, each one only a few feet from its nearest neighbors. A few pale weeds had found an unhealthy refuge under the houses, but everywhere else the soil of the Village had been scoured smooth by many feet. Its barren, dusty surface was varied only by occasional piles of trash, broken boxes, and rusty tin cans. Halfway down the row of cabins, Robin passed the rickety wooden building that held the toilets, the showers, and the laundry tubs for the whole Village.

A Mexican girl of about Robin’s age was coming out of the laundry room carrying a bucket of wet clothing. She had big dark eyes and long black braids. She smiled shyly and said, “Allo.”

Robin smiled back, but she didn’t stop. Just now she was in a hurry. Before she reached the end of the row of cabins, she began to run. When she came to the orchard, she went on running, but more slowly because the furrowed ground was rough and uneven. Every once in a while she stopped and looked around. By finding the hills over the tops of the orange trees, she could judge her direction. She was sure that if she kept going south, and then turned toward the hills, she would sooner or later come to the stone house.

It wasn’t as far as she thought it would be. Before she was even completely out of breath from running, she saw ahead of her the tops of the tall shade trees that surrounded the house. She cut toward the hills past two more aisles of orange trees, turned south again, and in just a moment she had come to a stone wall. Climbing over it, she dodged around some tangled shrubbery, and there it was.

Before her the stone walls of the house rose high with timeless strength. Once you got used to the idea, it didn’t seem to matter very much that the downstairs windows were boarded up and the lawn was a ruined tangle. It wasn’t frightening like other deserted houses. Robin had seen many frightening ones in the last three years — ruined rinds of houses, their doors gaping and windows staring blankly. But this house only waited, as peaceful as the hills that lay behind it.

After a while, Robin wanted to see more and began to walk slowly around the house. It was three stories high, counting what seemed to be some attic rooms with gabled windows and a round room in the top part of the tower. Apparently, there were three round tower rooms, one on each floor. It was hard to guess just how many rooms there were, but Robin thought there must be at least twenty — maybe even more.

Behind the main part of the house Robin came upon a wing that looked very different. It was lower, and was not made of stone. In places where the rough plaster had fallen away, she could see the surface of adobe bricks. She had seen bricks like that before. Once when they were going through Ventura, they had stopped for groceries on the main street right near the old Spanish mission. Robin had been peeking in the door when a priest came along and said it was all right to go in. She had been all alone in the huge old church. The thick adobe wall shut out the noises of the town, but the deep hush had seemed alive with ancient echoes.

The adobe wing of the house had a two-story veranda with wooden pillars and wrought-iron railings. The veranda faced a patio whose brick paving was scarcely visible through the dirt and debris. In the center of the patio was what seemed to be a boarded-up well, and near it was a second fountain. But this fountain was crumbling with age, and the stone figure in the center was chipped and broken, until it was impossible to tell what it had once represented.

From the brick patio another stone building was just visible among the trees. It was long and low, and as Robin walked toward it she decided it must once have been a stable or a garage. But before she had come close enough to be sure, she saw something that made her change her direction. The first rolling dips of the foothills began just a few yards ahead, and from the shelter of a tree-covered mound there rose a thin white twist of smoke.

Curiosity and apprehension seesawed in Robin’s mind as she rounded the wooded rise and saw before her a scene from a storybook.

A tiny stone house with a rough, shake roof sat up to its diamond-paned windows in hollyhocks and roses, looking like something from another time and place. A neat but faded picket fence enclosed the house and garden. Under the hollyhocks a half dozen black and white speckled chickens scratched and pecked.

Robin was just thinking that you could almost believe that three bears or perhaps seven dwarfs were going to appear in the doorway when, quite suddenly, the door opened and a woman came out. It happened so quickly there was no time to hide. The woman moved toward Robin slowly, leaning on a cane. When she reached the gate, she unlatched it and held it open, smiling and nodding her head.

It was all so strange and unexpected that Robin was frightened. It was no use telling herself that a tiny, crippled lady was harmless. For one ridiculous moment Hansel and Gretel flitted through her mind. But she didn’t run.

She didn’t run because of the way she sometimes had of switching places with people in her mind. For just a split second,
she
was standing there behind the gate, holding it open with an unsteady hand and watching the fear in someone’s eyes. So, although she wasn’t at all comfortable about it, she walked up to the gate and said, “Hello.”

“Hello, my dear,” the woman said. From up close she didn’t look old. She was small and a little bent, and her hair was white, but her face was not deeply lined. Her cheeks were pink, and her small chin came to a youthful point. “It’s so nice of you to come calling. Have you just been over at Palmeras House?”

“I guess so,” Robin said. “I’ve been to that big stone house over there. Do you think anyone minds? I was only looking at it.”

“I don’t think anyone would mind in that case,” the woman said. She turned slowly and led the way around the house on a narrow path among the flowers. “Have you been there before?”

“Just once,” Robin said, “but I want to go back some more if no one cares. I like it there. Do you know who owns it?”

The woman stopped and turned to Robin smiling. “Why, the McCurdys own it, child. All the land for a mile or so on every side of us belongs to the McCurdys. “I’m surprised you don’t know that. Aren’t you from the Village?”

For just a minute Robin wondered how the woman knew. Then she glanced down at her bare feet and too-small faded dress. She supposed she looked like a Village girl. She moved her arm quickly to cover the rip at the waist of her dress.

“Yes, I live at the Village,” she said. “But we just moved in yesterday. I don’t know much about it.”

The woman nodded. When they reached the back of the little stone house, she said, “I thought you might like to meet the rest of my family. But perhaps I should introduce myself first. I’m called Bridget. And what is your name?”

“I’m Robin, Robin Williams. Don’t you…I mean should I call you just Bridget?”

“That will be fine. I don’t bother with the rest of my name much any more.”

The back door of the stone cottage opened into a small yard of hard-packed earth, which was surrounded by gardens on both sides. To the rear were two small sheds which opened into fenced animal yards. The earthen floor of the little back yard had been swept clean, and a weathered rocking chair sat in the shade of an apricot tree near the house. On a bench near the back door Robin noticed a big ball of black and gray fur. The lady named Bridget patted the ball of fur, and it rolled apart and sat up — two separate animals. One was a large gray cat, but the other was — Robin gasped with surprise.

“A raccoon!” she cried. “May I touch him?”

Bridget nodded. The raccoon regarded Robin calmly and twitched his long thin nose at her outstretched hand. His black mask gave him a wicked look, but just now he seemed mostly sleepy. After a moment he keeled over against the gray cat and went back to sleep.

“His name is Pythias,” Bridget said.

Robin thought for a moment. “Then the cat must be Damon.”

“Excellent, my dear. Not many children would know that nowadays.” Robin wondered if she meant, not many Village children. “Where did you learn about Damon and Pythias?”

“I read about them,” Robin said. “A long time ago. I read all the time when I can get the books. Did the cat really save his life?”

“Oh, many times. You see, Damon is a dog chaser. He found out when he was just a kitten that dogs are afraid of cats that won’t run. And he’s been chasing them ever since. There are some dogs that come around here quite often, and they like nothing better than to tree poor Pythias. But they’re scared to death of Damon. He’s broken up more raccoon hunts than I can count.”

They both laughed. Robin scratched Damon’s head, and he leaned against her and purred with a roar like a motor. He had a huge head and a smug flat face. You could see why the dogs ran. He looked very full of strength and self-confidence. “I wonder why he likes Pythias?” she asked.

“They grew up together,” Bridget said. “They were both babies when I got them. Now perhaps you’d like to meet Betty.” They started toward the sheds, but the speckled hens were following so close, it was hard to keep from stepping on them. Robin tried patting one. Its stiff wing feathers made it feel hollow. It clucked hysterically, but it didn’t try to run away.

“I’ve never seen such tame chickens,” Robin said. “Why aren’t they afraid?”

“Most anything can be tamed if you have time and patience, and I have plenty of both,” Bridget answered. “Now here’s Betty, one of the most important members of my family.”

A white goat with brown and black spots emerged from the shed. Robin had always thought that goats were ugly, but Betty had a delicate deerlike face, and her brown ears were neatly trimmed in black. She put her head over the fence and nibbled at Robin’s arm. When Robin jerked her arm away, Bridget smiled.

“That’s just her way of saying ‘hello.’ You needn’t worry about being bitten. Goats have no upper teeth except at the back of the jaw. I wonder if you would like to help me tether Betty out for the day? Do you see her chain hanging just under the eaves beside the back door? And we’ll need the stake and hammer on the bench below it.”

Robin ran to the house and was back in a moment. They made their way very slowly around the pens and up the slope of the nearest foothill. Robin led Betty, who tugged eagerly at her collar. When they reached a spot where the grass had not been grazed off, Bridget told Robin how to drive the stake and attach the chain. On the way back, Robin noticed how slowly Bridget moved and how heavily she leaned upon her cane.

“Do you stake Betty out often?” Robin asked.

“As often as I’m able. The grass is good for her, and hay is expensive. Mr. McCurdy sends me some hay now and then, but it’s not always enough.”

It had occurred to Robin that the situation had useful possibilities. “It only takes a minute for me to get here from the Village,” she said. “Could I come every morning and stake Betty out for you? I’d like to.”

Under Bridget’s steady gaze Robin dropped her eyes. But she really
did
want to help Bridget, she told herself. It wasn’t just because of needing an excuse to come often to the stone house. Bridget smiled gently. “That’s a very kind thought, my dear,” she said. “But are you sure you’ll be permitted? Your parents may not want you to be coming here so often.”

Robin nodded with assurance, “Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind,” she said.

They were just entering the neat little back yard when Robin was startled by a whirring noise, and a spark of feathered lightning went right past her face. She blinked her eyes and opened them in time to see an incredibly tiny bird alight on Bridget’s outstretched finger. It was a hummingbird. Thimble-small, but confident as a blue jay, it sat on Bridget’s finger and cocked its iridescent head.

“A hummingbird,” Robin breathed. “It’s tame! Is it yours? I wish I had one.” There was a fierceness in her voice that surprised them both.

“I see we have interests in common,” Bridget said gently. “But a hummingbird isn’t supposed to be owned or given. I’m sure you understand that. I appreciate how you feel about him, though, because I feel the same way. So much beauty and perfection in such a tiny thing. Perhaps you’d like to feed him.”