Time for Andrew (9 page)

I grabbed the stool on the other side of Hannah and spun around on it a couple of times, hoping to get her to spin with me, but the only person who noticed was Mama. She told me to sit still and behave myself. "You act like you have ants in your pants," she said, embarrassing me and making Theo laugh.

While I was sitting there scowling at Theo in the mirror, John leaned around Hannah and grinned at me. "To celebrate your recovery, Andrew, I'm treating everyone to a lemon phosphate—everyone, that is, except you."

He paused dramatically, and Hannah gave him a smile so radiant it gave me heartburn. She was going to marry John someday, I knew that. But while I was here, I wanted her all to myself, just Hannah and me playing marbles in the grove, talking, sharing secrets, climbing trees. She had the rest of her life to spend with stupid John Larkin.

"As the guest of honor," John went on, "you may pick anything your heart desires."

Slightly placated by his generosity, I stared at the menu. It was amazing what you could buy for a nickel or a dime in 1910.

"Choose a sundae," Theo whispered. "It costs the most."

"How about a root beer float?" Hannah suggested.

"Egg milk chocolate," Mama said. "It would be good for you, Andrew."

"Tonic water would be even better," John said, "or, best of all, a delicious dose of cod-liver oil."

When Hannah gave him a sharp poke in the ribs, John laughed. "Andrew knows I'm teasing. Come on, what will it be, sir?"

Taking Theo's advice, I asked for a chocolate sundae.

"Good choice," John said. "You'd have to go all the way to St. Louis to find better ice cream."

While we waited for our orders, a large woman swept through the door and sailed toward us. Theo nudged me. "Oh, no, it's Mrs. Armiger," he hissed. "Now we're in for it."

As Mrs. Armiger drew near, the fountain clerk put my sundae in front of me. "Here you are," he said. "I made this one especially for you, Andrew. Plenty of chocolate sauce and whipped cream—just the way you like it."

Glad Andrew and I had at least one thing in common, I scooped up a big spoonful of ice cream. My mouth was watering for chocolate, but before I had a chance to taste it, Mrs. Armiger pounced on me. "How wonderful to see you up and about, dear boy. I was just plain worried to death when I heard you'd come down with diphtheria."

Her perfume hung around me in a cloud so dense I could hardly breathe. "Yes, ma'am," I stammered, trying hard not to cough. "Thank you, ma'am."

Laying a plump hand on my shoulder, Mrs. Armiger smiled. "Why, Andrew, I believe a touch of the dark angel's wings has improved your manners."

Theo gave me one of the sharp little kicks he specialized in. Blowing through his straw, he made loud bubbling sounds in his drink.

He expected me to do something outrageous too. They all did—the whole family was watching, waiting for me to mortify them. I could almost hear Mama holding her breath. I knew Andrew would never have sat as still as a stone, ears burning with embarrassment, but, unlike him, I couldn't think what to do or say.

"That's a very rude noise, Theodore," Mrs. Armiger said.

Mama snatched Theo's glass. "If you want to finish your phosphate, apologize to Mrs. Armiger."

Without looking at anyone, Theo mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Mama wasn't satisfied. "Sorry for what, Theodore Aloysius?"

Theo kept his head down. Trying not to giggle, he said, "I'm sorry for making a rude noise, Mrs. Armiger."

Mama gave him his phosphate. "That's better."

Theo kicked me again, harder this time. From the way he was scowling, I guessed he was mad that he'd gotten into trouble and I hadn't.

Catching my eye in the mirror, Mrs. Armiger said, "Your mother tells me you've forgotten how to play the parlor organ, Andrew."

I began to apologize, but Mrs. Armiger hushed me. "It's all right, dear. I understand." She paused to adjust her hat. "In the fall, we shall begin your lessons again. We'll get along famously this time, won't we?"

Not daring to meet Theo's eyes, I said, "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Armiger smiled at Mama. "I can't believe he's the same boy. Do you suppose some other child put that glue in my metronome after all? Surely it wasn't this dear angel who drew a mustache on my bust of Beethoven. Nor could he have been the rascal who climbed out my window on recital day and hid in a tree."

She squeezed my shoulder just hard enough to hurt. "No, no, no—not this sweet little fellow. It must have been some naughty boy who looked just like him."

After she and Mama shared a chuckle, Mrs. Armiger hugged me. "I believe I can make a perfect gentleman out of this child."

When Theo heard that, the laughter he'd been struggling to control exploded in a series of loud snorts. He tried to pretend he was choking on his phosphate, but he didn't fool Mama.

"Music lessons are exactly what Theodore needs," she told Mrs. Armiger. "The discipline will do him good. Suppose I send both boys to you every Wednesday afternoon?"

While Mrs. Armiger and Mama made plans, I stirred the chocolate sauce into my ice cream, appetite gone. Beside me, Theo seethed. He was blaming everything on me—the scolding, the music lessons, Mrs. Armiger. It was all my fault. He hated me.

***

Before we left Riverview, John insisted on taking our picture. "We have to preserve this moment for posterity," he said. "The Tylers' first ride in a motorcar—a memorable event if there ever was one."

Theo refused to get into the car. Sticking out his lip, he said, "I'm not having my picture taken with
him.
"

He meant me, of course.

Mama took one look at my face and grabbed Theo's ear. Giving it a little twist, she propelled him into the backseat. "I've had enough for one day," she said. "Perhaps you'd like Papa to tan your hide when he comes home tonight."

Theo mumbled another apology, and Mama slid into the car beside him. Keeping herself in the middle, she made room for me.

John posed us, told us to smile, warned us to sit still, and carefully pressed the shutter of a bulky box camera. Not satisfied, he rearranged us and took several more photographs, including one of Hannah behind the steering wheel.

"The very idea—a woman driving." Mama shook her head. "Hannah has entirely too many unladylike notions already. Voting, for instance. She wants me to join those suffragettes, but if you ask me, some things are better done by men."

While Hannah defended her right to vote and drive and spit on the sidewalk if she pleased, John started the car. In a cloud of dust and noise, we left Riverview and headed for home.

As the Model T bumped over the ruts in the dirt road, I gazed silently at the fields of corn stretching away toward the blue sky. Instead of laughing and singing with the others, I was thinking about the pictures in the attic. I couldn't remember seeing a single photograph of the Tylers in a car.

Did that mean this day wasn't supposed to happen? A
little chill ran up and down my spine. Suppose what Andrew and I were doing was dangerous? Not just to him and me, but to history itself?

A tap on my knee roused me from my thoughts. "We're home," Mama said. "Are you planning to sit in the motorcar all night?"

She took my hand and led me toward the house. Theo raced ahead, calling Buster, but Hannah and John lingered by the car. Halfway across the lawn, I hung back and let Mama go ahead. Long golden arms of sunlight shafted through the trees. Birds sang. The air was so still I thought the house might shimmer and shift. Perhaps Aunt Blythe would appear and call me in for supper. Binky might race down the steps, wagging his tail, welcoming me home.

The front door opened and Papa stepped onto the porch. Buster barked and Theo laughed. The solid brick house glowed with pink light from the setting sun. Its lawn was well tended, its bushes trimmed, its roof sound, its wood trim painted. No one knew the future but me. I'd never felt so lonely, so lost, so far from home.

Behind me, John started the Model T. Distracted by the noise, I turned and watched the car rattle away in a cloud of dust.

When he was out of sight, Hannah walked toward me. Seizing my hand, she said, "You've been standing here for five minutes staring at nothing, like a regular mooncalf. Have you forgotten the way home?"

Hannah was teasing me, laughing at my absentmindedness, turning my loneliness into a joke. Without answering her, I ran toward the house, sending my shadow racing ahead to meet Papa.

When I tiptoed up the stairs to the attic that night, Andrew was waiting for me. A candle illuminated the circle he'd drawn on the floor. Its flame flickered in a draft and sent big black shadows dancing across the rafters.

"Are you ready to play?" Andrew watched me sit down opposite him. He was tense, nervous, eager to begin the game. In his right hand, he cradled the red bull's-eye.

But I had other things on my mind—questions, worries, doubts. "I saw you today," I said. "You were standing in the backyard. Did you see me?"

Andrew's eyes widened. "That was you?"

I nodded, and he relaxed. "Praise be. I thought I was looking at my own ghost."

"For a minute I didn't know who I was—you or me."

"What do you mean?"

I told him about whistling for Buster and calling his mother "Mama," but Andrew just shrugged and said he didn't see why that worried me. "You're going to be me for a long time, Drew. It's best you get used to it."

"But suppose we make something happen that changes history?"

"Don't be silly. How could two boys as unimportant as we are do anything like that?" Hunching over the ring, Andrew laid out a cross of thirteen glass marbles. Each one cast a faint colored shadow on the floor.

"Did Aunt Blythe give your marbles back?"

"Yes, but it doesn't change our agreement. We play till you beat me."

I watched him aim his aggie. It spun to a stop a hair's width past the lag line. He sat back on his heels and grinned. "You won't do better than that."

As he predicted, my aggie rolled past his and disappeared into the shadows beyond the candlelight.

Quicker than I was, Andrew retrieved it. "This is my sister's shooter. Are you stealing from her now?"

"Of course not!" I glared at him, furious he'd think me capable of such a thing. "She's teaching me how to play. She's very good."

"But not as good as I am." Andrew knelt beside the ring. "Come on, Drew, no more dawdling. Let's play." Aiming carefully, he shot seven miggles out of the ring. Clickety click—one after another they spun across the floor.

"My game." Andrew dropped his marbles into his leather bag. Each click was the sound of a key locking me into his world. "I told you I was good," he said.

Trying not to cry, I stared at the floor. A tear splashed on the boards anyway, then another. Embarrassed, I knuckled my eyes with my fists, but it didn't help. I couldn't stop.

"Tarnation," Andrew said scornfully. "Don't be such a pantywaist. It would take much more than losing a game to make
me
cry."

"I know," I muttered. "You're tough and brave and you can do everything."

Andrew grabbed my shoulders. "Stop crying, stop it this minute! You must be ruining my reputation!"

Afraid of the anger blazing in his eyes, I pulled away from him. "It's not easy to be you!"

"Do you think it's any easier to be you?" Andrew followed me till I was flat against the wall with no place else to go. "At least you've studied history, you know something about how life used to be. How do you suppose it felt to wake up in a hospital surrounded by newfangled machines Jules Verne never even imagined?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but Andrew wasn't finished. "I didn't know anybody—not Aunt Blythe, not Mom, not Dad. I had no notion how to behave. What to say, what to do. I guess they thought the fever had gone to my brain. The hospital gave me test after test. Nobody could find anything wrong, so they sent me home. I tell you, it was a real shock to see everything so different."

When Andrew paused to take a breath, I jumped in with a question. "My parents were at the hospital? They came all the way to Missouri to see you?"

Andrew looked surprised. "Of course. They thought I was dying."

I pictured Mom and Dad hanging over my hospital bed, holding each other's hands, crying, promising to stay with me forever if only I'd get well. "Where are they now?"

Andrew shrugged. "They went back to their dig in France."

I was disappointed, but Andrew wasn't. Eyes shining, he said, "It must be grand to be an archeologist. Just imagine what you might find—ancient temples in the jungle, buried cities in the desert, lost civilizations under the ocean. If I live to grow up, that's what I'm going to do."

"In real life, it isn't like that," I said. "You spend most of your time swatting bugs and sifting through dirt for teeny little bits of stuff—bone fragments, shards of pottery, things like that. You'd be bored to death."

"I don't think so." Twin candles glowed in Andrew's eyes. Bending toward the flame, he blew it out and got to his feet. "If you don't mind, I'm going to bed now. Aunt Blythe has a big day planned for tomorrow. She's taking me to St. Louis to see the sights."

Vexed by his cockiness, maybe even jealous, I watched Andrew run down the steps. At the bottom, he looked back. "Better luck tomorrow night, Drew."

The next morning, Hannah said, "I believe you're beginning to show some improvement, Andrew."

I'd finally hit a marble out of the ring, and she was just as pleased as I was. The sun shone down through the leaves, dappling the ground with shadows. Hidden in the foliage, locusts buzzed and droned. Birds sang in the woods behind us. I felt good. Happy even. Right now, Hannah was all mine.

When she climbed up into the tree, I followed her. I'd done it yesterday, I could do it again today. This time, instead of going to the top, we sat on a low branch and watched the clouds drift by—bears and elephants, whales and dragons, castles and mountains, one thing shifting to another, always changing, never staying the same.

After a while, Hannah said, "I heard Papa and Mama talking last night. Mama told Papa she thinks John Larkin is fond of me."