Home Is the Place

by Ann M. Martin

He shook his head. “Don’t say anything.” He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and stuck one in his pocket. “See you.”

  Richard sauntered off — back through the double doors to the lawn, Georgia noticed — and she followed her brother’s directions to her first class. She reached it unscathed.

  * * *

  Seven hours later, Georgia stood on the lawn of BPCHS with Ava and Talia.

  “We survived,” said Ava, laughing.

  “I only got lost twice,” said Talia.

  “I signed up for two clubs,” announced Georgia. “Band and theatre. And I’m going to try out for the talent show.”

  “There’s Mom,” said Talia, pointing. “She looks surprised to see us alive.”

  Georgia laughed. “Remember that I’m not going home with you. Richard and I are supposed to walk to Great-Grandma’s old house today. I’ll see you guys later.”

  Georgia watched the girls walk away and then looked around for her brother. She spotted him with his friends again. He appeared not to notice her, but crushed his cigarette beneath the heel of his sneaker, said, “See you,” to a couple of boys, and materialized at Georgia’s side.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Georgia and Richard walked off the BPCHS campus and through Barnegat Point to Haddon Road where, for several years, Great-Grandma had lived when she was young.

  “I don’t see the point of coming here,” said Richard as he and Georgia climbed the steps to the grand old home. “It’s just some rich person’s house.”

  “You know why we’re here,” Georgia said. “Because the house is up for sale. Great-Grandma’s stepmother died and we have to clear everything out. There might be something here you want. A memento or whatever.”

  “You mean like a china robin or a teacup or a photograph of some dog I don’t know?”

  Georgia laughed. “Be nice. Great-Grandma’s here and this is probably hard for her. It was her home.”

  “It hasn’t been her home for decades.”

  “Whatever. Just be nice.”

  Georgia knocked on the front door, tried the handle, found it unlocked, and let herself in. Richard followed sulkily. Inside they found their mother, Great-Grandma, and Henry. Her father was not there, having announced at breakfast that he had a house to show that afternoon — a teensy inland house, Georgia knew, but whatever.

  Georgia looked around the living room (the parlor?) in awe, as she did every time she visited the house. It was hard to believe that people really lived like this, with so … much … of everything. With hired help to take care of the gardens and the cars, to cook meals, and even to take care of the children.

  That was what Great-Grandma said life had been like in this house.

  Now Georgia looked around at the room with its half-packed boxes and the furniture that was tagged to go to an auction house.

  “What if we lived here?” she whispered to Richard.

  He snorted. “Who wants all this?”

  Georgia did. Sort of.

  “The people from the auction house will be here tomorrow,” Great-Grandma was saying. “So if there’s anything you want, take it now.”

  Georgia watched her mother halfheartedly select an empty carton and eventually place a cast-iron parrot in it. “This fascinated me when I was little,” she said. But when she let her eyes roam the room for another memento, they didn’t land on anything else, and Georgia knew why. “I was never comfortable here,” her mother had once told her. “Luther and Helen didn’t really accept me.” (Helen, Georgia knew, was Great-Grandma’s stepmother, Luther’s second wife.)

  Great-Grandma stood and began to climb the stairs. “I just want to look in some of the rooms on the second floor,” she said.

  Georgia thought about Nell. Nell, who had lived in this house for just a few years before she’d died, a story only Georgia knew. She watched her great-grandmother reach the top step and begin the walk down the hall to the room Luther had shared with Helen after Nell’s death. Then she turned to her mother. “I think Great-Grandma needs a few moments to herself,” she said.

  Her mother didn’t question this.

  “So,” said Richard. “We’re supposed to take something?”

  “If you want,” Mrs. Noble replied.

  “I want those,” announced Henry, pointing to an old pair of spectacles.

  “Why?” asked Richard.

  “They look cool. Maybe I’ll put them on and go back in time.”

  Georgia circled the room once, twice. Richard followed her.

  “Anything?” their mother asked them.

  “I guess not,” said Georgia. “Is that rude?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Let’s go outside,” said Richard.

  Georgia and her big brother sat side by side on the top step of the veranda. The autumn sun shone down, turning the street golden.

  “It’s weird saying good-bye to something that wasn’t yours to begin with,” said Richard.

  “Yeah.” Georgia turned to look back at the house. “Actually, it’s a relief.”

  Richard stared out at Haddon Road. Finally he said, “At school? If anyone gives you trouble? You can always come find me.”

  “Thanks,” said Georgia.

  Her brother withdrew a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and puffed thoughtfully.

  Georgia stood at the living room window and looked out into the darkness of Blue Harbor Lane. Behind her, a fire blazed in the fireplace, and a little fir tree stood in the corner, not yet trimmed. Georgia could smell sugar and ginger and roast beef. She closed her eyes and thought of the gifts for her family that she had hidden under her bed, waiting to be wrapped and placed beneath the tree. She opened her eyes again and scanned the lane, searching for the first glimpse of headlights. At last she saw a gleam far to her right.

  “I think they’re here!” she called.

  But the headlights turned into the driveway next door.

  “Never mind,” she said.

  Henry joined her at the window. “When are they going to come? I can’t wait any longer.”

  “You two have Christmas fever,” their father called from the kitchen.

  “Someone set the table for dinner, please. That will help the time pass,” added their mother.

  Georgia and Henry were rolling red Santa napkins into green holders, and arranging holly berry plates around the table, when a knock sounded on the door.

  “It’s them!” shrieked Henry. “They’re here!”

  Georgia abandoned the table and she and Henry flung the front door open. “Merry Christmas!” she cried.

  Great-Grandma and Orrin were standing on the porch, flakes of snow sticking to their hats, their scarves, the shoulders of their overcoats. Orrin’s arms were full of gifts.

  “Merry Christmas!” called Georgia’s parents from behind them.

  “Merry Christmas!” said Great-Grandma and Orrin. They stepped inside.

  “The tree isn’t decorated yet, but you can put your presents under it anyway,” said Henry, who was so excited that he was hopping from one foot to the other.

  An early celebration with Great-Grandma and Orrin had been planned, since they were going to spend Christmas at an inn in Vermont that year, just the two of them. “It’s our Christmas present to each other,” Orrin had told the Nobles. (Henry had shot Georgia a look that plainly said, “That’s it? No real presents?”)

  “Come in, come in,” Georgia’s father said now. “Let me take your coats.”

  “And I can take the presents,” said Henry, holding his arms out.

  “Where’s Richard?” asked Great-Grandma.

  “He’ll be here,” said Mrs. Noble, and everyone knew what that meant. He might or might not be there.

  But just moments later, as Georgia and her family were settling before the fire, the door opened, and in strode Richard. “Hey,” he said, kissing Great-Grandma and standing awkwardly in front of Orrin. “Um, happy holidays.”

  Henry wanted to open the p
resents immediately, but Georgia’s parents insisted on dinner first.

  “A real Christmas dinner,” said Mr. Noble.

  And it was. Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, glazed carrots, and, for dessert, warm gingerbread topped with whipped cream.

  Later, when everyone declared that they were stuffed and couldn’t eat another bite, they sat before the fire again, the grown-ups drinking coffee and recalling Christmases long gone.

  When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Henry reached for a gift under the tree and said, “How about if I play Santa Claus?” He looked at the tag on the gift. “Great-Grandma, this one’s for you from Mom and Dad.” He handed the gift to his great-grandmother, and then began passing the rest of the presents around in a great rush. Soon everyone was tossing aside paper, exclaiming, laughing.

  Georgia found herself with two gifts in her lap, and she opened them slowly. In a small box wrapped in red and tied with a gold ribbon she found a delicate silver necklace looped through a tiny G clef symbol.

  “Oh, it’s perfect!” she cried. “Thank you, Great-Grandma. Thank you, Orrin.” The other gift, a bigger box, held a dark green leather-bound book, the word JOURNAL stamped in gold on the cover. Georgia laid it on her lap and stared at it.

  Great-Grandma leaned close to her and whispered, “Georgia? Don’t you like it?”

  “Oh. I love it,” said Georgia softly. “It’s — it’s great. Really.”

  Great-Grandma was frowning slightly. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I — Great-Grandma? Could you come with me for a sec? I have to show you something.” Georgia looked around at the rest of her family. They were examining their gifts, and her father was about to tell a story Georgia had heard at least a thousand times before. She knew she and her great-grandmother would not be missed. She rose, took Great-Grandma’s hand, and led her to her room, closing the door behind them.

  Great-Grandma sat on the bed, looking puzzled. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I mean, nothing serious. Really. But I have to show you something. I probably should have shown you a long time ago, when I first discovered them —”

  “Discovered … what?”

  “These,” said Georgia, removing the magazine cover from her wall.

  Her great-grandmother watched in amazement as Georgia lifted the panel away and reached into the hole.

  “What on earth?” Abby said.

  “I discovered this hiding place a few years ago,” Georgia confessed. “I didn’t tell anyone about it.” She withdrew the journals one at a time, all but the last one, and set them on the bed. “These were your mother’s,” she continued. “I should have told you about them, but I — I don’t know — I kind of wanted a secret. I haven’t shown them to anyone else,” she added hurriedly. “Not Ava, not anyone. But I know you’ll want to read them. At least, I think you will. There’s kind of a big secret revealed in them. Something your mother did that might surprise you,” said Georgia, recalling Nell’s weekend with Ralph. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t share them right away.”

  Great-Grandma rested her hand on Georgia’s. “Don’t give it a second thought, honey. Just tell me everything. From the beginning.”

  Georgia sat beside her great-grandmother and related the story of the fight she’d had with Richard and her accidental discovery of the hiding place. “And the journals were in there,” she said, pointing toward the wall. “I suppose they’ve been there since you were a little girl. I don’t know how Nell discovered that the paneling would come away like that, but she discovered it sometime, and she kept it a secret.”

  “Have you read the journals?” asked Great-Grandma.

  Georgia lowered her head. “Yes. I couldn’t help it.”

  “And you discovered something about my mother?”

  “Yes,” Georgia said again, and felt her cheeks flush. She had discovered two secrets, but she wasn’t prepared to ruin Great-Grandma’s Christmas by revealing the second one.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Georgia squirmed. “Don’t you want to read it yourself?”

  “Well, eventually. But I think it will take me a while to get through these.” Great-Grandma waved her hand above the four journals. Then she raised her eyebrows at Georgia.

  Georgia continued to squirm.

  “Is it an embarrassing secret?”

  “Not really. It’s surprising. But in the end I decided it was good. I think you’ll like it. What — what do you remember about your mother?”

  Great-Grandma looked thoughtful. “She was a wonderful mother. That’s what I remember most. But she was also unhappy. I suppose today we would say she was depressed, but back then we didn’t have much understanding of things like that. She was sad about the babies …” Great-Grandma’s eyes drifted out Georgia’s window to the dark garden.

  “There was something else,” said Georgia. “Your father wasn’t … wasn’t her true love.”

  Great-Grandma looked startled. “What?”

  “He wasn’t her true love. She had loved someone else, a boy named Ralph who she had known since they were kids. But Ralph’s plane was shot down in World War One and everyone thought he was dead, so when your father came along, your mother married him. It’s all in the journals,” Georgia added. “Anyway, it turned out that Ralph hadn’t died after all, and years later, when your mother was married and you and Rose were little, she heard from him. They started writing to each other and even saw each other a couple of times. He made your mom very happy.” Georgia had been speaking at high speed, trying to give her great-grandmother all the details she remembered from the journals, but now she came to a stop as she watched Great-Grandma’s expression change from one of puzzlement to one of awe.

  “Georgia, what did you say this man’s name was?”

  “Ralph,” Georgia replied. “Ralph Saunders.”

  “Well, my goodness.” Great-Grandma put her hand to her mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  Great-Grandma shook her head, but she was smiling. “My goodness,” she said again.

  The memory came back to Abby in a rush, almost like a flash of light. One moment she was sitting on Georgia’s bed hearing about her mother’s secret life, and the next moment the tiny room had disappeared, along with Georgia and the nighttime and the scent of Christmas.

  Abby was six years old, standing at the front door of the cottage on a sunny summer day, holding Rose’s hand, waiting expectantly. Her father wasn’t there, but then he wasn’t usually at home during the day, except maybe on Sunday. He was away in Portland, Abby remembered. And she and Rose were dressed in their very best dresses, the ones that matched, the ones their mother had sewn for them in a burst of energy a few days earlier.

  “Now I want you to be on your best behavior,” their mother had just said to them. “This is a special guest. His name is Ralph, and you’re to be very, very nice to him. He’s an old friend. He was wounded in the war, so you mustn’t say anything about his face.”

  “What’s wrong with his face?” Rose had asked immediately.

  “It’s scarred,” their mother had replied. “And you don’t want to embarrass him, so please just shake his hand and say, ‘How do you do?’ and be polite. All right? All right, Rose?”

  “All right. But I’ll have to look at his face, won’t I? I’m supposed to look at his face when I shake his hand. That’s what you always say.”

  “Yes, you may look at his face. Just don’t comment on it.”

  A picnic had been promised when Ralph arrived. A picnic in the backyard. Abby was excited. She longed to tell her friend Sarah about the unexpected treat, but her mother had said something else. She had said they must not talk about the visit.

  Now Abby stood nervously at the door to the cottage, holding her sister’s hand and watching the road. Soon enough a car chugged to a stop on Blue Harbor Lane, and a man got out and walked quickly to the front door. He stopped when he saw Abby and Rose on the other
side of the door, trying not to stare at his face, but too fascinated to look away.

  It wasn’t a horrible face, Abby thought. But the skin on one side was pitted and pulled and stretched like a piece of taffy. And the eye on that side drooped.

  For a moment, Ralph looked in at the girls and the girls looked out at him. Finally Abby called over her shoulder, “Mama, he’s here!” and the special day began. It was filled with stories and lemonade and tomato sandwiches and games and more stories. Abby forgot about Ralph’s face. He was kind and let her climb into his lap. He answered her questions and asked questions of his own, but they weren’t the usual questions grown-ups asked. Ralph didn’t want to know about school or what Abby’s favorite food was. Instead he asked what the best day of her life had been, and what she thought was the greatest modern invention. Then he and Abby and Rose and Mama had made up a game about animals, and Abby saw her mother laugh harder than ever before.

  When it came time for Ralph to leave, Abby had hugged him and Rose had cried a little. After that, as they watched his funny car chug away, their mother had again cautioned them about secrets. She had said that the visit was a secret and so was Ralph. Suddenly Abby had understood. Ralph and the visit were a secret from Pop more than from anyone else. She wasn’t sure why. But she saw that her mother was happy and she didn’t want to spoil that.

  Neither she nor Rose mentioned Ralph or the wonderful day of the picnic and stories and games. As they grew older, the memory faded anyway, as so many other things happened. The Nicholses moved out of the cottage, and later Mama died, and Abby grew up and moved to New York and had a family of her own.

  And now here she was in the cottage again, sitting with her great-granddaughter, who had just given her the best gift ever, the lost memory of a happy day.

  * * *

  “Great-Grandma?” said Georgia. “Here. You should take the journals. You’ll probably want to read them in order, like I did.” Georgia set the four journals in her great-grandmother’s lap.

  “Yes,” Abby said. “I want to read every word.”

  “I guess you’ll want to keep them.”

  “I don’t know. It seems to me that the journals belong here, where my mother left them. I’ll bring them back after the holidays.”