by Annet Schaap
“What a din,” says Edward. “Shut that window.”
“But it’s nice with the window open. Everything smells so good.”
“Do as I say.” He rolls under the bed. “I’ve got a headache. Shut the window, and go away.”
“Aren’t we going to read?”
“Not today.”
She picks up the tray and walks to the door. “I’ll be back at half-past three for your bath, then. See you later.”
He does not reply.
When she goes outside, Lampie sees Lenny’s ladder sticking up over a hedge. He keeps moving it along just a little way, and then climbing back up and going on snipping. The two hedges at the front are beginning to look a lot like dogs, with open mouths and their ears flapping in the wind. The tall hedge at the back is turning into a rhinoceros, and the long spine that winds between them is getting dragon spikes.
Oh, Lenny, she thinks with a smile.
The air around her is warm and soft, and even the house no longer seems quite as angry, now that all those little owl chicks are growing up in its ivy.
Lampie looks up at the tower with its windows so firmly shut. How is she ever going to get that boy to come outside with her?
carpenter’s hut
Nick carefully puts the ship down. It is as long as his little finger, and as wide as his thumb, but it has masts and sails, portholes, and even a tiny little mermaid as a figurehead. The bottle he is about to slide it into is ready and waiting on the table. Then it can go with the others, which are gleaming away on shelves on the wall. Rows and rows of bottles, all with little ships inside, ships that should never have fitted in through the necks of the bottles, and yet there they are. He has a whole system of little strings to pull, hinged masts, folding sails, and his fingers are learning to work on a smaller and smaller scale, and every ship is an improvement on the last one.
He used to make real ships, big ones, but this is much more fun. A lot less tiring too. He could do it all day, in his hut that lies hidden in the garden, so overgrown and entangled with thorns and nettles that no one knows it is there. Squirrels on the roof, robins at the window, a bit of porridge, a cup of coffee now and then—that is all he needs.
Until suddenly there is something that he has to do. Even though his hut is so deep in the garden, he still hears it when the girl calls. He hears it every time.
Help. How am I ever going to get over the fence? Help, I’m falling. Help, how am I ever going to get that boy to come outside? How am I ever going to see my father again? Help! Will someone help me?
Well, then, that someone would be him.
Perhaps because she is her mother’s daughter; perhaps that is why. He had not thought about her for years. But he saw it as soon as she walked through the gate. She looks so much like her.
Nick pushes back his stool and stretches. Then he looks for a few suitable pieces of wood, a saw, a sanding block. He should still have some wheels somewhere too. After brushing down his workbench, he sets to work.
The little boat will have to wait.
Behind his hut, up on two blocks of wood, there is another boat, a real rowing boat, made of green wood. That is for later, but it is already waiting there. Upside down, but you can still read its name: Emilia.
Lampie has almost finished the dishes when she hears a shrill whistle from outside. From the kitchen window, she sees Nick on the path, beckoning at her to come out. He is pulling something behind him: it is a cart, newly made, softly sanded, with a handle on the front and a leather cushion inside, which you could rest your tail on, for example, if you happened to have one.
Lampie instantly knows what it is. She runs to the kitchen door with the tea towel still in her hand.
“Yes!” she says. “That’s perfect! However did you know?”
cart
“No,” says Edward. Of course he says no.
Whatever is she thinking? Out of his room? Downstairs? And then outside, where it’s cold and the wind’s blowing, in some cart that will bump about all over the place so that he’ll fall out and have an accident? Outside, where everyone can see him? He can’t imagine anything worse.
“Yes, but…” says Lampie. “You’ll finally be able to see everything for real. The trees, the birds, the—”
“I already know all of the birds,” says Edward, and that’s true. Their plumage, their breeding spots, how they build their nests, the songs they whistle—he knows it by heart.
“But that all came out of a book! And that isn’t the same.”
He does not see why not. The real world just makes more noise—that’s the only difference.
“No,” he says from under his bed. “Go away. Come back when it’s half-past three.”
“Yes, but…” she says again. She can never keep her mouth shut. “We could even go through the gate one day. To the sea. We could go to the lighthouse if you like. Or go and take a look at the harbor, or…”
“The harbor?” whispers Edward. Where his father’s ship always moors? “Really?”
“Well, maybe not today.”
“Oh, then forget about it. Never mind.”
“But we could do it later. We’ll go for a short ride first, just in the garden.”
“Hmm. No, I don’t think so.”
“I’ll be really careful.”
“No.”
“And it’s not at all chilly out.”
“No.”
“And I can put a blanket over you.”
“No.” He has crawled back under the bed, as far as he can. “I don’t want to, and you can’t make me. I said NO.”
They sit there without saying anything.
“Anyway,” he mumbles after a while, “I can’t get down the stairs.”
Edward blinks. The light is bright, and the air is cool on his cheeks. There is so much light here, and lots and lots of sky. It is enormous, with clouds floating across like gigantic monsters, and the trees are towers with grabbing branches, and they are green, everything is so ridiculously green, and there are so many smells all at once and so many sounds: rustling and whistling and barking, and on the other side of the garden there is a thin man in a big coat, and huge dogs are running by and everyone is staring at him, of course, at Edward. He buries his nose under the blanket and squeezes up closer to Lenny, who responds by holding him more tightly, and that helps a bit.
“Come on,” says Lampie. “Down these steps and we’ll be there. We’ll just go for a little trip this afternoon, just a tour of the garden. Lenny, you can be the horse.”
Lenny nods seriously. Yes, he will be the horse.
The cart has been crafted for Edward. His body fits snugly inside, and his deformity can rest on the cushion. Lenny carefully lays him in the cart, and Lampie puts the blanket over him. The horse takes hold of the handle and starts to pull.
Edward squeezes his eyes shut. Why did he let her persuade him? He is so stupid, so stupid. This is going to be so painful and uncomfortable. So he braces himself. But the wheels turn smoothly, the blanket is warm, and the cart hardly bumps at all. Off they go, down the path.
Edward takes in his surroundings, bit by tiny bit. A piece of bark. A tuft of grass. There: a branch with a hundred leaves that are moving in the wind. Maple, he thinks. Or a lime tree, or…He can’t see very well, because everything is intertwined. The birds are not taking it in turns to squawk and whistle either; they are all singing away at the same time, and he cannot identify a single one of them.
All of this has been here all along, he thinks. All of it belongs here.
All of it except for him.
He looks up. There is his tower, with his window, and his bed inside. If only he were back up there right now.
“Are you all right, Fish?” asks Lampie. “It’s not bumping you about too much, is it?”
“I’m fine,” says Edward grumpi
ly. He can handle it, he really can.
Lenny is a good horse. They go as slowly as anything. Around the smelly pond, past the half-finished hedge animals: the dogs, the dragon, the swan, which still has a bit of a lumpy neck.
“Not bad for a horse, eh?” says Lampie, gesturing toward the animals with a smile.
“What? He didn’t make those, did he?” Edward can’t imagine it.
“He certainly did,” says Lampie. “Lenny is a wonderful clipper.”
Lenny looks back, both proud and shy. Then he gives a little skip and a whinny.
“Shall we go to the gate? Or do you want to go back inside already?”
Edward shakes his head. Just a little longer. He is already sitting up a little straighter. He can do this. He is brave enough. There is nothing to it, in fact.
Lampie brings him whatever he points at, so that he can take a closer look: a strange clump of fluffy moss, a flower that looks like an umbrella, which he intends to find in his flower book later, a stone with a vein of gold running through it. He gently places them under his blanket.
The dogs are curious and come over to take a look. The bolder of the two even sniffs at his hand. Edward is brave enough to hold out his hand—it’s easy, in fact. You just have to let them know who’s the boss—that’s what his father always says. He knows their names: Douglas and Logwood. When he calls, they come to him, just as they come to his father. Well, they do if Lenny gives them a bit of a nudge.
He pulls the blanket down a little. “We’ll go out again tomorrow,” he decides.
“Great,” says Lampie. “Where would you like to go? To the sea? To take a look at the harbor?”
His dark eyes widen. “Tomorrow? Can we do that?”
“Why not?” says Lampie. “I can ask Nick for the key. We’ll just go out through the gate, and then we’ll…”
“Whatever are you doing? Have you all gone completely mad?”
Martha is standing on the path with shopping bags full of fish and leeks. “No, no, no. This simply will not do. Go on! Back inside with the lot of you. Right now.”
“Why?” asks Lampie. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Lenny, do as I say. Now.”
Lenny always does whatever his mother tells him to do, and so he turns the cart around, so quickly that Edward almost rolls out. He gives a squeak, but then ducks back under his blanket. With a sniff, Martha walks past. She does not look at the boy in the cart.
Lampie does not understand. “But what’s the matter? Why aren’t we allowed?”
“Because you’re not! He’s not allowed outside; he can’t be on display for everyone to see. You understand that, don’t you?” Martha pushes her son ahead of her through the garden. She strides on with her bags, looking at Edward as little as possible. Lampie stomps angrily after her. She had thought it was such a good idea.
“And certainly not…” Martha stops walking for a moment and gives the girl a stern look. “Certainly not outside the fence. Not ever. Never. Do you understand, child-who-never-listens?”
“But why not?”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
When they get inside, Martha shuts the door with a bang. The sun remains outside, and the long corridor is dark and cold.
“Go on,” she says. “Upstairs with him.” She points, but she still won’t look at the boy in Lenny’s arms. “No, wait. This affects him too.” She puts down her bags and takes something out of her pocket. “There was a telegram at the post office. Finally. The master’s coming home.”
Edward’s face turns pale. “When?” he says. “When’s he coming?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Soon. A few days? A week? Who knows?” Martha irritably beckons Lampie. “You, come with me to the kitchen, right now. When I think of all the work we still have to do, I feel quite faint, I really do.”
afternoon off
Edward does not want to go out in the cart. Never again, he thinks. How did he let himself be distracted from what is most important? He stops giving reading lessons and he skips his baths. He has to stand—to stand and to walk. He practices all day long. Pulls himself up and falls and pulls himself up again and falls again. He goads himself on. Weakling, wimp, don’t give up! He does not give up.
Not that Lampie has any time for reading. Martha is trying to squeeze a year’s work into a week, and everything needs to be clean. Now. She sends the girl into rooms where she has never been before, and Lampie sweeps out fireplaces, blows dust off rows of books, and waves dusters out of windows.
Martha tells Lenny and Nick to clip the ivy from around the windows and then clean out the filthy pond. The house smells of swamp and rotten leaves for two whole days, and Lenny and Nick have to eat their lunch outside, because the mud is dripping off all their clothes, and they only have to look at something to get it dirty.
Lampie runs around with tea and sandwiches. She does not really care if the house is clean in time for the admiral’s return. But she does have a plan.
On Wednesday morning, Martha comes into the kitchen, all hot and bothered.
“I completely forgot to peel the potatoes. I should have…”
“Already done it!” says Lampie, dropping the last one into the water with a splash.
And the soup is already simmering, Martha notices. She goes to make tea, but it is already there. Lampie pours two cups and gives her one. Martha sits down to drink her tea and catch her breath. She can still remember how disappointed she was when this skinny little girl turned up at the house, and how she would have preferred a strong man, who would be of some use to her. But she could not do without Lampie now, she has to admit. She will have to tell her as much, one day, when she is in the right frame of mind.
“I, um, I was wondering if I could…leave now,” the girl suddenly announces.
Martha gasps. “What? You want to leave?”
“Yes.”
“For good? You can’t do that, you know.”
“No, no, just for this afternoon. It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? And didn’t you say I could go to the fair?”
“Did I now?”
Lampie nods. “Yes,” she says. “You promised.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know then that…” Martha glowers at her. “Before we know it, the master will be here, and I haven’t even started on his room yet.”
“I’ve already done it.”
“What about the bed?”
“I’ve put clean sheets on it. And dusted everything, all those cages with beetles and stuff. And if I go and do the windows too, can I leave after that? Please?”
Martha downs her tea. This is all she needs. She wants to say no, because she always wants to say no. But then again. She was only just thinking: the house is brighter, him upstairs is keeping more or less quiet, and Lenny is clearly crazy about the girl. A bit too crazy…Far too crazy, in fact…
“What about the outside of the windows?”
“I’ll do that too! If Lenny can help me with the ladder. Please?”
How can she say no? “Hm…” says Martha. And then, a little later: “Maybe.”
“Oh, please,” says Lampie again. “I really, really want to go.”
“To the fair, eh?” Martha can’t help smiling a little. When was the last time she went to the fair herself? So long ago. First alone and then arm in arm, and then later…
“Um…yes,” says Lampie. “To the fair.”
But Lampie does not want to go to the fair at all. Why would she?
As soon as she has left the house, as soon as she has promised to enjoy herself and to be back by six, and has skipped through the gate like a girl who is looking forward to an afternoon of fun, as soon as she has gone around the corner, she starts to run.
splinters
Lampie runs stumbling downhill to whe
re the forest stops and the sky opens up. She stops there, just for a moment. Finally. She sees the distant gray water and smells the salt. And there in the distance is the town, the harbor, the path to the lighthouse…She runs on.
The streets are almost empty; here and there small knots of people are hurrying to the field where the fair tents have been pitched. She can hear snatches of music coming from that way, and some laughter and screaming. Good, then no one will pay any attention to her this afternoon. She goes around two more corners, and then she is at the harbor.
The afternoon is gray, and the sea breeze chases drops of water along the quayside and then upward, like rain in reverse. Lampie wipes her cold cheeks and licks her hand. Salt. It tastes good.
And there is the lighthouse. Gray against the gray sky. Lampie stands and looks. She wants to drink it in.
She runs up the sea path. The tide is out, and it is dry enough, so it is easy today. But the closer she gets, the more she sees that everything has changed. Her house no longer looks like her home. Big, rough planks have been nailed over the green front door with the copper knob, crisscross, so many of them that she can hardly even see the green. The window next to the door has been covered with a splintering sheet of wood. The bench outside is gone; the vegetable garden has been flattened. Only the prickly grass that she always tried to weed out is still growing there and has finally found the space it needs to spread out its tough roots and to overrun everything else. As Lampie stands there, she feels her eyes start to sting.
Come on, Emilia, she says to herself. Hey, it’s just grass. You can get rid of it in no time. She wipes her nose, her tears, seawater, all so salty, and then she walks on. She keeps looking up at the windows above and at the railing around the lamp room. Maybe he is in there right now. Maybe he will see her. Maybe he will even wave. She peers up, but she does not see anyone. Nothing moves.
“Father!” she calls, and again, but no face appears at a window. At the house, she rattles at the hatch and tries to bang on the door through the planks. “Father, it’s me! Can you hear me? Or not? Father!”