CHAPTER 21
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Getting Ready for the Open House
For the next two days, Wednesday and Thursday, Nickie worked with Crystal at Greenhaven, helping her get ready for the open house. Crystal gave her the assignment of cleaning and neatening the rooms on the third floor. “We won’t bother to make those rooms beautiful,” she said, “but they can at least be presentable. Get rid of mess and cobwebs, sweep up the dead bugs, take extra furniture down to the basement, that sort of thing.” She cast her critical gaze around the front parlor, where they were standing. “The rest of the house,” she said, “has to be as elegant as possible. I think we can manage it. The house has good bones.”
Once each day, Crystal came up to the third floor to see how the work was going, and Nickie had to quickly close Otis into the hall closet and put the radio on loud to disguise any sounds he might make. Luckily, Crystal wasn’t very interested in the rooms on the third floor. All she wanted was for them not to look too awful. She glanced in, said Nickie was doing a good job, and went back downstairs.
As she worked, Nickie turned over the problem of goodness in her mind. On Thursday evening, as they were sitting in the kitchen having a dinner of canned soup and soda crackers, and listening to the news on the radio, she asked Crystal her question.
“Crystal,” she said. “How do you tell if something is good or bad?”
Crystal was exhausted from rearranging furniture and hauling boxes of stuff down to the local thrift shop. “You mean like a good or bad book?” she said. “A good or bad movie?”
“No,” Nickie said, “I mean like something you do. How do you know if it’s a good thing to do or not?”
On the radio, the news announcer broke off in the middle of a sentence, and there was a sudden silence. Then he said, “We have a bulletin from the president. One moment.”
The president’s voice came on, not quite as smooth as usual. Instead of answering Nickie’s question, Crystal held up one finger and said, “Listen.”
“One day remains,” the president said, “before the deadline we have issued to the Phalanx Nations. I regret to say no progress has been made. Our resolve is firm: we will not back down in the face of threats from godless evildoers. Citizens should prepare for possible large-scale conflict. Please refer to the Homeland Security website at www…”
Crystal turned down the radio. She frowned and broke a few soda crackers into her soup. “It sounds bad,” she said. “We ought to be all right here, but I’m worried about your mother in the city.”
“Let’s call her, then,” said Nickie, “and tell her to come.”
“No, I wouldn’t want her traveling right now. I’m not really sure what to do.” She turned up the radio again, but the president was finished, and the newsman was reporting on a terrorist group that had taken a hundred hostages and was refusing to release them until they swore to follow the one true faith.
“Could you answer my question now?” said Nickie. “About how you tell if something is good or bad?”
“It’s a deep question,” Crystal said, “and I’m deeply tired. I guess if I had to answer, I’d say that you look to see if what you’re doing causes harm. If it hurts anyone. If so, it’s probably not good.”
“What if it doesn’t hurt any people,” said Nickie, “or even any animals, but it hurts God?”
“Hurts God? How can God be hurt?”
“Well, I mean if what you do goes against what God says.”
“You’d have to know what he says, then, wouldn’t you? Assuming he’s up there saying anything.” Crystal swallowed a spoonful of soup. “It’s too deep for me,” she said. “I just want to eat my dinner and go to bed. And by the way, your mom called again and read me another one of those odd postcards from your dad.”
Nickie jumped up. “Did you write it down? Where is it?”
“It’s here somewhere.” Crystal went out to the hall. “Here.” She handed Nickie a scrap of paper.
It said:
Dear Rachel and Nickie,
How is everything with you? Here it’s work as usual. I am doing all right, though I miss you both.
Love, Dad
P.S. Nickie, I was thinking about that movie we went to for your ninth birthday. Wasn’t it called “Snowblind”?
Nickie thought back to when she turned nine. She remembered it well. She and Kate and Sophy had gone ice-skating. There was no movie. So this confirmed it: either her father was losing his mind, or he was sending a message in some sort of code. She would crack it. She was sure she could. She took the postcard messages into her bedroom, spread them out on the bed, and began to study them in earnest. And after a while, she had an idea about what the key to the code might be.
On Friday morning, Nickie awoke and instantly knew that she had to find out what had happened to Grover and his snakes. If he was still mad at her, too bad; she couldn’t bear not to know.
Crystal said she was meeting Len for breakfast so they could discuss last-minute open-house details. “Want to come?” she said, and of course Nickie said no. As soon as Crystal had left, she ran upstairs to feed Otis and take him outside, and when that was done she headed for Grover’s house.
It was very cold. Iron-gray clouds hung like a ceiling over the town. Main Street was strangely quiet. As usual, small clusters of people stood inside the stores with TVs on, but when Nickie glanced in, she didn’t see the president on the screen. She couldn’t tell what was on—it looked like an old movie of some kind. But she didn’t stop to wonder about it. She was in a hurry.
Granny Carrie saw her coming. “You won’t find him here,” she said as Nickie came up the steps.
“I won’t? Where is he?”
“Up in the woods somewheres. They came and clamped one of them bracelets on him this morning early, and he took off.”
Nickie stood still where she was, with one foot on the porch and the other on the step. “A bracelet?”
“Yep,” said Granny Carrie. She pressed her lips together. “MMMMMM-mmmm-MMMMM-mmmm,” she said, “Nasty thing.”
“He didn’t go to school?”
“I doubt it,” said Granny Carrie. “With the noise that thing was making, they’d-a probably thrown him out.”
“So he didn’t let his snakes go, then,” said Nickie.
“Said he didn’t see why he should.”
“How did they catch him? He said he’d run.”
“Ambushed him,” said Granny Carrie. “Teddy Crane and that old Bill Willard jumped on him from behind the garage when he set out for school. Then he ran off, and the two of them came here and told us what they’d done.”
“I’m going to go find him,” said Nickie.
“Better not,” Granny Carrie said. “His pa’s already gone up there after him. No point in you going. You don’t know your way around in the woods. He could be anywhere.”
“But that terrorist is in the woods,” Nickie said.
“So I’ve heard,” said Granny Carrie, frowning and rocking. “It does make a person worry. We’ve got a lot to worry about today.” She waved a hand toward the window, from which came the sound of the TV. “That deadline the president set is up. We’re waiting to hear if there’s going to be war.”
CHAPTER 22
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An Indoor Universe
Nickie turned away from Grover’s house with her mind whirling. The president’s deadline! That’s why people were gathered in the stores. They were waiting to hear his announcement. Why was an old movie on, though? Had they started the war without telling anyone? She glanced at the sky, almost expecting to see bombers streaking overhead.
She didn’t know what to do. It was true that there was no point in trying to find Grover. Even if she did find him, how could she help? And she certainly couldn’t keep a war from happening. Her Goal #3 seemed silly now—how could she possibly do anything to help the messed-up world? She was just a kid.
She walked down the r
oad, hardly noticing where she was going, staring down at the pavement, kicking now and then at a rock. She thought of Grover, a humming bracelet clapped onto his wrist, fleeing up into the mountains, where probably a dangerous person was hiding out. She thought of Hoyt McCoy, accused by police of something he hadn’t done. These things were her fault. Somehow she had done wrong by trying to do right.
She trudged on until she came to Raven Road, and there she turned left. She hadn’t planned to go this way; her feet just seemed to carry her. When she got to Hoyt McCoy’s driveway, her feet stopped. She stared at his “No Trespassing” sign. She gazed up the driveway, past the row of looming trees to the place where the drive curved around toward the house. Part of her wanted to hurry on past. But another part thought she should go in there and tell him she was sorry for what had happened. Was she brave enough? The very thought of it made her stomach shift and her hands get clammy. But she started up the driveway anyhow. She would just knock on his door, apologize very fast, and come away. She was brave enough for that.
The house was as dark and silent this time as it had been before. From a distance, she checked the gable window. It was closed. Nothing that looked like a gun or a telescope stuck out of any of the house’s windows. This gave her courage. When she got closer, she realized Hoyt’s car wasn’t there. Good! Now if she just had a bit of paper and a pencil stub in her pocket, as she usually did—
But behind her she heard the sound of an engine and the crackle of gravel. She turned, and there was Hoyt McCoy in his black car, coming toward her. He’d seen her, of course; she couldn’t leave. So she waited, with her heart thudding.
“Ah,” said Hoyt, getting out of the car. “The other trespasser.”
Nickie managed to speak. “I—I came to say I’m sorry,” she stammered, “about what happened.”
“You mean the invasion of the Beeson Police?”
“Yes. Well, it was because…I thought you were going to…to shoot me.”
“I do not shoot people,” said Hoyt. He opened the rear door of the car and took out a battered suitcase. “I may not like people, but I do not shoot them.”
“I just thought,” said Nickie, “that you had a gun…you know, aiming out your window.”
“And my question for you is this.” Hoyt set down the suitcase, put his hands on his hips, and glared at her. “Why were you here, on my property, looking at my windows in the first place?”
Nickie had no answer for this question. It was no good to say she was trying to do the right thing. Deep down, she’d suspected that looking in windows and snooping around people’s houses was probably more wrong than right, no matter what the reason for doing it. So she just stood there, staring down at the ground.
“But of course I know why,” Hoyt McCoy went on. “Brenda Beeson sent you. Did she send the boy, too?”
“What boy?”
“The boy who sneaked behind my house a week ago. The boy who was lurking about when those cops tried to snatch me. Skinny boy, hair falling in his face.”
“Oh, Grover. No, she didn’t send him.” For a second, the thought of Grover in the woods came to her; she pushed it away. “Well, I have to go now,” she said. She’d done what she came to do.
“Wait one moment,” said Hoyt McCoy.
Nickie’s heart gave a bump.
“I have just returned from a tense encounter which I believe has had the result I hoped for. That puts me in a rather generous mood, rare for me.” He walked up his front steps and turned to face her. “I’d like to show you,” he said, “that a person may be gruff and somewhat on the sloppy side without being a madman or a criminal. But probably you would decline to step inside my house.”
“Well, thank you very much,” Nickie said, with her heart beating harder, “but I really have to go.”
“I thought so,” said Hoyt. “A wise choice, in general, though in this case unnecessarily cautious. Still, you might be willing just to look in from where you are.” He took his keys from his pocket, opened the door, stepped in, and stood to the side, so that Nickie could look past him. She saw a wide hall. On either side was an arched opening that led to a room, and down at the end, the hall opened into still another room. Even though it was daytime, the windows were all covered with blinds and curtains; dim electric light bulbs filled the rooms with a yellowish gloom. Signs of careless housekeeping were everywhere: in the hall she saw stacks of books on the floor, clothes hanging from doorknobs, a table strewn with loose change and bits of hardware and scraps of paper. From what she could see of the other rooms, they were just as messy.
But why was he showing her all this? Shouldn’t she turn around and run? She took a few steps backward—but somehow, curiosity held her there.
“I am not interested,” said Hoyt, “in the dull daily world of chat and tidiness, of keeping up appearances, of being nice and polite and well groomed. No one who doesn’t like my looks or my house need ever come near me, and that will suit me well. My world is the heavens, both by day and by night.” He raised a hand and turned slightly. “Watch,” he said.
Nickie heard the snap of a switch. Instantly, the lights in the house went out, leaving a darkness that would have been complete except for the light from the open front door. Again a bolt of fear shot through her, and she skittered backward a few more steps. Was he going to come out from his strange den and grab her? But a moment later she stood still again, because she saw something happening in the darkness.
The walls and the ceiling had begun to glow. Gradually, they changed from black to a deep midnight blue, as if they were made not of plaster but of glass, like a television screen. Tiny points of light appeared, first just a few here and a few there, and then more and more, until the signs of an untidy daily life receded into shadows, and the rooms of Hoyt McCoy’s house became star-spangled chambers of night.
“The effect is better, of course, if the front door isn’t standing wide open,” said Hoyt. “You may come in and see if you like, but if you’re still afraid of me I won’t insist.”
Nickie just stood there, staring and speechless.
“It took quite a while to customize this house,” Hoyt said. “People used to peer over the fence wanting to see how I was remodeling. They were dismayed when the house looked exactly the same after the work was done as before.” He laughed—a dry heh-heh. “The heavens are my habitat,” he said. “Also my job, though as a rule I do not speak of it.”
This reminded Nickie of what Grover had said. “Do you crack open the sky?” she asked.
Hoyt raised his eyebrows. “Who told you that?”
“Grover. He said he saw it.”
“Ah, yes, so he did.” Hoyt smiled dryly. “He’s an observant sort. Most people simply write it off as lightning.”
“What is it, then?”
“Not something I choose to speak of at this time,” said Hoyt. “I have been extraordinarily busy these last few days, involved in some very delicate, high-level conversations. Right now I am satisfied but exhausted. Far too exhausted to explain anything.”
“Well,” said Nickie, pointing in through the door, “all that is really beautiful.” It was. It was as if Hoyt’s front door had become a porthole to the universe. She longed to step inside and see it up close, have it surround her, as if she were floating in space. But she still didn’t feel quite brave enough. If only Hoyt had been like a kindly old uncle, then she would have. But he was so big and rumpled and shaggy and grouchy—she was still afraid of him, though it did begin to seem that she needn’t be.
“Thank you,” she said. “I love seeing it. Is it the whole universe?”
“Oh, no,” said Hoyt. “Just a small portion of one universe, ours. If I had several billion more houses, I might have room for a few other universes as well.”
Other universes. Nickie thought of her great-grandfather’s notes. But she could barely get the idea of one universe into her mind, to say nothing of others. “I’d like to see it,” she said. “But…maybe I�
�ll come some other time.”
“Simply ring the bell,” said Hoyt. “Trespassers are not welcome. Certain selected visitors are. You may include yourself among them.” With a brief nod—no smile—he closed the door, and the universe disappeared.
Back at Greenhaven, Nickie wandered through the house, too stirred up to settle to anything. She gazed at the ancestors in their gold frames; she ran her fingers along the curves of the banister; she stared at her reflection in the great dining room mirror. Up in the nursery, she rocked in the rocking chair beneath the glow of the lamp, holding Otis on her lap and running her hand from his head to his tail, over and over.
Around four-thirty, when Crystal still wasn’t back from wherever she was, she took Otis down for his afternoon outing. To her surprise, there were people on the street, walking as if they had an appointment somewhere.
Quickly, she took Otis back upstairs and came down again. As she went out the front door, she saw Martin among the people passing. She ran up to him. “What’s happening?”
“You didn’t hear?” Martin looked down his nose at Nickie. “There’s a meeting. Mrs. Beeson called it. She wants to speak to everyone. It’s urgent. You should come—it’s at the church.”
“Do you know what it’s about?” Nickie asked.
“No,” said Martin. “But it must be important.” He set off down the sidewalk again. “You should come,” he said again, over his shoulder. “And your aunt, too.”
Crystal wouldn’t be interested; Nickie was sure of that. But she herself would go, of course. She had to know what the meeting was about. She dashed back into the house to get her jacket—the sun was down now, and the temperature was dropping—and then she joined the flow of people moving toward the church.
CHAPTER 23
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The Emergency Meeting
From the uphill and downhill neighborhoods, people converged on Main Street—frowning, worried-looking men, mothers holding the hands of young children, older children following along, unusually quiet. Everyone was unusually quiet, in fact; when they spoke at all, it was in low voices, just to exchange a few questions: What’s this about, do you know? Have no idea. Must be something serious. Maybe something new from the Prophet. Maybe so. They hurried past the dark windows of the stores, which had closed early, down past the deserted park, down toward the very end of Main Street—a stream of people, almost all the citizens of Yonwood. Though not quite all, Nickie remembered. Hoyt McCoy wouldn’t be here, and Grover wouldn’t, because he was up in the woods somewhere, and no doubt there were a few other Yonwood citizens who didn’t come when Brenda Beeson called.
The Prophet of Yonwood Page 13