by Mary Chase
THIS IS A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOK
PUBLISHED BY THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS
435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
www.nyrb.com
Copyright © 1958 by Mary Chase;
copyright renewed © 1986 by Robert Chase
All rights reserved.
Published by arrangement with the Mary Coyle Chase Literary Trust
The Library of Congress has cataloged the earlier printing as follows:
Chase, Mary, 1907–1981.
Loretta Mason Potts / by Mary Chase.
pages cm. — (New York Review children’s collection)
Summary: Ten-year-old Colin Mason, the eldest of four children, learns from a neighbor that he has an ill-behaved older sister who, when he meets her, takes him down a secret tunnel to a fairytale world that seems to connect with many Mason family secrets.
ISBN 978-1-59017-757-0 (hardback)
[1. Fairy tales. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 4.
Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 5. Secrets—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ8.C38Lo 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013050862
Cover design by Louise Fili Ltd.
ISBN 978-1-59017-758-7
v1.0
For a complete list of books in the NYRB Classics series, visit www.nyrb.com or write to:
Catalog Requests, NYRB, 435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
CONTENTS
LORETTA MASON POTTS
Copyright
1. A FACE AT THE WINDOW
2. THE MYSTERIOUS HILL
3. A BAD GIRL COMES HOME
4. THE SINGING DOLL
5. THE SECRET TUNNEL
6. THE ASTONISHING CASTLE
7. THE TEN-INCH COUNTESS
8. COLIN AND THE COUNTESS
9. COLIN WANTS A JAGUAR
10. AN ERMINE JACKET
11. A WONDERFUL BASEMENT
12. IRENE IS GONE
13. A KIDNAPPING
14. OUTWITTING THE POLICE
15. MOTHER IN THE TUNNEL
To Karl, Toni, Tag and Claire Fanning—the charming children for whom she wrote this story several years ago, the author affectionately dedicates this book.
1. A FACE AT THE WINDOW
Colin Mason was ten years old before he learned he had an older sister. And he never forgot this day—because things were never the same again.
It was on a Saturday morning in late September he found out about her. But there was nothing to tell him that morning when he woke up in his little bedroom under the gables of the big house that this day would be very different from all the other Saturdays he had known.
The woodbine outside, turning crimson in the autumn sun—why didn’t it begin to shake and jiggle and whisper to him? “Oh-Oh Colin—you just wait! Today is the day, Colin—” or else “We know something you don’t know!”
Or the yellow bird with the long black tail, sitting on the branch of the locust tree outside his window—why didn’t it give him some kind of warning? Pecking at the window, for instance, with his long black beak maybe in a Morse message—dot-dash-dot dash— “trouble ahead, Colin! Operation Loretta!”
But none of these things happened. Colin was to learn as he lived longer that important days often begin like ordinary days.
He woke up as usual, looked lazily about himself, stretched inside the warm clean sheets and wondered what he would do this morning; ride his bike, of course. He always rode his bike. Go see the guys maybe—his friends Whitey Boggs and George Swenson up the street. He liked to play with them.
But this was not always easy. First, he would have to deal with his mother; second, he would have to slip away from his younger brother and his younger sisters.
He heard a sound on the stairs outside. Someone was coming up to his bedroom, step, step, little short steps. That would be his mother.
She was a little woman and, even though she always wore very high spike heels, she was not much taller than Colin himself. He smiled. He would tease her. There was knock, knock, at the door and then her voice.
“Colin! Oh Colin! Colin Mason, are you asleep?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I am sound asleep. I can’t hear you.”
“Colin, get up this minute. You have to go to the store for me. We are all out of cornstarch.”
A few minutes later, still yawning, Colin parked his bike against the wall of the building and went into the grocery store. He had a dollar bill in his shirt pocket. Standing over by the canned peas he saw two of his mother’s friends—Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Newby. Mrs. Moore wore such a tiny hat you could hardly see it and Mrs. Newby wore such a big hat you could hardly see her.
Now Colin could not and would not say one word against these women. But he had already heard everything they had to say. It was always—“My, my what a big boy you’re getting to be!”
So he turned and walked over to the place where the fresh vegetables were lying on the racks and he held his finger under the sprays of water dripping on the carrots. It was then he heard it.
Mrs. Moore was saying to Mrs. Newby, “That is Colin. He is the oldest of the Mason children. Isn’t he getting to be a big boy?”
He waited for Mrs. Newby to agree and say, “Yes, he is the oldest and yes he is getting to be a big boy.”
She did not say this. Instead she said, “Oh no, he is not the oldest. There is another one—an older one. There is Loretta Mason Potts.”
At first Colin almost burst out laughing. He started to turn around and say, “That’s silly! I’m the oldest. I am—” But he didn’t.
There was something, suddenly, which kept him from saying that. And this was a little sound inside Colin’s head like a little wind beginning to blow. It blew up many things in his memory; things which had never made any sense before. And he listened to the sound of this little wind and while he listened for it he also heard what else these women were saying over by the canned peas. Mrs. Moore was saying, “My dear Mrs. Newby, you must be out of your mind. I have known Colin’s mother for years and I tell you absolutely he is the oldest child in the family.”
Mrs. Newby answered, “My dear Mrs. Moore, it is you who are out of your mind. I have known Colin’s mother longer than you and I tell you he is not the oldest child in that family. The oldest is this awful, awful, bad, bad, girl—Loretta Mason Potts.”
Mrs. Moore’s voice grew sweet—too sweet as she asked a question Colin wanted to ask himself.
“And who told you, Mrs. Newby?”
Mrs. Newby laughed a thin little laugh.
“A little bird told me,” and she reached for a can of peas and walked over to the cashier, her big hat bobbing like an umbrella.
When Colin got home his mother was combing and brushing the hair of the other children. She stood in the midst of them and she was so small herself that it did not look like a mother standing in the midst of three children. It looked like four children standing together, taking turns combing each other’s hair. And you wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the mother call out, “Ouch, ouch, stop, you’re pulling, you’re hurting— let go.”
On the left of her stood Kathleen, whose nickname was Kathy. Kathleen had an angel type face. Colin looked at her suspiciously.
Up until this morning he had always thought she was the oldest Mason girl just as he had thought he was the oldest Mason boy. Now he frowned at her. Why hadn’t she told him she was not the oldest? So as he walked by her he reached out and gave her a shove.
“Colin, shame on you,” his mother cried out, “and you the big brother!”
Colin stood over in a corner and watched her pulling the comb through the short, newly cut hair of his younger brother, Jerry, six years o
ld.
But Jerry Mason did not think of himself as Jerry Mason or as six years old. He was Jerry, a cowboy, and he rode the range on a big horse. When he was eating oatmeal or sitting in school or sleeping in his little bed he was always riding that big horse across the range—whee! Giddy yap! Giddy yap!
And next to him stood Sharon Louise Mason, five, the youngest one. Colin was sure of this. Maybe he didn’t know any more who was the oldest but he did know who was the youngest. It was Sharon.
Sharon was young enough so that she was never lonely. When the other children went to school, people of all shapes and sizes, animals, talking plants and talking chairs, all came out of the wall and played with Sharon.
Now Colin looked at his mother. She was very pretty. Everybody said of her, “That pretty little Mrs. Mason and her four lovely children.”
Four children! Colin’s eyes got narrow as he looked at her long and closely. Did she know about Loretta Mason Potts?
And his dad! Colin wondered if his dad knew. His dad had left home during the war.
And when Whitey Boggs asked Colin one day, “Which war—the World War or the Korean War?” Colin had told him, “The war between Mom and Dad.”
His dad telephoned every Sunday morning from New York. Colin decided to ask him. But now he kept on staring at his mother. He thought if he looked at her long enough and hard enough she would come over to him and say, “Colin, stop staring at me. I will tell you all about her.”
But she didn’t. Instead she said, “Colin, why are you staring at me like that? Take the cornstarch out to the kitchen.”
Cornstarch! He had forgotten to get the cornstarch! His mother was cross.
“You forgot the cornstarch? But that’s why I got you up out of bed and sent you to the store. Tell me, why did you forget the cornstarch?”
He wanted to say, “You ask me about cornstarch. Let me ask you something. Am I the oldest in the family? What about Loretta Mason Potts?”
But he didn’t. He only shrugged and mumbled something he didn’t intend for her to hear and then he went upstairs to his room.
He sat on the edge of his bed. The little wind he had heard in the grocery store began to blow again in his mind.
He remembered the time when they were sitting having dinner in the dining room one winter night. The candles were lit. It was Kathy’s birthday. They were waiting for the cake and while they waited they were pushing and shoving each other as people will often do when they wait for the cake.
Kathy was pushing Jerry and Jerry was shoving Sharon and Sharon was pinching Colin and Colin was pulling at Kathy’s hair—like a magic circle all around the table—pull, shove, pinch, howl! Then the chorus—“Mother—make him stop. He started it. I did not. Leave me alone.”
It was Kathy who looked up and saw it first. She raised her finger and cried out, “Mother—look—at the window!”
“Don’t point, Kathy,” his mother answered calmly. “Surely one can look without pointing.” And then she turned her little head gracefully, half smiling, and looked at the window. The smile faded quickly.
Slowly she laid down her napkin. She got to her feet.
“Children,” she said, “there is nothing at the window.” Then she walked outside and slammed the door.
The children looked at each other. There had been something at the window of the dining room. They had all seen it. It was a face, a face staring in at them, a face with a nose flattened up against the glass. A face that didn’t smile—a girl!
And Mother didn’t come back to the dinner table. She came in, put on her mink coat very quietly.
“Cut the cake, Kathy, and a very Happy Birthday!”
Then she had kissed each one of them and gone out. They had heard the front door slam and her high heels clicking down the steps.
Then there was the time when their maid, Rosalie, had taken him and Kathy downtown to a movie. Passing a big department store he had looked in and seen his mother standing by a counter where they sold nightgowns with long sleeves. Colin had decided to tease her and walk up stealthily behind her and say—something like—“You’re arrested! Reach for the sky.”
But he didn’t. He was too surprised. For he heard her say to the clerk, “I’ll take six. This child lives in the country where it is cold on winter nights.” What child? But he didn’t ask. He didn’t say a word to anybody. He ran out of the store and she never knew he had seen her buying six pink and white striped nightgowns for a child in the country.
Then there were the “old coat” nights when Mother would never answer any questions. Every Friday night she came downstairs in the old gray coat and the old gray hat and the shoes with the thick, black soles and the low, flat heels—the ugly shoes. She never put on lipstick and she never wore her rings.
“Are you going to the movies?” Colin would ask.
“No,” she would answer, “I am not going to the movies.” Then she would always sigh—a deep sad sigh.
Then Kathy would ask, “Are you going to play canasta with Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Newby?”
Mother would sigh again.
“No, I am not going to play canasta with Mrs. Moore or Mrs. Newby. Mrs. Moore is canning fruit and Mrs. Newby is painting china.”
Jerry would ask, “Are you going to a big ranch and ride a big horse?”
Mother would smile at him.
“No, dear, go to bed.”
Sharon would say, “Take me with you.”
“No.” Mother would sigh again and say, “Where I am going I cannot take you with me—ever, so please never ask me.”
Slam, slam at the door, click click with the heels down the front porch steps and she was gone—into the night. Where, they never knew.
Well, it all added up, Colin decided, as he sat on the edge of his bed that Saturday morning. And when his sisters and brother came into his room, he stood up.
“Shut that door,” he told them. Sharon ran over and shut the door hard.
From downstairs his mother’s voice came up the stairwell.
“Stop slamming those doors.”
“Shh,” said Colin, “don’t let anybody hear. Come close.” They all came close.
“You creeps,” he began, “you think you are all there is.”
Kathy looked at Jerry and Jerry looked at Sharon and they shrugged. What was he talking about? But he hadn’t finished.
“We are not all. There is another one, an older one. A bad one. There is a big sister we have never seen. There is Loretta Mason Potts.”
They opened their mouths to cry out in surprise, but fiercely he went—shh—shh—
“And what’s more, the next time mother puts on that old coat and goes out with those black shoes, I am going to follow her—so shh—shhh!”
2. THE MYSTERIOUS HILL
Colin stood waiting in the darkness at the side of the house. One hand was in his sweater pocket and the other on the handlebars of his bike. His mouth felt dry and his heart was pounding. This was the Friday night he had thought would never come. This was the beginning of the big adventure.
Through the curtains he could see dimly the figures in the house next door moving back and forth. They were Mr. and Mrs. Oliphant. For one second he envied them. They were safe and warm inside their house. Their hearts were not pounding. They knew everybody in their family.
What was keeping his mother? He was waiting there for her to come out of the front door and hurry down the steps. Wasn’t she going tonight? Was this one Friday night she would stay home perhaps? Would he have another week of waiting?
He thought of the past week. Every day had seemed like a longer mile leading up to Friday night. He remembered last Sunday. His dad had called from New York as he did every Sunday. Colin had told him the news of the week, his friends, his school work.
This Sunday Colin had said to him, “Dad, did you know about Loretta Mason Potts?”
Click went the receiver. His dad had hung up on him. Just like that.
On Tuesday Colin
had gone up to the attic looking for old pieces of cloth for a tail for his kite. His eye had fallen on a big wooden box. The word “photographs” was written across the top of the box in blue chalk. Colin had walked past it and would never have looked at it twice if he had not happened to see the letters “L—O—” on the edge of one of the photographs sticking out of the side. Then he picked that one up. On the back of it were written the words—
“Loretta—age one year.” He had turned it over.
There sat a baby with curly hair and white dress. The dress had lace on the skirt. The baby wore white kid boots.
But that wasn’t what made Colin’s eyes pop. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. There she was and in her mouth was—a cigarette!
Now the front door slammed. His mother ran down the steps. A taxicab drew up to the curbing. She got in and the cab pulled away like a big yellow pumpkin and glided down the street.
Quickly he got on his bike and started to pedal, but the traffic was heavy. Cars kept darting in and out and once there were so many between him and the cab he couldn’t see it. Once a man in a car shouted at him angrily, “Watch out with that bike, bub!” His heart sank. How could he go fast enough to follow mother’s taxicab? But something in him made him go on and nothing would have stopped him.
There it was! He could see his mother’s gray hat through the back window. The cab had stopped for a red light. He was right behind it now. He lowered his head so, if she should look out, she wouldn’t know the boy on the bike was her boy.
Then he had a bit of luck. He heard the cab driver say, “Lady, did you say 4150 Grove Street?”
He heard his mother’s voice answer, “No, driver, 4541 Grove Street.”
Colin pulled his bike up to the curbing and over it. The automobiles on the boulevard were like boats bobbing up and down in a canal. He saw an empty blue taxi and held up his hand. The driver stopped and eyed him suspiciously.
“You want a cab, kid?”
“Yes,” said Colin, “I want to go to 4541 Grove Street.”
“What’ll you do with the bike?” the cabby asked. Colin didn’t answer. He hadn’t thought of that.