by Mary Chase
“Slide it in back behind the bumpers,” the cabby told him.
So Colin lifted it. It slipped. He lifted it again and finally it was held in place. He jumped into the cab.
There was no sign of the yellow cab as the blue cab sped down the boulevard. But what difference did it make? He knew the address. Well, the cab driver knew it. He hoped he remembered. Colin didn’t.
Once at a traffic light, the cabby turned and said, “You’re goin’ a long ways out, kid. You got enough money?”
“Oh yes,” Colin answered. And he did have. Not with him, of course. But he had a ten-dollar bill at home in a box in his dresser.
Soon they were out of town and out into the country. The roads got bumpy and rutty. Bump! Bump! Bump! The cabby got cross.
“You better fix these roads, kid, if you expect me to come out here.”
Colin said nothing.
Then the houses got further and further apart and the moon looked big and silvery across the little farms they passed and even bigger and more silvery across the bigger and bigger farms they were now passing. There was no sign of the other cab.
Then Colin saw a big black hill, rising up, pointed, in the moonlight. One star hung above the point. There was a farmhouse at the bottom of the hill. On a wooden sign at a gate it said: 4541 Grove Street. Orson Potts. Fresh milk.
The cab slowed up. It stopped.
“Here you are, kid.” Colin saw the yellow cab parked a way down the road. He got out.
“Wait a minute.” The cabby was opening his door. “That’ll be three dollars and fifty cents.”
“That’s all right,” Colin told him, “because I’ve got a ten dollar bill home in a box in my dresser.”
The cabby didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he said, “I’ll wait for you and we’ll go to your house and get it.” Then as Colin started to walk through the gate to the farm he called out, “You better come back if you want your bike.”
“I’ll be back,” said Colin, “just as soon as I find out if I’ve got an older sister.”
The house of Orson Potts stood far back from the road. It looked like a big black teapot. The chimney rising from one side of the roof looked like the spout and the smoke coming out looked like steam.
Behind it stood the black pointed hill and once, just for a second, Colin thought he saw little lights flashing on that hill.
Between the house and the hill stood trees, standing close together like people who might leap out at you like a gang.
“I’m not scared,” Colin told himself. “It looks scary but I’m not scared.”
He stopped still once as he thought he saw someone run from behind those trees, stand for a moment and then run back. He couldn’t see who it was or what it was. But he had the funny feeling that whoever it was had seen him. He took a deep breath and in a minute started walking again.
“It wasn’t anything,” he told himself, “I just thought it was.” Then he heard voices.
He ran toward the sound and found himself looking through a window into a kitchen. He saw his mother sitting at a kitchen table with two other people. One was a tall thin man with a black mustache, bib overalls and a straw hat pushed back on his head. The other was a woman with a checkered apron and a knob of hair twisted on top of her head.
The man was pounding the table with his fist.
“She’s gettin’ worse, ma’am.”
The woman was rocking back and forth in a rocking chair shaking her head mournfully.
“Everything’s worse. Heaven help us! Heaven help us!”
His mother looked so sad. She sat at the table with her head bowed. The man said, “The principal of the school is comin’ here tonight to talk to us about her. She’s gonna git expelled.”
His mother raised her head. There were tears on her face.
“Please call Loretta again. I must talk to her. Oh, where is she?”
Colin saw the man walk to a door, open it and then he saw torn wallpaper and a flight of steps leading upstairs. The man bawled loudly, “Gal—you up there? Git down here. Your ma’s here.”
Then as Colin waited to see at last this awful girl, this bad sister, no one came. The wind got colder and he shivered in his sweater with his eyes glued to that stairway, but nothing happened.
Then Colin heard footsteps at the front porch and then voices. He ran back and hid himself by the side of the porch behind a bush.
He saw a woman with a hat with a bird on it, get out of a car, walk through the gate and up onto the steps of the porch. This, he decided, must be the principal of Loretta’s school. Just as she was about to knock at the door he saw a figure run from the other side of the house up onto the porch. It was a girl.
Colin couldn’t see her too clearly even in the moonlight, but he did see that she had long braids of hair hanging down her back. She wore a sweater with a torn sleeve. And he had a strange feeling as he looked at her face. She looked something like Kathy and something like Sharon. Yes, she was certainly his sister. This gave Colin the oddest feeling. It was like going miles away from home and finding the old living-room chair in some stranger’s house.
She walked over and stood before the woman.
“’Lo, Miss Gutshall.”
“Well, Loretta! Well, well!” The woman drew herself up, very large and very stern, “Well.”
Loretta’s voice when she spoke was very sweet and polite.
“A well is a hole in the ground,” she said, dropping her head.
“Open the door, Loretta. I came to talk to your folks.”
Loretta’s head came up slowly.
“I’ll open the door, Miss Gutshall, but you can’t talk to my folks.”
“And why not?”
Here Loretta looked at Miss Gutshall in surprise.
“Didn’t you know? Haven’t you heard?”
Then she put her arm up before her eyes and her shoulders shook with sobs. Miss Gutshall stretched forth her hand.
“There, there, Loretta. Don’t cry. What’s the matter?”
Loretta quickly dropped her arm. Colin saw that her face was dry. There were no tears in her eyes.
“They got killed, Miss Gutshall. They’re dead. A big truck hit Mr. and Mrs. Potts right out there an hour ago.”
Then she pointed with her forefinger to the road and Miss Gutshall’s eyes turned and followed slowly.
“No,” she gasped, “oh no, not really!”
“Oh yes,” insisted Loretta, “right there, by that tree. They were walking slow and the truck was comin’ fast— and squash!” Here Loretta brought her hands together in a sharp, hard clap.
“Oh dear,” cried Miss Gutshall, “how awful! How terrible!”
Loretta nodded her head.
“There was lots of blood,” she said. “I got some on my apron—see!” Then she pointed to a spot on her apron.
Miss Gutshall shook her head back and forth slowly.
“You poor child,” she said. “You poor, poor child. So young for so much sorrow. I look at you and my heart aches.”
Loretta hung her head. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered. Again the tone of her voice was low and shy.
Miss Gutshall looked up at the star over the black pointed hill behind the Potts farm. All the stiffness and starch was gone out of her.
“This is a strange world, child. No one ever knows what will happen. I came out here tonight with my heart full of anger toward you. I was about to expel you from the school again—but forever. And now—and now—”
Here she reached out and patted Loretta’s head.
“And now I am full of pity for you. I will come in and use the telephone and call the superintendent.”
Loretta took hold of the screen door and held it open for her.
“Shh,” she put a finger to her lips. “Come in, but don’t step on them. Mother Potts is on the sofa and Father Potts is on the floor.”
Miss Gutshall jumped back.
“Never mind,” she said, “I’ll be back lat
er.”
She started to run down the steps. Then she turned.
“Aren’t you afraid, dear child, to be out here alone with them?”
Loretta smiled. “Oh no, Miss Gutshall. They look so peaceful.”
Miss Gutshall threw her arms around her and hugged her tight.
“You darling child,” she wept, “you are so brave. You make me ashamed of myself.”
And the last thing she said before she hurried away was a question.
“Loretta, do you have any other relatives? Any brothers or sisters or anybody?”
“No, ma’am.” answered Loretta, “I haven’t got nobody but that hill back there.”
“Poor child, poor child,” Miss Gutshall was saying as she hurried to her car.
But Colin saw that as Loretta turned and looked at the hill she was smiling happily.
He stood still as a mouse behind the bush. Then he felt a sudden impulse to jump up, run to her and say, “They’re not dead. They’re in the kitchen. You must have seen the truck hit somebody else.”
But another thought struck him. It made him feel cold.
Was Loretta Mason Potts—his own sister—a big liar? And why didn’t she mention Mother? Or him or his brothers and sisters? Didn’t she know about them either?
But then he heard Mr. Potts’s voice bawl loudly again, “Gal—you out there? Git in here.”
But Loretta did not move. Calmly she took a candy bar out of her sweater pocket and began to munch it slowly.
The door was flung open and there stood his mother and Mr. and Mrs. Potts.
“Loretta,” his mother cried out and she rushed forward and threw her arms around the girl. She stroked her hair and made loving, cooing sounds to her, the same kind of sounds she made to him when she was pleased with him, saying things like, “How is mother’s own big girl? How is my dear Loretta?”
But Loretta did not even turn her head.
“Hey, don’t slop,” she said, and she walked away from Mother.
Mr. Potts took hold of her arm. “Who was here?” he asked. “Who was you talkin’ to out here?”
“Miss Gutshall,” answered Loretta, and she went right on calmly munching the candy.
Mother Potts spoke up. “I knew it, Pa. I told you I heard a car. Where is Miss Gutshall?”
“Gone,” sighed Loretta. “All gone—real gone.”
“Gone where?” demanded Father Potts. “Where’s she gone to?”
Mother Potts said, “She wanted to see us—about you—”
“She came,” said Loretta and she said it in the tone of one who is bored with everything, “to beg me to be in the Christmas play. I told her ‘yes’ and then she went away.”
Colin’s mother faced Mr. and Mrs. Potts.
“Hear that,” she said. “I hope you heard that! This child has talent. She has always had talent. And you tell me the principal wants to expel her! Mr. Potts and Mrs. Potts, I do not understand you.”
Mrs. Potts started to answer and her face looked angry. But Mr. Potts held up his forefinger and wiggled it back and forth.
“Keep outta this, Ma. The time has come for a few plain words. We’ve been keepin’ a wildcat and you’re tryin’ to tell us—it’s a lamb!”
Colin’s mother raised her head high in the air like a queen. Her voice became low and steady and she took hold of the gold bracelet on her wrist and began to turn it slowly round and round. This always meant she was very, very angry. Not just a few minutes angry but a long-time angry.
“Mr. Potts,” she said and looked up at him, “and I believe your name is Potts. You know nothing about anything. This child is not a wildcat. Wildcats live in trees. They have green eyes and crafty, mean dispositions and no one would dream of inviting one of them to be in a Christmas play.” She put an arm around Loretta and stood close to her, “So you see, you do not have a leg to stand on.”
Mr. Potts took out his pipe. Slowly he filled it from a little white sack in his shirt pocket. He lit it and he puffed at it before he spoke again.
“Ma’am, supposin’ we leave Christmas plays clean outta this discussion. There is no connection between a Christmas play and this rascally ornery daughter of yours.”
“Good for you, Pa,” said Mrs. Potts and she went over and stood close beside him, “don’t take no back talk.”
“Keep outta this, Ma,” he answered, but he stayed close to her just the same, just as though they had chosen up sides and it was he and she against Loretta and Colin’s mother. And all the while the moon was shining down on the little rickety wooden porch. The wind was cold and Colin felt the ground cold under him as he crouched and listened.
The only thing that was warm was the anger of the grown people on the porch. But Loretta did not look angry. She only kept on munching the candy bar and looking away from them. She kept looking at the black pointed hill beyond the Potts farm. There was a secret kind of smile on her face.
“Let’s take you back a few years, ma’am,” said Mr. Potts, now putting his thumbs inside the armholes of his bib overalls, “when you brought this gal out here for the first time. Remember that?”
Mother tossed her head. “Why talk about that? Loretta was only a baby then, five years old.”
Mr. Potts shook his head.
“That one was never a baby. She mighta been young but she was never a baby. From the day she set foot in this house she was a full-grown rascal and a devil.”
“High-spirited, Mr. Potts,” answered his mother, and she stroked Loretta’s hair. “She was high-spirited and that was all.”
But Mr. Potts was not finished.
“She ran off to play in the woods on that hill while you was buyin’ a gallon of milk and you could hardly get her to leave this place. I had to help you get her into the car and she was kickin’ and screamin’ like a wildcat. You took her home and she wouldn’t eat or sleep. You brought her back the next day and begged us to help you.”
Mother’s voice had changed. Now it was sad.
“Yes,” she said, “and as soon as I drove through that gate with her she stopped crying and when she came into your kitchen she ate a piece of bread and smiled. I was heartbroken. It was either have the child starve at home or live out here with you.”
Mr. Potts laughed an ugly laugh.
“The fat was in the fire from that day on. Whenever you tried to take her home she kicked and screamed again.”
Mother sighed.
“What happened to her, Mr. Potts—Mrs. Potts? What happened to her that first day that made her want to leave her own home and mother and live out here with you?”
Colin saw his mother wipe tears out of her eyes with her handkerchief. He wanted to run up on the porch and put his arms around her. And he was so surprised! Loretta had not been sent away because she was bad. She had wanted to leave home and live on this rickety little old dairy farm. Why?
His mother was asking Loretta the same question.
“Loretta—for the hundredth time—please tell Mother what happened to you that day to turn you against your own family and toward Mr. and Mrs. Potts?”
But the same secret slow smile was on Loretta’s face and she did not look at his mother and she did not answer. She looked beyond the Potts farm toward that pointed hill. Colin’s eyes followed hers but he saw nothing but the same black hill, sharp and pointed in the moonlight with the one star hanging above the point.
“Seven years.” Mr. Potts nodded. “This wildcat has had us in hot water seven years!”
Mother did not hear. She was thinking out loud.
“I was ashamed for the neighbors to know, for my other children to know that my own child had turned against me and preferred the milkman.”
“Seven years and three months, Orson,” said Mrs. Potts, “and that’s too long.”
Mother nodded.
“Yes. And I now see that I made a horrible mistake in ever bringing her back here to you. Tonight has proved it to me. The stories you have been telling me about her are n
ot true. You said she was to be expelled from school but instead they want her to be in a Christmas play.”
His mother’s voice grew dangerously sweet. “What’s the matter, Mr. Potts? Are you jealous? Didn’t anyone ever ask you to be in a Christmas play?”
Before he could answer mother went on.
“I have been wrong all these years to doubt my child and believe your lies. Well, Mr. Potts, it is finished. Give me your bill and I will take her home with me—tonight!”
Colin’s heart turned to ice.
Bring her home! Oh no! Couldn’t his mother tell that it was she who had told the lie? He felt like rushing up on that porch and telling her the truth. Then he saw a strange thing. He saw Loretta walk over and stand between Mr. and Mrs. Potts. She had chosen up sides.
“Get away,” cried Mrs. Potts. “Oh Pa, what if we starve. I’d rather starve than have her.”
Loretta spoke but she did not move away from them.
“Oh, don’t starve,” she said, and she handed something to Mrs. Potts.
“See how sweet she is,” cried Mother, “she would give you her candy. Come, dear, let’s get your things and we will go home and you will be with your mother and your brothers and sisters.”
But Loretta did not move.
Colin looked at what she had handed Mrs. Potts. It was the paper wrapping off her candy bar. Sweet? How could his mother say that?
Mrs. Potts began to nibble absent-mindedly at the paper. Then she spit it out.
“I shoulda known better,” she said. “Go on, gal, get your clothes and go along home with your mother.” Then she gave her a shove.
Loretta still did not move.
Colin’s mother walked over and pulled her.
“Come, dear,” she said, “you don’t have to stay with these people who tell lies about you. Come home with your mother.”
But Loretta jerked her hand away from mother and stepped closer to Mr. and Mrs. Potts.
He shoved her away. “Git goin’,” he said, “we don’t want you here.”
But each time he shoved her toward mother, Loretta would step back toward him.
Mother shook her head sadly.
“See how sweet she is. No matter how you’ve treated her, she still loves you.”