by Mary Chase
She was back in a minute with a long black dress and a little checkered apron. She held the dress up for Colin to see. He drew back.
“Me, wear that?” He was horrified.
“They would let you pass,” she said, “and you would even get a seat on a crowded bus. I would advise you to try it. It’s been a wonderful help to me. I have dozens of them.”
So, gingerly, he stepped into the black dress and Mrs. Newby fastened the apron on him and pinned it up. Then she got into her hatboxes and brought out a little black bonnet which tied under the chin. Then she found a gray shawl which she wrapped around his shoulders.
“You will find that this comes in very handy and gives you safe passage past any policemen.”
Then she put little black gloves on him, and when she had finished, he looked just like a dear old lady, like a smaller version of Mrs. Newby herself. She pushed him toward the door.
“Open it and walk out. Go where you must go. Smile shyly, as though you loved the whole world and everybody in it and would never lift your hand against anyone again.”
Colin started to run toward the door, but she caught him.
“Go slowly, very, very slowly.”
So he started again and he had never realized how hard it would be to walk slowly when you were in a hurry. But he did it and he was about to open the door when Mrs. Newby spoke.
“Wait,” she said, “the message. Now let me think, what was it? Oh yes, my friend, the robin said this: ‘Don’t walk over the bridge. Walk up the stream.”’
Colin was puzzled. “Up the stream? What does that mean?” But he opened the door and went out.
Mrs. Newby watched as the policemen tipped their hats to Colin and said kindly, “Good morning, Mrs. Newby.”
Then she saw Colin get to the gate and start to run up the street fast, pulling the skirt up over his blue jeans. She saw the two policemen start to chase him, calling out, “Stop! Stop!” Then she couldn’t see any more.
15. MOTHER IN THE TUNNEL
When Mother stepped out of the tunnel and found herself in a forest, she first thought, “I’m dreaming. I’ve fallen asleep and I’m dreaming.”
But she remembered Colin had said the children were here. She looked around the forest and began to call them. At first her voice was low because she was puzzled and frightened. So she called softly, “Kathy, Sharon, Jerry, Loretta.”
Nothing answered her. The leaves on the trees said nothing. The sun falling across the stone bridge at the end of the path was warm and yellow. Everything was silent.
She made her voice louder. She put her hands to her mouth and called louder and faster. “Kathy, Sharon, Jerry, Loretta! Come here.” But no one answered.
She walked down the path to the stone bridge. They couldn’t hide from her. She would find them, no matter how long it took. She stamped a foot on the stone bridge. “Kathy, come out here this minute! Sharon, Jerry, Loretta, where are you hiding?”
She started across the bridge. Then she thought she heard something like whispers in the wind. “Mother, don’t come. Go back, Mother. Go back.”
She stopped. She listened again. Now she heard nothing but the water flowing under the bridge. She looked down at it. It was green and glassy and it glistened as the sun shone down upon it.
If things were different, she would like to stay in just such a green forest spot as this, lean on that bridge and look down at that water a long time.
But she walked across the bridge, and she got so dizzy she had to hang onto the sides to keep from falling. She remembered she had eaten no breakfast. That was why she was dizzy.
She felt better when she looked up and saw the house. What a beautiful house! It was like a castle! With a stairway of broad stone steps going up to a big door. Where was she? Was this the Van Hummelwhite House, on the Canon Road? It must be. There was no house in town as big and beautiful. Still she was not sure. She didn’t remember those stone steps. How had she gotten here? And if the children were here, what were they doing here?
She didn’t know, but suddenly she began to feel better.
The terrible feeling of fear she had known when she walked into their empty bedrooms this morning began to leave her. Mrs. Van Hummelwhite was a very nice person, and if the children were here, then it was mysterious, but it was all right.
She saw someone waving at her. It was a man in a military uniform with a sword at his side. He was coming down the stone steps and he was holding out his hand. Mother wished she had remembered to wear a nicer dress.
“Mrs. Mason, good morning,” he cried out, “what a nice surprise.”
Mother thought, “Do I know him? He knows me.”
So she said, “How nice to see you, what a lovely morning.”
He came on down the steps, crooking his arm for her to lean on.
“The Countess will be delighted. You must have strawberries and cream with us.”
The Countess? This surprised Mother. So Mrs. Van Hummelwhite was entertaining countesses these days. Still puzzled, she took the General’s arm, however, and they walked up the steps.
“I’m looking for my children,” she told him, still wondering who he was and how he knew her.
“How interesting!” He held the door open for her. “Do you do that sort of thing quite often?”
Then she was in a big beautiful room. She saw first a breakfast table in the center of the room and then, stepping out of the shadows, she saw a beautiful blond woman in ivory satin. When Mother first saw the beautiful woman she thought, “Oh, how beautiful she is.” She next thought, “How shabby I am.”
But the woman smiled at her so sweetly and suddenly she did not feel shabby. She felt beautiful and interesting and young and exciting.
“Mrs. Mason,” the woman said, holding out a small white hand, “you didn’t forget us. Thank you. Bless you.” She led Mother to a chair.
Forget them? Then she must have met them. She wished she could remember where. But she must not offend them. So she said, “Forget you? How could I? How nice it is to be here.” She looked at the table, set for breakfast and something odd ticked in her mind. Someone had been eating at this table. There was jelly dribbled across one of the plates. Jerry must not be the only one who did that with grape jelly—held it high and always let it dribble down.
The man and woman were watching her. “Have I interrupted your breakfast?” she asked them. “Do go on.”
The woman poured a cup of coffee from a silver pot and handed it to her.
“Thank you, but I do not have time for coffee. I’m looking for my children. Tell me, have you seen three children, or possibly—four?”
The General nodded. “Many times. And I have seen twenty children, fifty children, a hundred children. Once at a circus, I saw five hundred.”
“You see.” The Countess smiled at Mother. “He always tells more than is asked of him. Don’t you adore him?”
Mother looked at him. No, she didn’t adore him. He had given her a silly answer. She frowned. “I mean only my children. They are missing and I am out looking for them.”
The General rose and bowed. “I imagine you do that as you do everything else—charmingly.”
Mother was getting a little impatient with him. “Have you seen them?” she asked. “Have they been playing around here? They ran away last night.” She was beginning to get frightened again. “Perhaps Mrs. Van Hummelwhite has seen them.”
“Perhaps,” said the Countess. “I expect she has seen many things in her day. Do have some fresh strawberries.”
Mother’s voice was beginning to get tearful. “May I trouble you to speak to Mrs. Van Hummelwhite?”
“No trouble at all,” the Countess smiled, “if she were here.”
Mother was stunned. “But where is she?”
The Countess picked a rose out of a vase. “I wouldn’t have the vaguest idea. General, do let me pin this flower in your buttonhole.”
Mother was getting more and more impatient and fright
ened.
“Oh, do stop being so elegant and so charming, you two, and tell me. Have you seen my children, yes or no.”
The Countess regarded her coldly, “My dear friend. Aren’t you forgetting your manners?”
Mother’s face got red. “I beg your pardon. I am so worried. But maybe you don’t know how awful it is to run into their rooms to kiss your children and find—no one.”
The Countess rose. “Stop,” she cried. “This sentimental chatter bores me.”
Mother started for the door. “I must go. I am wasting time here.”
At the door she turned again and looked at the dribbled plate.
“A silly question,” she said, “but I must ask it. Whoever did that jelly-dribbling on that plate?”
“Couldn’t say,” and here the General’s eyes met those of the Countess. “We had guests for breakfast. I am not sure just which one of them was a jelly dribbler. Do you know, Countess?”
The Countess’s voice was firm. “To the best of my knowledge I have never met a jelly dribbler. But then, maybe I did and was not aware of it at the time. One meets many types these days.”
“Good-bye,” said Mother. “I’m sorry I troubled you.”
The General was opening the door for her when Mother heard the noise. It was the noise of feet, like squirrels, scampering under the floor. She heard someone stumble and cry out.
Jerry! That was Jerry’s voice coming from under the floor!
“Jerry!” she cried out. “Jerry, where are you?”
“Where is he?” She turned to the General, “I heard my little boy, Jerry. I know it.”
The Countess held up her hand. “Yes, I heard something, too. It came—from out there.” She looked toward the forest.
Mother believed her. “Did it?” she cried. She ran toward the door. The Countess breathed a sigh of relief.
But as Mother walked again over that rug, she heard again under it the sound of scampering feet.
“I heard it again,” she told them, “and it’s coming from down there.” She pointed to the floor.
“Of course you did,” the General smiled. “Dear lady, you heard the noise of the Countess’s pet monkeys in the cellar. Would you care to see them?”
“Another time, perhaps,” said Mother. “But now I must look in that forest for my children. Good-bye and thank you.”
As Mother started out the door for the third time, she heard Kathy’s voice. It came from the floor under her feet. Suddenly her spine grew cold. She could not speak at first from fear. She looked at the General. His hand was on his sword. She looked at the Countess and the soft beautiful eyes were now like blue flames. Whoever they were, wherever she was, Mother knew now that these people had her children!
When she could speak, she tried to make her voice sound easy. But when she heard it, it sounded strange and dry and a little as though it belonged to someone else.
She heard it say, “It’s a lovely morning. A perfect morning for looking at pet monkeys. I believe I will see them after all.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Mason.” The Countess glared hatefully at Mother.
“Is this wise, my dear?” she heard the General whisper. But the Countess tossed her head.
“Wise or not, I will not be humiliated by this woman. Open the trap door.”
With her heart beating, Mother saw the General lift a small rug off the floor and she saw a heavy iron ring. Just before he took hold of the ring to pull it up, the Countess said, “Wait!”
He stopped. She spoke to Mother.
“Mrs. Mason, do you love your home?”
“My home,” said Mother. “Of course I love my home. I have a little green bedroom, high up under a chimney, with green leaves tapping at my window. I have a little china chandelier, made of pink and white flowers. In the dining room I have my grandmother’s lace cloth. In the living room I have an oil painting of my father, a brick fireplace, a gold sofa with an ink stain. My home, I love every inch of the big rambling old place.”
“Then think carefully,” the Countess warned. “Once the General lifts this ring, you will never see your home again.”
“Never see my home—” Well, Mother swallowed, but she thought of Kathy and Jerry and Sharon and Loretta and instantly made up her mind. If they lived in a boxcar, slept in hayfields, she would have her children.
“Lift the ring!” She threw up her head. And again the General touched the ring with his hand.
“Wait!” said the Countess. “There is someone else. Isn’t there someone else across the bridge?”
Mother did not understand at first. Then she knew. She could read it in the Countess’s eyes. Colin! Live without Colin! Colin live without her! Never!
The Countess was watching her. “I thought not,” she said. “General, put back the rug. I think Mrs. Mason is leaving us after all.”
Leaving? Leaving the children here! How would she explain this to Colin. “Colin, I have left your brother and sisters under a trap door to come back home to you.” What would he think of her. No matter what he said, in his heart he would think, “Chicken! Cream puff! You left them, even the little ones, to come back here to me. Don’t you know I could get along? I am the oldest. I am—a man. I can sell papers. I can work after school. I can grow up hard and tough. It will be lonely. It will be hard, but it will be better than sitting night after night in a warm dining room with a full meal with a mother who would go away and leave four children in a cellar under a rug.”
“Oh, Colin,” thought Mother, “you would be ashamed of a mother like that. And I would be ashamed of you if you weren’t. So live, grow up, my boy, back there without us.”
Mother turned to the Countess. “My son, Colin, would be ashamed of a cream puff for a mother. Lift up the ring.”
The Countess was startled. She looked at the proud lift of Mother’s head. She raised a nervous hand to her pearl necklace.
“But surely, Mrs. Mason,” she said, “surely a boy that age needs his mother.”
Mother turned her head away so that the Countess should not see the tears in her eyes. When she spoke she was not like a countess. She was like a queen.
“I hardly think, Countess,” she answered, “I want to discuss my son with you. And now if you don’t mind will you open that trap door and bring my children up out of that cellar.”
“Oh no, Madam,” the General growled, “it is you who will go down.”
“And then,” said the Countess, “after we have chained you, we will bring your children up. And I shall have my heart’s desire, children—forever.”
The General took hold of Mother to put her down the cellar, when suddenly the Countess screamed. There was a huge finger pushing through the windows, moving blindly around, knocking over tables and chairs.
The General unsheathed his sword and rushed forward. “En garde!” he shouted, and plunged his sword into the finger.
Then they heard a bellowing voice outside, “Jeepers.”
“Colin,” Mother ran to the window and looked out. All she could see was an immense pair of legs in blue jeans, like two telegraph poles. But it was Colin’s voice!
The finger was still moving. It had now encircled the Countess by the waist and was pulling her out through the windows and up into the air!
Peering out of the window to look, Mother saw the giant now more clearly.
“Colin,” she cried out. “Colin, what are you doing? How dare you swell up like that? Stop it, this instant! I’ll spank you.”
“See what a fine, big son I have,” she turned to the General. “I don’t know how he got that big—but he did it anyway. So I don’t think you will put me in any cellar now.”
“Not so quickly,” growled the General, and he took her by the arm and pulled her outside.
She was suddenly frightened speechless. She felt a tickling at her throat. It was the point of the General’s sword!
Colin was looking at the figure of the Countess. How small she was as she lay in a dead faint on th
e roof of the house in her ivory satin dress. She looked exactly like one of his sisters’ dolls, lying on the roof of a dollhouse.
When Colin had run through the tunnel a few moments ago, he had started to run across the bridge. Then, with one foot on it, he had remembered the last thing Mrs. Newby had said to him. “Don’t cross the bridge. Walk upstream.” So he had turned back.
At first he had seen nothing. Where was the house? What had happened?
Then he had looked down. There it lay. A dollhouse of a mansion with the broad stone steps no bigger than the width of his hand. Why, he could step over and kick it with his foot and it would tumble down.
Then he leaned over and tried to look in. He put his finger inside. When he pulled it out, there was the Countess. Now he heard a noise like flies buzzing.
There at the doorway of the house, he saw the General and his mother—his own mother—ten inches tall! The General had hold of her. He was shouting.
Colin reached down to pick him up. Then he heard his mother’s voice—so small and birdlike, “Don’t, Colin. Don’t. Stop! Stop!”
“One move and I’ll kill her.” He heard the tiny, angry voice. The General had his sword at Mother’s throat. Gosh!
“Hello, Colin,” he heard a voice say close to his ears. He turned and saw Mrs. Newby standing there. He had an idea.
“I’ll call a truce,” he told her. “You go in and tell him I will give him back his Countess for my mother and brother and sisters.”
Mrs. Newby was so pleased. “All my life I have wanted to be inside of a dollhouse. Yes, I’ll do your negotiating. How do I get in there?”
“The bridge,” said Colin. And then Mrs. Newby walked to the bridge, disappeared for a moment behind the trees at the side of it. In a minute he saw her coming across the bridge. She was ten inches high.
So that was what happened! Something in the center of the bridge. He saw her go up to Mother and the General, and the three of them went inside the house. He looked at the Countess on the roof and waited.
Inside now, Mrs. Newby was facing the General, who still held Mother firmly, her arms behind her back, his sword unsheathed.