"Back up there? You're kidding, right?" Ice said. "How can we help her?"
"I don't know. Maybe if we spend some time with her, she'll..."
"Snap out of it? It doesn't work that way," Cinnamon said. "It takes intense therapy and medication sometimes. But..."
"But what?" Ice asked,
"But I guess we can visit her again, learn more about her, maybe help her a little,"
"You're the crazy one now," Ice insisted. "Maybe, Rose, what do you think?"
She thought, smiled, and shrugged. "I'm for it. if y'all are."
"Honey, you sure?"
"Yes. I don't care who gets mad at us." Cinnamon looked at Ice.
"If you're all going to be thrown out of here, I guess I'd better join you. I won't be happy staying with Howard and Steven."
"What about them?"
"Don't dare let them know a thing," Cinnamon said. "Steven would not take it seriously and get us in trouble faster. and Howard..."
"What?" I asked.
"Would probably turn us in."
Everyone nodded in silent agreement.
"Besides," Cinnamon said with a smile. "the next time I'm going to be an orange."
All of us laughed. even Ice.
"Let's just let a few days pass to be sure neither Ms. Fairchild or Madame Senetsky has found out about our little expeditions into their private world and that we've discovered their big secret," Cinnamon suggested.
Everyone nodded.
It's like waiting for a second shoe to drop," Ice said. "My daddy always says that. Especially after he and my mother had an argument and she went off to sulk or drink. I walked around holding my breath most of the time. My teachers thought I was some kind of mute."
"Until you opened your mouth and sang, I bet," Rose said.
"Singing is freedom to me," Ice replied.
Cinnamon smiled.
"I like that. I guess, in a real sense, that's what drives all of us. Ironic, in a way, that we've all come here to achieve that freedom, and we find someone practically imprisoned."
"What a strange old house this is:' I said. "There really is more theater going on in here than there is on Broadway!"
It sounded silly, but it also sounded like an understatement.
Everyone laughed, but it was laughter mixed with nervousness and uncertainty.
They left my room as quietly as they could, slinking back to their own rooms.
I got ready for bed, but before I crawled under my blanket. I gazed out the window and up the ladder. Above us, the light was still on.
I thought I could hear 'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clements."
Then the light went out.
And darkness fell faster than it had the night before.
12 Keeping Secrets
Carrying the secret of Gerta was like wearing a mask all day, except for when we were practicing and performing for our teachers. We tried not to speak about it at all while we were downstairs. Whispering would only draw more attention. However, our more frequent goings and comings from each other's rooms started to attract Steven and Howard's interest. especially Howard's. Sometimes we had to include them in our girl talk to keep them from developing any suspicions. Steven would grow bored quickly and leave, but Howard, who prided himself on having an opinion about everything, remained to argue, most often with Cinnamon.
Almost a week after our first visit upstairs, we decided to go up again. Rose had called Evan and told him of our discovery. He reinvestigated and reported back to her, assuring her his information was correct. The newspaper had reported that Gerta Senetsky died and was buried in a cemetery in Switzerland. A few days later, he called to say he had even learned the name of the cemetery.
When we climbed up the ladder the second time, we hovered on the landing and waited to be sure Gerta was alone. We knew that Madame Senetsky had left the house to attend a preview of a Broadway play, but we weren't sure where Ms. Fairchild was. For a good ten minutes, we gazed into the bedroom, waiting for signs of Gerta. She did not appear.
"Maybe they took her away," Rose suggested. "Looks like someone is still using this bedroom though," I said.
Finally Cinnamon decided to open the window and climb in. She thought it might be better if only she went. The rest of us waited and watched. She stood in the doorway, looking into the living room, and then she returned and beckoned us to follow. Once inside, we found Gerta sitting on the living room sofa, one of the teddy bears from her bed in her lap. She was in an eighteenth century dress and a wig of golden hair with two rather large curls, which lay in front of her shoulders. The dress had a hoop so wide, she looked quite silly. I saw she had even put a fake beauty mark on the crest of her right cheek.
She didn't appear to notice we had entered, but continued instead to stare with glazed eyes at the floor.
"Hi, Gerta," Rose said. "How are you?"
She didn't respond: she didn't move her eyes. I noticed she was stroking the teddy bear mechanically with her right hand.
"We came to play Oranges and Lemons again," Cinnamon said.
Still Gerta did not respond, did not move, turn her head, or do anything to indicate she had heard either Rose or Cinnamon.
"Why are you dressed like this today? Are you in a play?"
"She's in a daze," Ice said.
"It looks more like a coma," Cinnamon told us.
She crossed the room and went to the door, trying the knob.
"It's locked," she whispered. She tried the door that went to the costume room. The first one opened, but not the second. "Locked as well. They really have her imprisoned in here."
"I'm surprised they didn't lock the window. too." Rose said. "Nail it shut so she couldn't geet onto the fire escape once they found our clothes in her closet," She turned and looked at Gerta. "This is not right," she said, shaking her head. "It's downright cruel. Look at her. She needs professional help, not incarceration."
"That's some costume." I told her. "I bet it took you a long time to get it on, didn't it. Gerta?"
Her eyelids fluttered.
"Gerta," Rose said, sitting beside her. "aren't you feeling well tonight? Do you need something? We're here to help you. We'd like to help you. right.
"Yes." I said quickly.
Ice, who was looking at the pile of records, suddenly turned toward her, holding one of the records in her hands, and began in to sing a soft voice:
" Put on the skillet, slip on the lid. Mama's gonna make a little short'nin' bread. That ain't all she's gonna do. Mama's gonna make a little coffee too.' "
Ice laughed.
"My mama used to sing me this one. 'Shortnin' short'nin', short'nin bread.' "
Gerta raised her eyes and slowly began to smile. Ice looked at us and went into the chorus,
" 'Mama's little baby loves short'nin'. shortnin. Mama's little baby loves...' "
Gerta cried. " 'Shortnin bread.' "
Together they sang, " 'Mama's little baby loves short'nin. "
And then we all joined in to finish with. '"Mama's little baby loves short'nin bread.' " Gerta laughed.
"I never had short'nin bread," she said.
"Well, we oughta go out and get some for her," Rose declared.
"I was supposed to go out today," Gerta said. "but it got canceled, so I decided to put on a different dress and hair."
"Where were you supposed to go. Gerta?" Cinnamon asked her.
"To buy new clothes."
Cinnamon looked thoughtful for a moment and then walked quickly back to the bedroom,
"Let's sing again." Gerta said. "Put on the record."
"Okay," Ice said.
"Everyone, come in here!" Cinnamon called to us. "One moment. Gerta," Ice said.
We joined Cinnamon, who was standing at the closet, the doors wide open.
"Look at this. All that's here are men's clothes: jackets, slacks, even men's shoes." She opened the dresser drawers, glancing in each one. "Except for some undergarments and a few nightgo
wns, she has nothing feminine."
"So with the exception of the costumes. which I'm sure she can't wear long, if anyone sees her dressed, he or she would think he had seen a man," Rose said.
"Exactly," Ice said. "And that may be why she stole your clothes. Rose, and yours. Honey," Cinnamon concluded.
"She wants to be who she is, but they're not letting her." I said.
"Maybe," Cinnamon said, her eves taking on that look of deep thought again. "And maybe there's some more deeply psychological reason. I've been through the effects of depression. remember. There are all sorts of reasons for some-thing like this."
Everyone nodded.
"When are we going to get short'nin bread?" Gerta asked. She had come to the bedroom doorway.
"In a few days," Cinnamon told her. "She probably won't remember anyway," she whispered. "But for now, let's all just sit and talk. okay?"
"And sing?"
"And sing," Cinnamon agreed. "Honey," she told me as she started back to the living room. "you stay in here and search some more. See if you can find anything that would help explain any of this."
I nodded and waited until they were all in the living room again. Then I began with the dresser drawers. There was nothing but the articles of clothing. The closet presented no hints either. I was about to give up when I thought about my own private places back home, and got on my knees to look under her bed. There I found a shoe box and brought it out.
They were singing again in the living room, this time along with the recording. I opened the box. Inside was a pink ribbon, a pretty woman's watch, and a very faded picture of a boy who looked about ten standing beside a little girl. Behind the little girl was a tall man in a suit and tie, his hands on her shoulders. I looked closely at the watch. It was pretty, but apparently not working. When I turned it over, I read the inscription: To Gerta Berta. Love, Daddy.
Cinnamon came to the doorway. "Well?"
I stood up and showed her the box. She came over and looked at the watch and the picture.
"This could be her and that could be Edmond. I bet that's their father," she said. "Look how stiffly Edmond is standing next to her, not holding her hand or anything. Is this it?"
"So far." I replied.
She took the picture back and showed it to Gerta.
"Who is this?" Cinnamon asked, pointing to the little boy she thought was Edmond.
Gerta took the picture into her hands and looked.
"It's me." she said.
"No, isn't this you?" Cinnamon asked, touching the picture. Gerta shook her head.
"That's Gerta Berta," she said.
"What?" I asked.
Suddenly Ice and Rose were beside us.
"Someone's at the costume room door," Ice whispered. "We heard the lock being opened."
We pulled back just as Laura Fairchild stepped into the living room.
"What are you doing. Gerta?" she demanded harshly.
"Sing."
"It's time I put the costume back and you went to sleep. Your mother wants you to go to sleep early tonight."
"I don't want to go to sleep. I want to sing."
"Do what you're told," Laura said firmly. "You want to go buy new clothes, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Then do what you're told or you won't go. It's enough singing and you've worn the costume long enough. I promised your mother I'd see that you went to bed. Go on, take it off." she ordered. "And I'll put it back where it belongs. C'mon."
"I was having fun," Gerta whined. "I don't want to go to bed. I'm not tired."
"Gerta, do you want me to have to cut off your hair again and shave your head?"
"I'll just wear a wig." she replied.
"No, you won't. You won't if we say no. And that goes for the costumes. too. If you don't go to bed right now, I'll come back when you're fast asleep and shave your head bald this time," Laura Fairchild threatened. "Clean up your records, take off the costume so I can put it back, and then you go to bed. Now! Go on. Take it off quickly. or I won't get you any other things to wear when you want." she threatened.
Cinnamon nodded toward the window and we all made our way out as quietly as we could. Slowly, she lowered the window, but, about halfway down it seemed to stick. She cursed under her breath. Ice pushed on the other side and together they got it to move again.
"Move," Cinnamon urged, and we all started down the fire escape ladder.
Suddenly, the window was thrown open again. Everyone froze.
We looked up and saw Laura Fairchild. She was looking out, but she apparently did not see us. After a moment she lowered the window, and we heard the definite sound of it being locked in place.
"Does she know we were in there?" I whispered.
"Just keep moving," Cinnamon said, and we did. No one breathed until we were back in my room.
"That was close," Cinnamon said.
"Are you sure she didn't see us?" Rose asked.
"No, but I can't imagine her seeing us and not screaming at us." "That's for sure," Ice agreed.
"She locked the window. I heard her," I said. "She wants to stop anyone coming in through it."
"Maybe she was just being cautious and making sure Gerta doesn't go out."
"If it stays locked, how are we going to get back in there?" I asked.
"I don't know," Cinnamon said. "Maybe we should think twice about going back anyway."
Everyone was quiet.
"Cinnamon's right." Ice said. nodding. "That was almost it for us. We can't do anything for her anyway. It's not our problem. We're not here for that."
"But they're being pretty nasty to her. She was so hopeful, so happy when we promised to take her shopping and get her the short'nin' bread," Rose said with a smile. "That was nice when you began to sing for her. Ice."
I put on the light by my bed.
"Look at us!" Cinnamon cried.
Everyone was streaked with soot from the fire escape ladder, "Let's clean up," she said.
They all started out.
Just as they stepped into the hallway. Howard came up the stairs.
"Hey, how's the Ladies' Sewing Circle doing?" he asked. laughing.
"Fine," Cinnamon said.
I stood in the doorway. He turned to me, his smile suddenly disappearing.
"What happened to you?" he asked. "Why?"
"What's that on your face?"
"Nothing. We were fooling around with makeup," Cinnamon said quickly.
"Makeup? That doesn't look like theatrical makeup to me."
"You don't know everything about the theater yet, Howard Rockwell," Cinnamon told him. "Good night, girls," she said with emphasis.
They all headed for their rooms. I closed my door. but Howard stood there gaping at me until I did. Then I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. There was a thick line of soot down my cheek where I had pressed my face against the ladder, waiting for Laura Fairchild to retreat and close the window.
Howard is too smart, I thought. We'd have to come up with something.
Cinnamon returned just after I had washed my face and hands.
She knocked softly and then slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
"You all right?"
"Yes, but I think Howard's onto us," I said.
"I know. I'm going to confide in him," she said.
"Is that smart?" I asked. She smiled.
"No, What I'm going to tell him is you were out secretly to meet your boyfriend."
"But he knows Chandler returned to Boston."
"Who says it has to be Chandler?"
"What?"
"Just play along with it. He'll buy into it and we won't have him spying on us or asking us a whole lot of tricky questions."
"I can't do that."
"Sure you can. Think of it as a play, a role you've taken." she advised.
"I'm not an actress. Cinnamon. You're the actress. You should be the one pretending to have a boyfriend you secretly meet, not me
."
She smiled.
"You had the smudge on your face, not me. Besides, have you forgotten Madame Senetsky's words? We are always performing. We are always on one stage or another. Don't worry about the cover story. I was always good at this." she said proudly. "I raised fabrication to an art form. Believe me. when I'm finished with him. Howard will believe it."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I said,
As quickly as she slipped in, she slipped out. My heart began to beat drums of warning. Lies weren't the same as assuming an artistic persona. I thought. Cinnamon was playing with fire and she was doing it with my love life. I'd be the one who got burnt, not her.
Suddenly Mommy's concerns about my being safe here were not as foolish as Daddy had thought when we all first arrived. It was a fortress, yes. It had security, but all that was to keep danger out.
What about the dangers that were already living in this Grand house?
And what about those living in us?
"He bought it all." Cinnamon told me the following day. "Especially when I begged him not to tell Steven, who might just slip up and get you in trouble."
However, instead of getting him to lose interest in me and stop him from asking questions. it seemed to have had the completely opposite effect. Suddenly, in his eyes. I became the most interesting of the four. I began to wonder just what sort of things Cinnamon had told him about me. What were the details she left out?
Late the next afternoon, after all our sessions had ended. I heard a knock on my door. I had just sat down to write Uncle Simon a letter.
"Yes?" I called. and Howard appeared. "Hi," he said. "What are you doing?"
"Just writing my uncle a letter. Why?"
"Why don't you just phone him?"
"He likes having the letters. Howard. Why is that a problem for you?"
"It's not. I just wondered. I can actually understand why he'd want the letters. It establishes more of a bond. You make a phone call, you talk, you hang up, and there's just silence."
"Exactly."
"Doesn't he have E-mail?"
"No. This uncle hasn't spent ten minutes with a computer. He has absolutely no interest in that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
"Anything technological." I replied. "He's more into natural things."
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