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A Ghost in the Window
Betty Ren Wright
For DELORES DRAPER and
for ETHEL MAE GREENE
1
“So what did you think I was going to try out for, the beautiful Native American princess?” Rhoda Deel leaned back and peered out from under her visored cap. “You’ll get that part, Meg, want to bet? You looked fantastic up there on the stage. And you did the lines fairly well, too,” she teased. “Maybe a little quivery, but …” She tipped her hat back with an index finger. “I guess I didn’t quiver, did I?”
“You sounded like somebody’s horrible little brother just begging for trouble.” Meg’s eyes were on the sunlit theater-on-wheels, where tryouts for this summer’s play continued. She couldn’t imagine wanting to play a mischievous ten-year-old when there was a beautiful princess in the cast of characters. But then, Rhoda seldom did the expected. That was one reason it was such fun having her for a friend.
“You like to make people laugh, and I’d rather give them goose bumps because I’m so brave,” Meg murmured. “How’d we get to be friends?”
Rhoda grinned. “The world needs us both. Actually, it’s not that I want to make them laugh. But since I look like a boy, sort of, I might as well make the most of it. Four feet ten, skinny, short red hair and freckles. Does that sound like your typical Native American princess?”
Meg touched the long black braid that she thought of as her trademark. “Just because I have dark hair, that doesn’t mean I look like Princess Running Deer,” she said. “But I want that part, Rho! I really do!”
She could picture herself slipping into the pioneer settlement to warn her white friends of the brutal attack that was coming. And in the second act there was that wonderful, heartbreaking speech in which the princess said goodbye to the settlers before returning to her own people and certain death. If Meg’s voice quavered when she read the lines, it was because the fate of the princess had moved her. To do the right thing and then be punished for it was dreadful.
A slim blond girl moved to the center of the stage and began reading the princess’s farewell speech.
“Yellow-hair no good for princess,” Rhoda muttered. “Why waste time?”
Meg bit her lip. “But she is good, Rho,” she whispered. “Oh, darn, listen to her—she’s the best yet. You can tell she’s acted before. And they won’t care about her hair—she can wear a wig, you know. Mr. Cody said we should let the costume and makeup people worry about how we looked.”
They were silent for a couple of minutes while the girl finished the farewell speech and then, at Mr. Cody’s suggestion, turned to an earlier scene and read some more. Finally Rhoda cleared her throat. “Meg Korshak did it better,” she intoned, under her breath. “Big Chief Deel—Big Deel, that is—has spoken.”
Meg tried to smile. She hoped Rhoda was right, but her confidence was slipping away. And she wanted to be in this play more than anything she could think of. If Rhoda got the little boy’s part, they would have a marvelous summer, going to rehearsals together, traveling to playgrounds and parks all over Milwaukee to perform, sharing the excitement of being in a real play. “I suppose I could work on costumes or sets or something,” she said slowly. “If you get a part and I don’t, I mean.”
The blond girl finished reading and returned the script to the director. Meg narrowed her eyes against the sun, trying to read his lips.
“I think he told her she was terrific, Rhoda. Maybe he even told her she had the part.”
Rhoda stood up and stretched. “He told her she’d find out who gets what as soon as the tryouts are over. Same as he told you and me. It could take hours. Come on, Meggie, let’s get an ice-cream cone at Darys’ and go home. I think I’m about to have sunstroke.”
Meg followed her friend across the small park to the bus stop. Rhoda was right. Mr. Cody had their addresses and telephone numbers. There was no reason to sit around and brood about how good everyone else was.
Later, walking down Brookfield Avenue and licking her double-dip chocolate-chip-and-mocha cone, Meg began to feel a little better. It was going to be a good summer, whatever happened, mostly because she and Rhoda would be together. Trying out for the theater-on-wheels production had been Rhoda’s idea. If they didn’t get parts in the play, they were going to check with the museum and the art center to see what kind of summer activities were scheduled. Rhoda had even suggested a way they could earn some money. They would ask their apartment superintendent if they could wash cars in the underground parking garage. It would be fun working together, and Meg’s mother and Rhoda’s father would have to approve of a job that kept them in spending money and could be performed without leaving the building.
At the thought of her mother, Meg’s lips tightened. Lately, she and her mother didn’t agree on anything. No, not just lately, she amended. It had been that way ever since her parents’ divorce became final a year ago. During the months before that, with her father up in northern Michigan, living in Uncle Henry’s cottage and working on his stories and articles, Meg had kept insisting that someday he would come back to them. Someday soon! When he didn’t, her mother seemed to look around for someone to blame. That was when the problems began. Hardly a day went by now without a sharp disagreement between mother and daughter.
“Maybe you remind your mom of your dad,” Rhoda had said one night, after Meg had poured out her hurt feelings. “You’re sort of—sort of different—like he is. And maybe you look a lot like him. Do you?”
Meg sniffed. “So what if I do? That isn’t my fault. Besides, I’m glad if I look like him. I love him! He’s still my father, and he writes to me often and …”
She’d subsided into grumpy silence. Her brother, Bill, had said much the same thing as Rhoda when she’d complained to him about the way her mother treated her. “I don’t think Ma’s over the divorce, Meggie,” he’d said. “What I mean is, she doesn’t want to be married to Dad anymore, and yet she can’t forgive him for going away. When she looks at you, I guess she sees him.”
“Then maybe she doesn’t want me in the family anymore either,” Meg muttered.
Bill turned suddenly unsympathetic. “Now, that’s just dumb,” he snapped. “Ma loves you, kiddo. She’d feel rotten if she heard you say that.”
“But she loves you more,” Meg insisted. “She practically never gets mad at you.”
“I try not to say things that’ll upset her,” Bill had retorted. “Unlike some people I could name.”
Remembering that conversation, Meg promised herself she would do nothing to spoil this summer. She would be tactful. She wouldn’t argue. She would be an even-tempered, dependable, feminine version of Bill.
At least, she’d try.
Rhoda swallowed the last of her cone and grabbed Meg’s elbow. “Hey, we’re home,” she said. “You look as if your head is a million miles away.”
“I was thinking about my mother,” Meg said. “If we do get parts in the play, she’ll probably say it’s silly or a waste of time.”
Rhoda sighed, wiped sticky fingers on her jeans, and pulled open the big glass door that led into the apartment foyer. “Think happy,” she advised, swinging the door wide and bowing. “After you, Princess Running Deer.”
Someone was humming. Meg stopped, startled, just inside her apartment, before she remembered that this was Wednesday, her mother’s afternoon off.
“Is that you, Mama?”
The humming stopped. “I’m in here.” The voice was her
mother’s, but it had an unfamiliar lilt. Meg hurried down the hall.
The usually neat master bedroom looked as if a gust of wind had blown everything out of the closet and onto the bed. Dresses, jackets, skirts, blouses, the old blue bathrobe—all were scattered over Grandma Korshak’s flower-garden quilt. Her mother stood in front of the mirror, examining herself critically.
“What’s happened?” Meg demanded, suddenly uneasy. “What are you doing?”
Mrs. Korshak smiled into the glass. “Taking inventory,” she said with something very like a giggle. “Trying to decide what’s needed.”
“Needed for what?”
“I had a telephone call this morning. An incredible one!” Her mother turned away from the mirror and snatched a blouse from the bed. “It started me thinking—I haven’t bought any clothes since—for ages. And my hair is a mess.…”
Meg scowled. A telephone call? What was this about, anyway? Her mother was acting like—like a girl. She was like a girl getting ready for a date!
An alarm sounded in Meg’s head, warning her not to act as outraged as she felt.
“Who called?” she asked, trying to make the question casual. It was probably one of the salesmen at the real estate office where her mother worked. Meg hated him, whoever he was.
“I’ll tell you about it when Bill gets home,” Mrs. Korshak said. “No use going through the whole thing twice.”
The whole thing! Meg retreated to her own bedroom, her stomach churning. Had her mother been seeing someone for a long time without telling them? If so, why was she ready to admit it now? Suddenly, anything seemed possible.
For the next half hour Meg lay curled up on her bed, trying to think about the play, about Princess Running Deer, about the car-washing job—trying to ignore the humming that had begun again in the front bedroom. When the apartment door finally opened, she was on her feet in one bound and racing down the hall.
“Where’ve you been?” she scolded her brother. “I thought you’d never get here!”
Bill looked surprised. “Hey, I’m home early,” he said mildly. “What’s your problem?” His eyes were intent behind his glasses. “Did you get the part you wanted in the play?”
“Don’t know yet.”
That was Bill. With all he had to think about—his pre-med studies at the university, his summer internship with the pharmaceutical laboratory—he didn’t forget what was important to her. He really cared. For the thousandth time, at least, Meg thought about how lucky she was to have him. With Bill for a brother, her family could never fly apart completely.
Could it?
“Mama has something to tell us,” Meg whispered. “She wanted to wait until you got home.” When Bill didn’t say anything, she rushed on. “I think maybe she’s going to get married.”
Bill dropped his lunch box on the hall table. “Married! Ma? You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. She’s in her room looking over all her clothes and smiling at herself in the mirror and talking about taking an inventory.…”
Bill brushed past Meg and strode down the hall. He stopped in the bedroom doorway and looked at the jumble of clothes on the bed. Meg peeked nervously over his shoulder.
“Hey, what’s going on?” He grinned at their mother, but Meg heard the tightness in his voice. “You cleaning out your closet?”
Mrs. Korshak folded a skirt over the back of a chair. “Not cleaning, just sorting. I think it’s time I bought some new things.”
“Any special reason?” The tightness was more pronounced. Meg clenched her fists so hard that the nails bit into her palms.
“As a matter of fact, yes!” Their mother’s face glowed with pleasure. “I’m going on a trip.”
“A honeymoon!” Meg gasped. She knew Bill heard, because she felt him stiffen.
“Would you believe,” Mrs. Korshak went on, “your uncle Bill—he’s the one you’re named for—called me at work this morning! He’s coming home on leave from his bank job in Rome, and he wants me to meet him in New York for a reunion. All expenses paid! Everything!” She slumped into a chair, as if the excitement were more than she could stand. “We’ll spend ten days sightseeing in Manhattan—he has a little bit of business to attend to there—and then we’ll fly to Pittsburgh for ten more days, to visit the rest of the family. Isn’t that marvelous?”
“Marvelous,” Bill agreed, smiling at Meg. “When are you leaving, Ma?”
“Bill will get to New York this Sunday, and he wants me to fly in Monday evening. I have to talk to my boss, but I have the time coming, and we’re not very busy, so … what’s the matter with you, Meg? You look as if you’ve been let out of jail or something. Are you that glad your mother’s going away?”
“Yes—I mean, no—I mean—” Meg rolled her eyes. “I’m happy you’re going to have a vacation, that’s all. I mean, I’m happy that it’s just Uncle Bill—”
Her brother’s elbow caught her squarely in the ribs. “We’re both happy for you, Ma. You deserve a change.”
The telephone rang, saving Meg from having to explain any further. She raced to answer, hoping it was Rhoda calling. Rhoda’s parents were divorced, too, so she would understand exactly how Meg had felt when she thought her mother might be getting married again.
But it was a man’s voice that answered Meg’s breathless hello. For a moment, she didn’t recognize the smooth baritone.
“Meg Korshak? This is Jim Cody from theater-on-wheels.”
Meg froze. “Yes,” she said. The word was a squeak.
“I wanted to tell you that you have the part of Princess Running Deer, if you want it. Your reading this afternoon was exceptionally good.”
“Oh.” Meg’s cheeks burned. “Oh, thank you! That’s—that’s terrific!”
“We’re going to start rehearsals next Wednesday at Humboldt Park. You’ll get your copy of the script then.” He hesitated. “You still there?”
“Yes, yes, I am. I’m just so glad—”
Mr. Cody chuckled. “That’s all set, then. I’ll see you Wednesday at the Humboldt Park lodge. And remember, we start promptly at ten.”
Meg cleared her throat. “Did Rhoda—could you tell me if Rhoda Deel got a part, too?”
There was a shuffling of papers at the other end of the line. “Short redheaded kid? Yes, she did. She’s going to be Joey Martin. She made a better little boy than any of the boys who tried out. I’ll call her next, if she’s a friend of yours.”
They said goodbye, and Meg stood very still, holding the telephone and listening to the murmur of voices from her mother’s bedroom. Everything was all right—oh, much, much better than all right. Everything was perfect! She was going to be Princess Running Deer and Rhoda was going to be the mischievous little boy. And she didn’t even have to wonder whether her mother would consider the play a waste of time, because her mother would be away for three weeks, enjoying a much-needed vacation. By the time she returned, the play would be in full swing, and it would be too late to criticize or complain.
Meg floated back down the hall, trying to decide how to tell her own big news. Guess what, Mama and Bill, I’m going to be—
She stopped at the doorway. Something had changed. Bill looked worried, and her mother’s familiar frown was back.
“Good news?” Bill asked quietly. When Meg nodded, he reached out and tugged her braid. “You got the part you wanted. Congratulations, kiddo.” But he didn’t smile.
Mrs. Korshak didn’t seem to hear. “I was just telling Bill how we’ll arrange things while I’m gone,” she said. “You realize you can’t stay here alone for three weeks, Meg.”
Meg stared. “I won’t be alone. Bill will be here.”
“He’ll be at work all day. It won’t do at all.”
“But where will I go? What are you talking about?” Meg could feel Bill’s eyes on her, willing her to stay calm, but she couldn’t help herself. “Grandma Korshak can come here and stay—she’d be glad to.”
“Grandma Korshak hasn�
�t been feeling well for weeks,” her mother said flatly. “We’re not going to ask her to pick up and move into town. Not when you have a father who’s perfectly able to take a little responsibility for his own daughter.”
So that was it. Meg turned her back on Bill. “I can’t go away,” she wailed. “I can’t! I have the lead part in the theater-on-wheels. We start rehearsing next week.”
Her mother scooped up an armful of clothes and moved to the closet. “Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s too bad you have to miss some fun, but it can’t be helped. Your uncle Bill is coming home to this country for the first time in years, and I want to see him. There’ll be other plays.”
Meg felt as if she were going to explode. “I won’t go!” she roared.
Her mother whirled, her face pink with anger. “Oh, yes, you will, my girl,” she snapped. “You’re going to stay with your father, and that’s all there is to it. We’ll call him tonight and tell him you’re coming!”
2
It is like no place Meg has been in before. The entrance is narrow but widens quickly. Along the sides are gleaming white stakes, their sharpened points reaching toward her. She is filled with horror as she realizes the stakes are giant teeth. When she looks upward, she discovers more teeth threatening her from overhead. She is walking into a huge mouth!
Ahead, light slants through long slits in the walls. Gills, she thinks. I’m inside a fish, like Jonah in the Bible.
The thought of the old Bible story calms her for a moment. Jonah didn’t die in the whale. But as she moves into the dim cavern of the fish’s mouth, she becomes increasingly fearful. She won’t die in the fish, but something bad will happen there. Something bad …
“Meg, wake up. Rhoda’s on the phone.” Mrs. Korshak’s voice cut through the dream and brought Meg upright in bed. She was in her own room, with sun pouring through the window. A garbage truck clanked and grumbled in the street below. The giant fish was gone. But it was one of the real dreams, Meg thought, and she shivered in spite of the mid-June sun. Grandma Korshak called the real dreams a secret window into the future. Grandma had them, too, and she considered the window a special gift. But she didn’t dream about a monstrous fish with a gaping, hungry mouth.…
A Ghost in the Window Page 1