The movie was so exciting that Alyssa actually forgot about Brooklynne and Mackenzie. She was disappointed that Allegra stayed the star of the dance academy — but maybe that was good in a way, because sometimes Stardancer had to leave in the middle of a performance. The song from the movie kept running through her head as she and Rachel went to the lobby afterwards. Parts of it were so familiar! But the movie was brand new, and so was the song. “I want to learn that song,” she said to Rachel.
Rachel’s mom was waiting. “Did you two have a good time?”
“Awesome!” Rachel said.
There was no more time to talk about the song. At Rachel’s place they painted their fingernails and toenails with Rachel’s new dark blue polish. Alyssa put Rachel’s frizzy hair up like a dancer’s — but it looked like a mop, instead, and Rachel collapsed on her bed, laughing. Alyssa got the giggles and couldn’t stop. She rolled on the floor clutching her stomach. Rachel howled with laughter as she pretended to dust the furniture with her hair. The desk lamp fell over. When she dusted the dresser top, she misjudged distances and landed hard on the floor. “Ohhh!” she yelled. “Owww!”
Alyssa brought her a pillow. “The medic has arrived,” she announced, “bearing a special cure from Betelgeuse.…”
“Beetle juice?” Rachel yelped. “Yuk!”
There was a tap on the bedroom door. “Girls.” Lori peeked into the room. “It’s midnight. Time to settle down.”
Rachel stood up. “Like my hair, Mom? If I dyed it blue, you could use it for a mop.”
Lori laughed. “No thanks. I’d rather have my girl anytime.” She gave Rachel a quick hug.
With the hug, a lonely feeling spiraled through Alyssa. How long had it been since Mom hugged her? It seemed like ages. But she wasn’t going to wreck the good time by thinking about that. She dug in her backpack and pulled out the red pajamas that had been new at Christmas. When she stepped into the bottoms, blue toenails peered out from under the dark red legs. Rachel and Lori were still talking and laughing, so she slithered into her pajama top. Her fingernails looked so classy. She got her toothbrush from her backpack.
There, beside it, was the bubble envelope with the picture and the magnifying glass inside. Alyssa got them out. The best way to explain to Rachel would be with the picture itself. But — would Rachel believe her?
Rachel was telling Lori how Stardancer caught a school bus that a suicidal kidnapper had driven off a cliff. Alyssa smiled, remembering how she’d stopped that bus in midair as it hurtled toward jagged rocks and crashing waves. The pretty song came on again as Stardancer flew with the bus, and set it down safely in front of the school.
Humming the tune, Alyssa sat on the spare bed in Rachel’s room. The magnifying glass slid out of the envelope, so she reached in for the picture too. The black-and-white photograph of the Clayton family looked out of place on the green-and-blue comforter. The faces of the Clayton family — her relatives? — looked up at her.
The girl, Deborah, seemed to smile. Rachel would think she looked like a nice person. Alyssa’s heart beat faster. She didn’t have to tell Rachel. She could just say these were the relatives for her project. For her project about Iowa Quakers and the Underground Railroad, she reminded herself. It still made her feel funny. But since Mom was like a zombie, was it really wrong to make a few things up? It’s lying, a little voice said inside her.
She stared at Deborah’s face in the picture. It almost seemed like Deborah was trying to say something.
Rachel and her mom had gone to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.
Alyssa stretched out on the bed. She could show Rachel the picture in the morning. For something to do, she held the magnifying glass so she could see Deborah’s face up close.
Chapter Six
A horrible tingly feeling wrapped around her like a giant spider web.
Not now! Alyssa tried to drop the magnifying glass. Her muscles wouldn’t obey. “Ra …” she started to scream, but suddenly it was hard just to breathe. Rachel’s
bedroom blurred, then swooped into dizzy blackness. Her head hurt. With a bump she slammed down.
“No,” she moaned. At the same time, a heart-
banging, breathless excitement gripped her. She tried to open her eyes and discovered that they already were open. Wherever she was, it was dark. Totally.
Bracing herself, Alyssa sat up. It felt like weeds were under her. “We should always try to notice things with all of our senses,” Mrs. Fraser had said in class last fall, for a creative writing assignment. Funny how she could hear it now, like a recording in her brain.
Alyssa sat there in the dark. Hot, humid air surrounded her. Breezy gusts flapped her pajama legs. She stood up. “Rachel!” she yelled. “Get me back!” How did that work? Probably Rachel would think she was in the bathroom, or watching TV in the family room. What would they do when they couldn’t find her? Mosquito bites pierced her cheek, her neck, and even through her pajamas. She slapped and felt a wet, squished insect on her jaw.
“Rachel!” she screamed again.
A dog started barking nearby. A rooster crowed.
Alyssa shivered. Was this the same place? What if it wasn’t? What if somebody came out with a gun, and…?
A door banged not too far away. She turned and saw a gently swinging yellow light and, beside it, two legs. A dog bounded over to the person. “Is someone there?” a man’s voice called.
Alyssa hung back. Anybody knew you didn’t walk up to a strange man. Especially in the dark.
A white flare revealed dense clouds overhead. In that flicker of sight, Alyssa noticed trees and a weather vane on a barn. Thunder bowled across the sky. Chickens squawked. The dog whimpered as the sound died away.
“Sorry, old girl,” the man said, petting the dog in the circle of light. “I know how badly these storms worry thee.”
Alyssa’s breath whooshed out in a relieved sigh. At least this man wouldn’t be coming after her with a gun. Something squished between her bare toes. Mud, she hoped.
“It must’ve been some animal out in the pasture,” the man continued. The light bobbed toward a building.
Lightning forked across the sky.
Wait! Alyssa wanted to yell. The thunder was louder this time. Again the chickens squawked and somewhere a horse whinnied. Wind lashed the treetops, hurling large drops of rain. The dog whined as the light swung its way to a screen door.
Alyssa drew in a sharp breath. “I’m here!” she said. The man didn’t hear and went inside, but right away the dog barked and rocketed toward her. A deluge hissed down. She’d have to find cover.
The sky lit up. The dog was right in front of her now. It was the same black-and-white one she’d seen the other time the picture transported her.
The thunder blast came almost simultaneously. The dog huddled against Alyssa’s legs, whining and stepping all over her bare feet with its rough pads and toenails. Almost instinctively her hand went down to comfort the frightened, wet animal. It sniffed at her palm, at her nail polish, at her pajama legs. Then it barked a sharp, decisive bark and pushed at her until she was forced to take a step in the direction of the house, then another and another.
Alyssa tried to hurry. Her foot landed on something soft with a nauseatingly-familiar smell. “Ewww,” she said, hating her frustrated tears. She scraped her messy foot on the weeds or grass, whatever it was. Another flash of lightning showed that she stood at the edge of a huge garden.
The dog howled, an eerie sound that shot prickles across her skin. In the tumult of thunder and pounding rain, the yellow light appeared once more.
“Is there someone out here who needs help?” the man called.
“Yes!” Alyssa yelled.
This time the light came toward her — a lantern, she realized. “Let’s get thee inside,” the man said, helping her toward the house. “The folks on the radio said a fierce storm has swept through Redfield, so we’re next.”
The dog raced ahead and cowered on the fr
ont steps. Alyssa stumbled along, feeling small and foolish in her cold, clinging pajamas. Rain spattered into her face. The wind swept her hair across her eyes, across her mouth. Stinging marble-sized pellets whacked down, bouncing off the grass in the circle of lantern light.
“Hail.” That one, terse word told Alyssa that this was terrible news.
A door squeaked open. Alyssa followed the man inside. The room smelled musty and was cluttered with boots and jackets. The dim glow of the lantern showed her other objects that she’d never seen before. The man pulled off his raincoat, hanging it on a hook on the wall, then discarded his wet shoes. He was wearing a long white shirt that came down to his knees and his legs were bare. Had he gotten out of bed when she screamed for Rachel? She felt bad, thinking about it — but also lucky.
“Here,” he said, handing her a worn towel. “Thee will want to dry thyself.” The rain on his wire-rimmed glasses reflected the lantern light.
Alyssa wiped her face and arms, but hesitated as she raised one muddy foot. “Go ahead.” He nodded. After drying himself, he ushered her into another room. Setting the lantern on a shelf, he lit a lamp with a wick, then turned a knob to extinguish the lantern.
She found herself in a large, old-fashioned kitchen. “Wait here,” the man said quietly. “My wife will tend to thee.” He pushed through a curtained doorway. Alyssa heard his footsteps thumping up creaky stairs.
Alyssa sat on a wooden chair. Except for the sound of the man’s footsteps and a clock ticking somewhere, the house was intensely quiet. Outside, rain and hail slashed the windows; wind whipped through the trees and buffeted the walls. Thunder roared. Inside, it was hot and smelled faintly of cooking. The steady glow of the lamp revealed dishes stacked neatly on shelves, and matching tins of different sizes lined up on one counter. There was no fridge. No sink, either, except for a large washtub at one end of the counter with buckets beneath it. There weren’t any water taps. In one corner sat a large, black boxy thing with a wide pipe rising from it. A calendar hung on the wall. Alyssa squinted at it in the dim light. According to the calendar, it was June. June 1931!
“Rachel,” she whispered, and then said it louder. A knot swelled in her throat. Why did this have to happen? Rachel and her mom would be so scared when they couldn’t find her.
At the sound of heavy footsteps, she looked up. Her first impression was of a football player in a housecoat, but really it was a pregnant woman. Her legs and arms were swollen, and her puffy face had a yellowish tinge. She looked as droopy as Mom, and sick.
“Oh my,” the woman said, settling herself in a chair. “Thee’s soaked right to the bone! Where did thee come from?”
Alyssa twisted her cold fingers together. “Um, North Dakota.”
There was a flicker of recognition in the woman’s tired eyes. “Would thee be the girl our Herbert found by the hen house not long ago?”
Relieved, Alyssa nodded. “I’m Alyssa Dixon.” Lightning flared through the windows, followed by a bellow of thunder.
The woman clasped her hand and stared at her blue fingernails. “George,” she called softly. “Bring a quilt, please. This girl is shivering. She’ll need something of Deborah’s to wear, too.”
“Deborah?” Alyssa sat up straighter.
The woman smiled. “Our daughter’s about thy age. You two look rather alike, in fact.”
“Deborah Clayton?” she asked cautiously.
The woman looked startled. “Yes, we’re the Claytons. My husband is George, and I’m Martha. How does thee know us? Did Herbert tell thee?”
Alyssa’s teeth chattered. “It’s kind of hard to explain.” The stairs creaked as George Clayton came down with a quilt draped over one arm.
Gratefully she took it from him, but Martha stopped her before she had a chance to unfold it. “Thee won’t get dry that way. First put on Debbie’s nightgown.”
Once the man had stepped out, Alyssa peeled off her wet pajamas, slipping into the blue flannel nightgown Martha handed her. Definitely an improvement.
The woman shifted in her chair. “Our Debbie had quite the shock when thee vanished right before her eyes,” she said. “What did thee do?”
Violent shivers seized Alyssa. She huddled into the quilt. “I don’t know how. It’s the picture … a photograph.”
“What does a photograph have to do with it?” George Clayton had returned to the doorway and was listening intently.
Alyssa squirmed, tucking her feet beneath her. “We have an old picture of relatives,” she said. “The Clayton family — you guys, I think.” Everything was sounding wrong. Thunder gave her a moment to think. “You’re outside a house,” she went on. “Four little kids are on a bench. Deborah and her big brother are standing beside you. I looked at it with a magnifying glass — looked at Deborah — and both times I … came here.”
“Oh my land!” Martha seemed to shudder. George Clayton stepped closer and squeezed her shoulders.
“Thee needs to be in bed, Martha,” he said quietly. “Or we’ll be calling the doctor out again. And thee, Alyssa — thee’s no doubt feeling frightened and lost. Does thee know how to find thy way back home?”
“No.” Tears spilled. She started sobbing and couldn’t stop.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder. “Calm thyself, missy. Thee’s far too old to blubber like that, and thee’ll wake the others.”
Startled, she looked up at him. “What?”
His gaze was firm but kind in the lamp light. “Thee heard.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. Thunder sounded in the distance.
Martha smiled. “We’re glad to help. Thee’s welcome to stay, Alyssa, as long as thee needs to.”
Alyssa followed the adults up the steep stairs. The sky had begun to clear; the moon shone through the clouds. The girls’ room was hot in spite of the open window. Moonlight revealed only one bed — with three distinct forms in it. The biggest girl had to be Deborah. As Alyssa stood there trying to decide where to put herself, Deborah’s eyes opened and looked straight at her.
“Is thee the same girl who —?”
The whisper was so soft she had to scrunch down beside the bed to hear. “Yes. I was at my friend Rachel’s, and …”
“Shhh,” Deborah cautioned. “We mustn’t wake Eva and Frances.”
There was an awkward pause. Alyssa wobbled in her crouching position.
“I couldn’t help hearing,” Deborah whispered. “I hoped it would be thee.” She scooted closer to one of her sleeping sisters and patted the narrow empty space beside her. “I think thee’ll fit.”
Alyssa squeezed into the crowded bed. She’d never had to share before.
“Was the hail bad?” Deborah asked. “Mama and Daddy are so hoping for a good crop.”
One of the little girls started snoring softly. “It hailed,” Alyssa whispered back. “I don’t know how bad it was.”
There was a sigh, then a yawn. “Better sleep,” Deborah said. “Morning chores come early, especially with Mama so sick.”
A pang shot through Alyssa. Rachel didn’t have the faintest idea where she was. Neither did Mom and Dad. And Mom was sick too, in a different way. She swallowed hard. Soon Deborah was breathing lightly, with her mouth open. It was a long time before Alyssa fell asleep.
Chapter Seven
The song from Stardancer was going through Alyssa’s head when she woke up. “Remember your gift, now let your life shine,” part of it had been. No — “let your light shine,” not “life.” Why couldn’t she remember more of the words? The bed didn’t feel right. Rachel didn’t seem to be up yet, so she turned over drowsily for more sleep.
But the bed really didn’t feel right. It was … wet. She sat up in a hurry. For a horrified moment she didn’t know where she was.
“Thee’s awake!” a small person said cheerfully, and crawled into her lap. Suddenly Alyssa’s lap was wet too. The little girl looked up at her with big grey eyes. “Why are thy fingernails blue?” she asked. “And thy toenails too
?”
Alyssa looked around the bedroom. It was a boxy room, and the ceiling slanted down on the side with the window. The walls were papered with wide, pale pink stripes. There was a chest of drawers against one wall, with a mirror on top, and near the door, a series of hooks holding girls’ dresses of different sizes. Early morning sunlight shone into the room. Pink-checkered curtains hung in the window, fluttering slightly. Outside, a robin chirped.
“Thee! Alyssa!” The little girl patted her arm insistently. “Why are thy fingernails blue?”
“It’s nail polish,” she said. The girl, who was maybe four years old, didn’t understand. “I painted them,” she explained. “What’s your name?”
“Frances.” The girl snuggled against her, and the wetness spread. For an instant Alyssa felt like dumping her — but that would be mean. “Why’d thee paint thy fingernails?” Frances persisted.
“For fun.” The cloying wetness and odour of urine were overwhelming, so she asked where the bathroom was. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” she said. That wasn’t the only reason.…
Picturing Alyssa Page 4