“I found it on a beach I loved, when I was about your age. I guess you could say it’s kind of my talisman — you know, an object that has magical powers, that can hear your wishes and dreams. Some people believe a talisman can protect you.”
Petra’s eyebrows went up — so that’s what a talisman was! First Wright had one, and now Ms. Hussey….
“When you get the stone, close your eyes and make a wish. Don’t tell anyone else what you’ve wished for. But before we do this, I need to say two things: One, know that you have tremendous powers within yourself, even if no one else can see them; and two, know that you can’t always see the results of your actions. What you’ve begun for the Robie House will undoubtedly change the destiny of that piece of art. Be patient, and know you did the best you could. This is a house that has powers of its own.”
As the stone passed from hand to hand, the class was silent. Some kids smiled as they held it, or looked around the room as if they needed an idea for a wish. When Tommy got it, he closed his eyes so tightly that he saw spots. When Calder held it, he stared at his pentominoes pocket while he made his wish. When Petra had it, she squeezed the stone for so long that the next kid whispered, “One wish,” and Petra glared at him.
The day ended just before lunchtime. It was difficult saying good-bye to Ms. Hussey, and there were shaky voices, ducked heads, and long hugs.
Calder stirred his pentominoes noisily as he hopped down the stairs on his way out of the building.
“Wait up!” said Tommy.
Petra caught up, too, and walked on the other side of Calder. When she suggested they make sandwiches at her house and take them up to the Castigliones’ tree house, the boys agreed.
As they left school and headed toward Harper Avenue, a hot wind swept runaway papers in angry swirls across the playground, and summer vacation began beneath heavy clouds.
Not wanting the boys to look at the seat of her pants as she climbed, Petra waited until they were both up the ladder, one carrying the root beer and the other, the three peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Then she stuck her pencil behind one ear and, holding her notebook in her teeth, started after them.
A weathered structure that filled much of a backyard maple tree between Petra’s and Calder’s houses, the tree house was a small, enclosed shelter with one window and a trapdoor. Twelve boards nailed to the tree trunk formed a ladder. The Castigliones’ kids had left home years before, but the tree house lived on.
The three kids had walked back to Harper Avenue from school without a lot of talk, and had made sandwiches with even less. Now, as they settled awkwardly into the small space up in the leaves and ate their lunch, both boys waited for Petra to say something.
She raised her paper cup. “To the Robie House. And to not giving up.”
Looking more cautious than enthusiastic, Calder and Tommy raised their cups, and everyone took a sip.
“But today Ms. Hussey said to leave it alone,” Tommy mumbled.
“That’s because she didn’t want to see us getting hurt,” Petra said evenly. “Can you imagine her giving up?”
“No,” Calder said.
“And you think we should?” Petra asked. “Imagine the thrill of saving one of the greatest houses built in the twentieth century! Why not try?”
“Right,” Tommy said, sitting up straighter. “I wasn’t giving up, anyway.”
“Wright!” Petra exclaimed. “W-R-I-G-H-T. That should be our name: the Wright 3!”
“Great,” Calder agreed.
Tommy looked uncomfortable as Petra opened her notebook to a blank page and picked up her pencil. He watched as she wrote at the top of the page:
The Wright 3
“So, what now?” Petra asked.
The boys were quiet. Calder pulled out his pentominoes, and Tommy picked a splinter out of his knee.
“How about we share any strange information we know about the house, like stuff we’ve noticed — things that aren’t in books,” Petra suggested.
“How about we don’t,” Tommy said rudely.
Petra stared at him.
Calder said, “Tommy. What’s your problem?”
“How do we know our secrets are safe with each other?” Tommy asked.
Petra’s eyes widened in irritation and she looked at Calder.
“How about this,” Calder said. “We need something, some symbol of the Wright 3, to share every time we think we’re getting somewhere. That symbol will mean we trust each other. It could be candy or something.”
Tommy brightened. “I have a big bag of those chewy, red fish at home.”
“Perfect!” Petra said. “Hey — anyone know what a red herring is? Like in a mystery story?”
The boys shook their heads.
“It’s a dead-end clue. What if every time we get some good thinking done, we eliminate one of the red herrings?”
Tommy grinned. “I get it. Eat it!”
“One fish closer to the truth,” Petra nodded.
“Cool,” Calder said.
Petra opened up the notebook again, and Tommy’s face darkened. “No writing stuff down,” he said. “What if someone reads it?”
“She thinks on paper the way I think with pentominoes,” Calder said. “Let her do it.”
Tommy’s chin went up as if he knew it wasn’t a good idea.
“How about I make a new code for the notebook, one that’s easy to write?” Calder suggested.
“Sounds good,” Petra said. “And I won’t write anything until I have the code. But let’s get started — with only eight days until the house comes down, we can’t waste time.”
At that moment there was a tap-scrape-tap on the glass behind them, and all three jumped. A dead branch whooshed by on the other side of the tree house window, the gray fingers of twigs bent in a stiff wave.
“I’ll start,” Petra said.
She told Calder and Tommy about her visit with Mrs. Sharpe, and about the coincidence of hearing the Nantucket ghost story with The Invisible Man in it, explaining to Tommy that she’d found two copies of the book last week. She finished with Mrs. Sharpe’s story of Wright losing a talisman outside the house.
Tommy frowned and chewed on a fingernail.
“That was a lot of secrets,” Calder said, glancing quickly at Tommy. “Okay, I went to visit the mason who fell.”
Now it was Tommy’s and Petra’s turn to stare. Calder then shared what Henry Dare had said about the house shaking him off, and about hearing a voice as he fell. Calder finished by saying he was pretty sure he’d heard a kid’s voice also, coming from the house on the day of the demonstration.
“Did either one of you hear something that day?” Calder asked. Tommy and Petra shook their heads. Then Calder talked about the Fibonacci sequence, and noticing it around them in dates, in pentominoes, in the threes Petra saw in the Robie House windows. He said he was wondering if those numbers were trying to communicate something, something that might help the house.
“Weird,” Tommy said.
It was his turn, but now Tommy sat quietly, peeling the plastic off the end of his shoelace. Everything in him wanted to run. If only he had a minute with Goldman, a minute to think. It seemed as though if he’d learned anything in life, he’d learned it was dangerous to trust people. The idea of telling Petra about his find was not only scary, it might be stupid. The stone fish could be the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“Come on, Tommy. I told a bunch of secrets, and Petra did, too. Be fair.”
Petra flicked intently at a piece of dirt stuck to her notebook, as if that were more interesting than whatever Tommy was going to say.
“Fine, but if either one of you betray me, I’ll kill you.”
Calder rolled his eyes and waited for Petra to get mad. But when she spoke, her voice was kind. “No one’s going to betray you. Look, you just learned a whole bunch of things from Calder and from me. We’re not worried. And you can see I’m not writing anything down. That’s because you
didn’t want me to.”
Tommy swallowed. “I found a stone fish. A fish in the garden of the Robie House,” he blurted. “I dug it up, and it looks like it was buried for a long time. I think it’s old, and — well, it kind of reminds me of things I’ve seen in Chinatown.”
Calder grinned and raised his hand in front of his old friend, and Tommy gave him a weak high five.
“We know Frank Lloyd Wright collected Asian art,” Petra said slowly. “But Wright collected Japanese prints. What would he have been doing with a small Chinese fish in his pocket?”
“Yeah, I doubt it has anything to do with Wright,” Tommy added, sucking in his cheeks. “But I thought the fish might be valuable and that if it was, I’d sell it. My mom and I are saving up for a permanent place to live,” he finished.
“Where is the fish?” Calder asked.
“Goldman has it,” Tommy said.
“Oh!” Petra said. No wonder Tommy had moved the goldfish bowl when she and Calder were there.
Outside the tree house window there was a brilliant flash of light followed by the immediate bang and growl of thunder. The sky darkened to a scary black, and the kids started down the ladder, Petra first with her notebook in her mouth.
Partway down, a tremendous gust of wind lifted her shirt. She twisted sideways to cover up. The notebook flew to one side, and she lost sight of it as her hair whipped across her face. Branches were now creaking overhead, and a second flash of lightning was followed by a deafening crash. Big drops of rain began to fall.
The yard beneath the tree house was overgrown with weeds and bushes, and Petra searched frantically while the boys climbed down.
“My notebook!” she wailed, but the three of them, who hunted until they were soaked, couldn’t find it.
“Oh, no! Goldman! I left the window open.” Tommy spun around and with a quick wave began running for home, splatting straight through the puddles that were already rising on Harper Avenue. He knew he shouldn’t be running through the storm with lightning so close, but the thought of Goldman in trouble was too much.
Approaching the Robie House, Tommy remembered the man who had spoken to him on Friday. He stepped out into the empty street so as to be farther from the building, and as he ran, he looked quickly at the windows.
The rain was pounding down now, and it poured in a smooth sheet from the gutter in front of the French doors on the south side. Through the blur and wobble of running water, he thought he saw a man standing inside. Tommy blinked and stared harder, but kept going. Should he duck back for another look?
No, he said to himself as he stood panting inside the door of his building. If it was one of the unfriendly work crew, it was better to stay invisible, like the photographer in Rear Window, and watch from his lookout.
His pants were soaked, and it took Tommy a moment to get the apartment key out of his pocket. When he finally slid it into the lock, he found his front door was open.
Funny — either he’d forgotten to lock it this morning, or his mom had come home for lunch and rushed out in a hurry. It had happened before. Tommy turned on the light and closed Goldman’s window. His pet’s eyes looked frightened, and his fins were quivering.
“Poor thing!” Tommy said as he dried the outside of Goldman’s bowl. “You’ve had quite a week. First a new bowl mate, and then a storm. You’re not alone with the treasure, don’t worry. We’re working on it, the three of us — Petra’s in on it too now, and I think she’ll be a help. We’ll find out what it’s worth.”
Goldman had done a terrific job of burying the carving under his gravel; Tommy couldn’t see it at all.
“Good man,” he said soothingly as he changed his clothes.
Then Tommy noticed his fish shelf. All of his treasures were wet and had fallen over, and his glass flounder had lost a fin. He worked carefully for the next fifteen minutes, patting his treasures dry and setting them up again.
As he worked, he had the odd sensation that someone was watching him. He looked toward the dark windows of the Robie House. Without balconies or a big overhang on the north side, rain cascaded down the bricks and glass. The screen on his window was clogged with water, and it was difficult to see clearly.
Even so, he thought now of the photographer in Rear Window moving out of the light so as not to be seen from across the way. Tommy backed toward his front door and switched off the overhead bulb. He double-checked the lock as the shadows of the storm collected around him.
Petra gazed miserably out her front window. The lightning had stopped, but it was still pouring. Her notebook must be ruined.
She thought now about the way Tommy had dashed off, looking stricken, when he remembered Goldman. He must be a kind person to care so much about his goldfish. She knew he’d lost a bunch of big things — his own dad, a new stepdad, homes that he must have loved. And now he dreamed of selling his latest discovery and helping his mom.
It must be odd, knowing there was no one at home to close the windows. She tried to picture what that might feel like, but couldn’t. In all of her twelve and a half years, Petra didn’t think she’d ever been home by herself.
When the rain stopped, she headed back toward the Castigliones’ yard to look for her notebook.
Calder burst out his front door. “I’ve got something to show you!” he shouted.
“Want to help me find my notebook first?”
Calder nodded, and they ducked into the Castigliones’ yard, walking gingerly. Puddles were everywhere, and the flowers and plants were still heavy with water.
Petra spotted a flash of blue in a neighbor’s yard and, hurrying over, pulled her notebook from under a giant rhubarb plant. “I found you!” she crooned under her breath, and patted it dry on her shorts.
Petra and Calder stood on her front porch and opened the notebook. The pages were soaked, and the writing inside had dissolved into a landscape of smears and blots.
She sat down heavily, not even feeling the wet. “I had a bunch of Tales from the Tracks in here, including one about the man with the cape.”
“Horrible,” Calder agreed, knowing how bad it felt to have his pentominoes knocked over. He brightened. “Hey, what if it’s the Invisible Man trying to tell you that visible things can’t always stay that way?”
“Mmm,” Petra said slowly, and tried to smile. “You know what, Calder? This looks like the notebook Mrs. Sharpe found under the floorboard on Nantucket, the one she replaced with The Invisible Man.”
She wondered if stories and real life were mirroring each other, but in a distorted way. For a moment, Petra had the dizzying feeling of looking into a puddle just as a ripple runs across the reflection.
She closed her notebook, and it was then that she saw the scratches — the wind must have flung the book across the top of the chain-link fencing that ran between the yards.
The staggery lines seemed to jump out at her: I M. Now her imagination was really going crazy.
She traced them with one finger, and glanced at Calder, who had taken three pentominoes out of his pocket and was busily setting them up on a step.
For a second, Petra was truly afraid — Mrs. Sharpe had been right about The Invisible Man. The book put strange ideas into your head. She looked up at the familiar yards and buildings and saw a breeze ruffle the bushes by the Castigliones’ gate, bending branches and leaves as if someone tall were striding through.
“Hey, Petra. What I wanted to tell you was that just now at home I pulled out these pieces. They happened to be the P, the T, and the U or C, whichever way you look at it. That’s the three of us! I started playing around with them and realized I’d made a man — or it was more like the man just appeared.”
Petra saw. The T was upside down on the bottom, the U (or C) was upside down above that, and the P was on top, standing upright.
Calder had made a figure with his head turned, his arms at his sides, his feet going out like a penguin.
“Tommy + Calder + Petra = A Man. But who?” Calder asked,
his head on one side.
Sometimes visible and sometimes not … Mrs. Sharpe had tried to tell her that the line between real and unreal was sometimes hard to find. And now Calder had said the same thing.
Petra looked directly at him. “Maybe it’s the Invisible Man.”
“Maybe,” Calder said casually as he loaded the pieces into his pocket, but Petra saw him glance quickly over his shoulder.
“Remember, don’t start a new notebook until I make you a code,” he added in a loud voice, as if to be sure that everyone heard.
Petra nodded and watched him hop down the porch steps two at a time, look in both directions, and head toward home. She sat for several more minutes, following the clouds overhead and enjoying the cool air pulled in by the storm. Then, in the mud next to the curb, she saw footsteps.
The heavy prints of a man with bare feet ran between and then beneath two parked cars. She was sure they hadn’t been there a moment before.
The next morning was already steamy and hot by ten o’ clock.
“So here it is. Complete privacy,” Calder said proudly, tapping the new notebook. He, Tommy, and Petra were sitting in the Medici Bakery, a special treat funded by Calder’s mom.
“I’ve written two sentences here, and you don’t need any table to decode this. The message is right in front of you if you can see it.”
Petra and Tommy looked at Calder’s block letters:
P’TUHW’INST T’IMSU U’TNOP
IKNEYEM’PI FAZ’NI’YLOU’NYEP
W’FYRTOW’ML NRZETANDP’II’NNGY
V’WLHUAP’TU T’IM T’WIRN’IZ’TUEN—
UJF’UNSI’TY M’IF’NU UCTAMSTEP!
“I’ve called it the Wright Sandwich Code,” Calder said. “That’s a hint.”
“Whoa,” Petra muttered, and then moved her lips silently for a moment.
Tommy leaned over the table, his eyes skating back and forth over the jumble of letters. “Anything to do with pentominoes being the bread?” he asked.
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