The Problim Children

by Natalie Lloyd

  Mrs. Davenport spoke next. “You should know, we’ve signed the petition. We’ve written a directive to the Society for the Protection of Unwanted Children to find new homes. For all of you.”

  Thea’s heart felt like a hollow place. “You’d try to get rid of us?”

  “Not only get rid of you,” Mrs. Timberwhiff assured them. “But split you up. It’s obvious you’re even more vicious when you’re together.”

  Thea didn’t know what to say. The Problim family had never, ever considered that they might lose one another. All along, she’d thought the sevens were piling up because her parents were in danger. But maybe her siblings were in danger too. Separation was the worst danger of all.

  Noah Wong looked up at his mom. “Okay, things got out of hand, and I’m sorry. But the Problims aren’t bad—”

  “Shh.”

  The entire crowd stilled. A low, creaking sound was coming closer from somewhere down the foggy street. At first, the sound reminded Thea of the robo-squirrel’s legs squeaking whenever it moved. But this was no squirrel.

  This time, the sound came from the old, squeaky wheels of a baby carriage, and the silhouette of a tall person pushing that carriage down the sidewalk in the mist. Gradually, Thea could see more of the contraption: it was old and leathery-black. The umbrella roof was raised even though there was no sun that needed shielding. The woman pushing the carriage was tall, with lovely posture, but she was older than anyone else Thea had seen on Main Street. Long white hair feathered from underneath her straw hat as a cool breeze blew across the park. If a winter storm could take the form of a person, it’d be her, Thea thought.

  “It’s the widow,” Noah whispered.

  “Don’t look at her,” Mrs. Timberwhiff spoke softly. Thea heard a tremble in Mrs. Timberwhiff’s voice, as if she were afraid of the woman. The MOOS all gathered their children and began to speak in low whispers to one another. Those whispers got caught in the spider webs, bulging and bulbous and full of lies. One bubble caught Thea’s eye: a witch on a broomstick.

  “A witch?” Thea said.

  “SHHH!” all the MOOS and their children shushed her at the same time.

  Still, the Problim children did not look away from the old woman. She didn’t seem that scary to them.

  The widow slowly pushed her carriage past the gate with her head held high. She had a strong jawline, and though her straw hat covered her eyes, Thea believed they were probably noble. Thea was right. As the widow passed by, she looked over and smirked at the women who wouldn’t look at her. Then she looked at Thea.

  And Thea did the first thing that came to mind: she smiled.

  The woman did not smile back, but her cheeks trembled like she might.

  “People say she’s crazy,” Noah whispered softly. “She lives in a cottage on the edge of the woods—like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. My mom says its best to never make eye contact with her. And never go walking alone in Bagshaw Forest.”

  It wasn’t crazy that Thea had seen in the widow’s eyes. It looked more like loneliness, maybe. The woman pushed the carriage on down the street, until she was finally eclipsed by the fog.

  “Who is she really?” Thea asked the crowd of cackling MOOS.

  Mrs. Timberwhiff snorted. “She might be the only problem worse than a Problim. The Widow Dorrie, she’s called. She lives in a cottage down the path on the far end of Main Street—just at the boundary of Bagshaw Forest. Her home doesn’t fit the style of our new town—it’s as bad as House Number Seven—but we can’t convince her to move. Enough of this! Time to go home.”

  The Problims stood in their yard, watching as the guests disappeared down the street.

  “We’re d-doomed,” Wendell said.

  Thump, bump. Agree, Thea heartspoke. “Maybe we should go hide in the Swampy Woods.”

  “But the wattabats bite this time of year!”

  “Actually,” Sal clarified, “they just think we’re not good enough to live on their street.”

  “They don’t think that lady is either,” Thea told him as they took off down the street. “I don’t understand these people.”

  Frida agreed:

  “Maybe what makes a witch, in a town so small,

  Is that she has no friends at all.”

  A Memory (and a Visit)

  Later that night, Thea lay on a blanket in the Room of Constellations with Ichabod cuddled beside her. She looked at the painted stars, and she thought about her mom.

  On the night of each Problim birth, under a sky full of stars, their mama would coo the words of an old nursery rhyme:

  Monday’s child is fair of face,

  Tuesday’s child is full of grace,

  Wednesday’s child is full of woe,

  Thursday’s child has far to go,

  Friday’s child is loving and giving,

  Saturday’s child works hard for a living,

  But the child who’s born on the Sabbath day

  is good and wise in every way.

  Many people knew that rhyme, but Mama added her own part to the end, which Thea found especially lovely:

  Adventure waits—for good—forever—

  to a perfect seven who work together.

  But if seven bicker, and seven fall . . .

  you can’t have one without them all.

  And so it goes, the treasure’s spurned,

  until the seven do return.

  Mama Problim had told the rhyme like a story—when she tucked them into bed at night, when she led them on adventures through the Swampy Woods. Sometimes she even sang the rhyme to them.

  Together, Thea thought. That was her favorite place to be. She thought of the sun setting in the Swampy Woods. She thought about swinging grapevines over the pond and eating wild blackberries and catching wattabats in mason jars. Watching their wings flicker, sparkle, shine.

  She thought of her dad, teaching her how to train circus spiders. And showing her how to brush the dust off the fossil of a leaf.

  She thought and she wondered and she hoped and she dreamed. And she worried. Always worried. She tried not to close her eyes, because as soon as she did, the nightmares would come back. Dreams about being forgotten, abandoned, all alone in the dark.

  And so, to calm herself, Thea imagined telling her mom about the new neighbors.

  And about Wendell being so weird lately.

  And about the Widow Dorrie she’d seen earlier.

  Her mom always helped her see the world in a new way: through telescopes and magnifying glasses. And also, of utmost importance, her mom would remind her to look at people in different ways too. “Look at someone heart-first,” Mama Problim always said. “There’s never an excuse to be cruel. When you meet someone new, think first about all the good and the sad and the wonder and the worry that’s probably blooming in their heart. Just like yours.”

  Thinking about her mom gave Thea an idea.

  She jumped out of the sleeping bag and raced down the secret passage to the library. She was going to ask Wendell to go with her, but he’d fallen asleep in a chair reading a book. She hated going out into the darkness alone. But she knew Wendell would only be grouchy if she woke him up. She decided to take Ichabod instead.

  Thea grabbed Sundae’s flashlight from the kitchen and walked out the back door whispering Midge Lodestar’s mantra:

  “Every day is a good day for a taco!”

  She found the path at the end of Main Street, but she couldn’t see the widow’s house. Fog billowed too thickly in the woods. Thankfully, there was a small mailbox at the edge of the path with the word “Leave” painted on the side. She put a note inside the box, with “Ms. Dorrie” written in bold letters.

  Dear Ms. Dorrie,

  I do not think you are weird. But if you are, I think that’s snazzy. Please come by House Number Seven sometime if you’d like to be my friend, or have a cookie, or build an obstacle course. I am leaving a flower too. Sorry if it smells like a happy fart. If you have a brother, I’m sure
you’ll understand.

  Your friend,

  Thea Problim

  As Thea and Ichabod walked back toward the house, Thea was startled by a familiar swoosh of purple.

  The squirrel was settled in the magnolia tree, face lifted toward the stars. And then it looked right at her. Something sparkled and whirred around its robotic eye. The music played again.

  Was the squirrel a music box? Had it swallowed a music box?

  And that melody . . . how did it know that melody . . .

  Tell me a tale worth telling back . . .

  Thea knew she was so close . . . to finding the lyrics . . . to remembering something important. She reached in the pocket of her hoodie and felt the smooth bone-stick she and her siblings had unearthed in the swamp. Was it all connected? It had to be, didn’t it?

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Thea asked. Her voice felt so small when she was all alone, there in the darkness.

  Once again, the squirrel seemed to wink its shiny eye. With the flick of its tail, it became a flash of silver, scampering away into the night.

  The Princess Astronaut Leaves the Tower

  By the time most people on Main Street woke up the next day, the fog was thick, soupy; the same as it had been since the Problim children arrived. But long before they woke up—before the sun lightened up the ever-gray skies above the Cove—the fog around the Problim mansion bloomed.

  And today it bloomed quite beautifully.

  Shapes emerged from the fog: roses unfurling, horses galloping, ships with puffy, billowing sails. There were smaller images in the fog, too, bunnies and squirrels and gauzy-winged butterflies. This had always happened when Wendell read books to Sal’s plants. It was as if the fog all around the garden—sometimes even the clouds—wanted to act out every scene in the story. Sal loved to hear his brother read. He would have loved it even if Wendell stumbled over words the way he did in conversation. But that never happened when he was reading.

  The quiet between the brothers had always been nice, and it had always allowed a special kind of space for wonder to bloom. Sal listened thoughtfully to Wendell that morning, watching as the fog galloped and sailed and soared all around them. (Thea preferred sleeping in most mornings. “The early bird gets the worm,” Midge Lodestar said. “But who needs a worm? Sleep in and catch the bird!”)

  Eventually the morning sun melted the fog and the shapes, and Sal scrambled to cover his dragon snappers. He leaned down to pull a twig from the ground . . . and noticed a strange shadow stretched out beside him.

  The shadow of a bubble-headed monster.

  Or an astronaut, maybe.

  The shadow appeared to have a human body on the lower half . . . but the top was perfectly round and reminded him of a gumball machine.

  Sal whirled around to hear the frightened squeal of a small girl. She was wearing the bubble like a helmet. Her hair was short, just touching her chin. She wore purple glasses, which framed a large set of frightened eyes.

  “Who are you?” Sal asked.

  She looked him over, head to toe, and her eyes widened at the sharp tools attached to his sleeves. She turned and ran.

  Which might have been effective if her run had been less of a jog. The girl wasn’t fast.

  Neither was Sal. Tools were handy, but they weighed him down. He saw the girl veer toward the gate.

  “Wait! Don’t run that way!” Sal yelled. “You’ll step in the—”

  The girl stretched her arms for the lock but was surprised when something snagged her ankle and yanked her to the ground. The Wrangling Ivy coiled around her knee and dragged her back into the garden, helmet bumping along on the ground.

  Wendell jumped into action this time: landing on the vine so Sal could cut the girl free. “Sorry about that!” Sal laughed as he leaned down to help her sit up. “I set that trap for my sister Mona.”

  “You tried,” came Mona’s fluttery voice from the tree above.

  Her brothers screamed. “When did you get back, Mona?” Sal shouted. “And where have you been?”

  Mona shrugged and jumped down. “Searching the house alone, like I said.” She tilted her head at the stranger. “Oh. Sal, did you catch Toot’s astronaut?”

  The bubble girl looked around nervously. Sal wasn’t so sure she could even speak.

  Mona propped her fists on her hips “Tell us your name,” she said sweetly. “Or I’ll feed you to my Venus flytrap.”

  “Don’t w-worry about her,” Wendell said, kneeling down across from the astronaut. “Are you okay?”

  “Let me know if you want me to torture a confession out of her,” Mona said as she climbed back up in the tree. “And let me know when she’s gone. I have something important to show you.”

  The girl blinked at Wendell. She looks kind, Wendell thought. In fact, she actually looked like a much nicer version of Mona. She looked so smart, so science-like, in her bubble hat. She was so . . . unique!

  “I’m Violet,” her voice crackled through speakers at the base of the bubble. “Violet O’Pinion. I live next door. That’s an awesome birthmark you have.”

  “Oh,” Wendell touched the pale-purple mark on his face. “Thanks. It’s called a p-port wine stain. And sometimes it’s called a firemark.”

  “Firemark sounds much better!” Violet’s voice crackled happily. “It’s like something a hero would have. Heroes in books have a special scar or mark sometimes, have you noticed?”

  “You like to r-read?”

  “No. I looove to read.”

  Toot waddled up behind his siblings. He farted a curious #104. Wendell nodded. “We call that fart ‘the Questioner.’ Toot wants to know why you are an astronaut, Violet.”

  She giggled, and her breath fogged up her glass bubble for a second. “It’s only a helmet. A safety barrier, actually. I’m allergic to air.”

  “To air?” Sal asked.

  She nodded. “My room is a safe place; the air there is processed and detoxified. But my father invented this barrier to keep me safe when I’m out. Not that I ever get to go out. It does come in handy, though, in case I encounter a batch of unpurified air. Or if Wrangling Ivy pulls me halfway across the neighbor’s yard.”

  Sal raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of Wrangling Ivy?”

  Violet nodded excitedly. She reached to touch the vine, which coiled happily under her fingertips. “I love gardens. I love science, really. It’s so full of magic, isn’t it? I watched you plant your garden from my window. And I watched the fog shapes. I hope you don’t mind that I came down; I just wanted to see what you were planting up close. It’s all so wonderful!”

  Sal blushed. Toot puffed a #124.15

  “S-sorry about that,” Wendell said. “He farts a lot when he’s happy.”

  “My mask purifies air, so it actually smells great to me.” Violet grinned. “Like lime and honeysuckle!”

  Toot waddled over to Violet and wrapped his tiny arms around her in a welcoming hug.

  “I’m sorry we haven’t met yet,” Wendell said. “Everybody’s afraid of us. Or afraid of our family, I guess.”

  “I heard,” Violet said sadly.

  “I was h-hoping we’d make friends in time to have a birthday party for my twin, Thea, and me. But our birthdays are next week, so it’s not looking g-good.”

  Violet’s eyes brightened. “I think that’s a great way to break the ice! Everybody loves a birthday party!”

  “Will you c-come if we have one?”

  Violet shook her head. “I’ve never been to any party. I’ve only been to my own birthday party. If my cousins have a birthday, my cousin Will always saves me a piece of cake.”

  “Oh, everybody gets their own cake at a Pr-Problim party!”

  “I wish I could be there,” she said. “But I don’t think my aunt will let me.”

  “Is your aunt the cranky lady with the fingernail claws and big sunglasses?” Sal asked.

  Violet nodded. “Be careful around her. Not that you’d ever be around her o
n purpose. But she’s always wanted this house. She’s obsessed with it. I’m pretty good at eavesdropping. I think she believes there’s a treasure hidden in there.”

  The children all turned to look at the Problim mansion at the same time. Old curtains were half-drooped over the attic windows, as if the house were half-asleep. Or half-staring. They’d searched the house high and low for Problim proof for over a week now. Surely they would have noticed a treasure. Or . . . would they?

  What, exactly, did people believe Grandpa had stolen? What was Desdemona so desperate to find?

  Sal scratched his head. “Why didn’t she sneak in there and look over the past seven years then? She’s had a long time.”

  “She tried,” Violet said. “But something strange always happened when she nearly got inside. Aunt Desdemona might act like she’s not afraid of Frank Problim—or any of you. But she is. And she had to wait until the seven-year law was up.”

  A long black car emerged from the fog at the end of the street. Violet stood and ran for the gate. “That’s her! Please don’t tell her you saw me. I’m not allowed outside.”

  “Not e-even with your helmet?” Wendell asked.

  “Not for any reason,” Violet said, jogging through the fog, sidestepping the ivy, and disappearing through the gate. Wendell watched to make sure she made it back to her mansion next door. She waved once from her lonely window. And smiled.

  Desdemona’s car rolled to a stop on the edge of the Problim property.

  Waiting.

  “We might as well go see what she wants,” Sal said. He looked at his siblings.

  Toot nodded and clutched his fists. He tooted a #45.16 Sal hoisted him up on his hip.

  “Fun,” Mona cooed as she hopped down from the tree. “Someone to toy with.”

  Wendell nodded. “C’mon. Problims, pile up.”

  The back window reflected the determination in their faces as the four Problim children walked toward it. Then it rolled down, revealing Desdemona O’Pinion.

  “Good morning, children,” she said, with the sort of voice that gave them chills. Like the storms that whisper thunder before they roll over a city; a warning to go back inside.