The Secret Window

by Betty R. Wright

  “What’s it like?” Meg was trying to ignore the steady chorus of “who-cares” pounding through her brain.

  It turned out that Gracie hadn’t been inside the Bells’ house, though she’d strolled past it dozens of times. She was going inside after school today, however, because Linda had given her a long list of errands to take care of before the party.

  “I won’t be able to walk home with you,” Gracie said. “I’ll be busy. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Rhoda didn’t come to the cafeteria. “There’s a new girl in our apartment building,” Meg said, but she let the subject drop when Gracie didn’t comment. Rhoda and Gracie would never be friends anyway. Gracie would faint dead away at the thought of taking summer school classes for the fun of it.

  The day dragged on. Meg felt strange—a person who hated her father and whose father didn’t care. Yet no one noticed how different she was. Only Mrs. Cobbell looked puzzled when Meg replied “I don’t know” to a perfectly simple question.

  “I hope you’re not still thinking about that business at the art museum, Meg,” Mrs. Cobbell said, when class was over. “Put it out of your mind. I know you weren’t involved in any way.”

  Meg thanked her and hurried away. Mrs. Cobbell was nice, but Meg didn’t feel like talking to her. How could you tell a teacher that borrowing a hat and putting it on a statue was kid stuff?

  The second-floor apartment window was empty when Meg reached home, but there were curtains blowing in the breeze, and spiky green leaves stuck up above the sill. Rhoda had been busy. Meg forced herself up the front steps and up the three flights to her floor. She stopped at every landing to stare out the window. What had Rhoda done the day her mother left for California? Had she wanted to run away—anywhere except home?

  When Meg opened the apartment door, the first thing she saw was the brown suitcase. It stood in the hallway, next to the door, as she had seen it in her dream. For one second she couldn’t move; then a coffee cup clinked in the kitchen, and she raced joyfully toward the sound.

  “Dad!”

  She skidded to a stop in the doorway. Grandma Korshak was sitting at the kitchen table, opposite Meg’s mother, drinking coffee. A plate of cookies was set between them.

  The suitcase wasn’t her father’s. Why hadn’t she known that? He was in Marquette by now—probably telling Uncle Henry how glad he was to be there.

  Grandma Korshak didn’t notice Meg’s disappointment. The tiny, dark old lady held out her arms for a kiss.

  “What a big girl you are!” Grandma said. “Every time I come, you’ve changed. You’re almost a woman now.”

  “She’s twelve,” Meg’s mother said in a cold voice. “She’s still a child. She’s a child who needs her father.”

  Meg drew back. She’d walked in on something again.

  Grandma Korshak shook her head. “You’re scaring her,” she said gently. “You mustn’t worry her.”

  “I mustn’t worry her! I’m not the one who’s walked out. I’m not the one who’s ready to give up everything for a selfish whim!” Meg’s mother stood up, her face tight with anger and hurt. “You raised him, Mother Korshak. You encouraged him to believe he had talent, and now we have to pay for it. A happy, ordinary life isn’t enough for him. Don’t tell me I mustn’t worry Meg. This family has plenty to worry about. She might as well do her share.”

  Meg’s mother ran out of the kitchen and down the hall. The bedroom door slammed.

  Grandma lifted her coffee cup in both hands and drank. Then she motioned Meg to the empty chair opposite her.

  “It’ll be all right, Meggie,” she said. “You’ll see. Don’t look like that.” She picked up a cookie from the plate and put it down again. “Store-bought.” She sniffed. “I’ll make you some real ones tomorrow.”

  Meg tried to smile. Imagine thinking about baking cookies after being shouted at like that! “I love your cookies,” she said in a quavery voice. She hugged her grandmother again. “I’ll change my bed and clear out a drawer for your things.”

  At the sight of the suitcase in the hall she turned back to the old lady sitting at the table. “How did you happen to come today, Grandma?” she asked. “Did Mama call you and tell you Dad went away?”

  “Oh, no.” For the first time, her grandmother looked uncomfortable. “I just knew.”

  “How could you know?” Meg waited. “You mean you guessed he’d gone?”

  Grandma Korshak glanced out the window and then back at Meg. “No, no,” she muttered. “I didn’t guess.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If your mama asks, you mustn’t tell her,” she said. “She wouldn’t like me to say it, but it’s true. I had a dream last night.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Bill’s Bombshell

  Meg woke late, a little cramped from her night on the living-room sofa, and excited without knowing why. She sat up. Dad? She pushed the thought of him away. Linda’s party? Yes, this was the day. But there was something else to think about, something more important than the party.

  She sniffed. A syrupy smell—what was that? Then she knew. Grandma Korshak was in the kitchen making her special paper-thin pancakes, warming the maple syrup, spooning her homemade jam and boysenberry sauce into little dishes. Grandma Korshak—who had dreams that came true. That was it—that was what was making Meg’s stomach do flip-flops this Saturday morning. Grandma had dreamed that Meg’s father was going away, and he had gone. She had packed her suitcase and come at once, because she knew her dream was a “real” one.

  Grandma is a wonderful, normal person, Meg thought. And if she isn’t crazy, then I’m not either. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her mind, or at least made lighter.

  She ran down the hall to her bedroom and scrambled through her closet for jeans and a clean shirt. There were a dozen questions she wanted to ask Grandma today. Did many of her dreams come true? Did she ever have dreams she couldn’t understand? Had she had the dreams when she was a little girl? Bill had come home early the night before, and there had been no more chance to talk privately with Grandma.

  Meg frowned, remembering how strangely her brother had acted. He had little to say, but he wanted to be with Grandma and Meg, anyway. Meg waited impatiently for him to tell Grandma his great news about the scholarship, but when she tried to tell it herself, he shook his head at her sharply.

  Eventually her mother had come out of her bedroom to fix dinner. Her hair was combed and her nose powdered, and she smiled determinedly when she came into the kitchen.

  “Telling your grandmother the good news?” she’d asked at once, so Bill had had to talk about it. But how briefly, almost disinterestedly, he had described the contest and the award! Meg’s frown deepened as she brushed her hair back behind her ears. Bill must have been terribly depressed all day, as she had been, thinking about her father on the Marquette bus. Maybe he wasn’t able to feel good about anything right now.

  Out in the kitchen, her grandmother scurried around like a dark, contented elf in the morning sunshine.

  “You’re hungry, I can tell,” she announced as soon as she saw Meg. “Sit down and eat. We have enough pancakes to feed a big crowd, so you have to be very hungry.”

  She motioned toward the table where the others were already eating. Bill looked solemn, but he ate busily; no one could resist Grandma Korshak’s pancakes. Their mother sat like a child, her feet close together, her face weary but not particularly sad. Meg felt a wave of love for her grandmother who, with her gentle ways and expert cooking, could make them all feel safe and cared for, at least for a while.

  She sat down and let Grandma stack several pancakes on her plate. “One for strawberries, two for boysenberries—” Meg chanted.

  “—and three for maple syrup,” Grandma finished. It was their private joke, going back as far as Meg could remember.

  She wondered what her father was having for breakfast in Marquette.

  “What’re you doing today, Ma?” Bill asked abruptly.

  “
Your grandmother and I are going downtown to look for shoes. We both need them.” A glance passed between the two women, and Meg knew her mother was sorry for the way she had spoken the night before. She wouldn’t say so, but Grandma Korshak understood.

  “I’m going to get ready for the party,” Meg offered. “Wash my hair, iron my yellow pajamas. Stuff like that.”

  “What party?” Her mother seemed startled. “What are you talking about?”

  Meg looked at her. “Don’t you remember—when Gracie came home with me after school to ask if I could go?” She should have guessed that her mother hadn’t been thinking about anything but the quarrel. What if she said no to the party now?

  “Linda Bell’s slumber party,” Meg said. “Her mother sent you a note, and you read it right here in this kitchen.”

  “No need to take that tone.” Her mother shrugged. “I suppose it’s all right. As long as you’re properly chaperoned.”

  “Since Mrs. Bell wrote the note I’m sure—”

  “All right.” Her mother turned to Bill. “And you’ll be at the Superette all day, as usual?”

  “Almost as usual.” Bill scooped up a last bite of pancake and strawberry jam. “I’m taking off a little early to see about a new job, Ma. There’s an opening for a clerk at Thompson’s Auto Supply, and I want to try for it.”

  “Do they need someone just for the summer? You’ll have to tell them you’ll be leaving to go to the university in September.”

  Bill took a deep breath. “The thing is,” he said, “I’ve changed my mind about going on to school right now. I mean, I’d rather get a job, and see how things go. No big deal,” he added hastily, as their mother gave a little gasp of dismay. “I talked to my adviser yesterday and told him I didn’t think I’d be using the scholarship. It’s nice—I’m proud to have won it and all that—but a scholarship isn’t the biggest thing that ever happened.”

  The world stopped right then. Grandma sank into a chair and stared at Bill. Meg’s mother looked dazed.

  “You’re kidding,” Meg said. “You have to be.”

  Bill glared at her. “I’m not kidding. I’ve been thinking about it ever since—for a couple of days. We’re going to need more money coming in around here. When Dad was home, there was always the chance he might get a regular job. But now—” He looked at his mother. “Don’t cry, Ma. It’s not that important.”

  “Not important?” His mother wiped her eyes. “It’s everything! How can you say it’s not important?”

  Bill pushed back his chair and stood up. “I have to get to work,” he said. “Let’s talk about it later. Great pancakes, Grandma.” He bent and kissed their mother on the top of her head, then hurried out.

  “He’ll get over this idea,” Grandma Korshak said. “He’s a good boy, and he wants to do the right thing. Just give him time to think it out.”

  “But if he turns down the scholarship”—Meg’s mother was horrified—“they’ll give it to someone else. This is the only chance he’ll have!”

  Grandma reached for the coffeepot and refilled the cups. “Just give him time,” she said again. “It’ll be all right.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  Grandma nodded, but she looked worried. Bill was stubborn. If he believed his help was needed at home, he would turn down the scholarship, and no one would be able to stop him. Wait’ll Dad hears that, Meg thought. Maybe writing is his life, but he’s going to feel awful if Bill doesn’t go to college.

  The breakfast dishes were washed and her mother and Grandma Korshak had left on their shopping trip before Meg remembered the questions she’d wanted to ask her grandmother. I have to talk to her alone, she thought. I just have to.

  Gracie called four times while Meg was washing her hair, packing her overnight bag, and doing her regular Saturday housekeeping chores.

  “It’s going to be so much fun!” Gracie said, sighing. “I just can’t wait till tonight.”

  Meg felt the same way, but not for the same reason. Her mother and grandmother came home around noon, and the three of them had a strained and silent lunch. Afterward, Grandma said she was going to take a nap. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she shuffled as she went down the hall to the bedroom.

  Grandma says everything is going to be all right, but she’s really scared, just like we are, Meg thought. As much as she wanted a private talk with her grandmother, she realized it would have to wait.

  At six o’clock, Bill hadn’t returned. It was nearly time for Meg to meet Gracie.

  “Your grandmother and I will have our dinner when he comes.” Meg’s mother lifted a casserole from the oven and spooned a generous helping onto a plate. “Eat,” she ordered. “If this slumber party is like the ones I used to go to, you’ll be up all night stuffing yourselves with nothing but junk food.” She looked at Meg with a wistful expression. “It was fun,” she said. “I’m glad you’re going.”

  Brookfield Avenue was hushed and silvery when Meg stepped out into the warm evening. She was surprised to see Bill on the steps, his dark head next to Rhoda’s auburn one. Neither of them had heard her coming.

  “You’ll be sorry,” Rhoda was saying. “I don’t mean just because you’ll lose the scholarship. That’s bad enough, but you’ll be sorry because it’s a really dumb thing to do. Take my word for it.”

  Meg cleared her throat. “Mama and Grandma are waiting for you upstairs,” she said, trying not to sound as if she were butting in. “Did you get the job at the auto-supply store?”

  Bill stood up. “I won’t know till next week,” he said shortly. “I’d better go up. Mustn’t keep the ladies waiting.”

  “Listen.” Rhoda put up a hand. “I’ve got a thing to tell you. It’ll just take a minute.”

  Bill glanced at Meg then, and winked. “Yes, ma’am,” he said and sat down on the steps again. “Tell away, ma’am.”

  Rhoda ignored his teasing tone. “It’s about what I did when my mother moved to Los Angeles,” she said. “That was the worst time in my life. I didn’t know how to act. At first I cried and moped around, and then I got mad. I decided to get even with my mother for dropping out of our family.”

  “How?” Bill looked interested.

  “I dropped out, too. I quit school.”

  “You couldn’t do that,” Meg protested. “People can’t just quit because they feel like it.”

  Rhoda went on as if she hadn’t heard. “Every morning I left when my father did and went to the zoo or to a movie. Or I just wandered around the shopping center near our house. I did that for nearly two weeks.” She paused, remembering what it was like.

  “So what happened?” Bill asked.

  “So the school kept calling my father, and I kept telling him there was some mix-up in the office. Finally they convinced him that I wasn’t in school and they wanted to know what was going on. And after that he took me right to the school door every morning before he went to work. Like a prisoner! But there was a counselor—”Rhoda hunched forward, and her husky voice softened—“a really neat person. We talked every day, and once she said, ‘Tell me what you thought about when you weren’t coming to school.’ I told her I thought about how lonely I was, and about how far behind I was getting in all my classes. She said, ‘That doesn’t sound like much fun. What else did you think about?’ And I told her I thought about how rotten my mother would feel if she knew her only child was walking around a shopping center instead of going to school. But, of course, my mother didn’t know anything about it. And the counselor said it sounded like a pretty boring couple of weeks. And all of a sudden I knew she was right. Quitting school wasn’t what I wanted at all. The only person feeling rotten was little old Rhoda.”

  She leaned back and looked at Bill with an elfin grin. “That’s all,” she said. “You’d better eat now.”

  “Interesting story,” Bill said. He stood up and turned to go inside, almost bumping into Meg.

  “Have a good time at the party,” he said, and Rhoda r
epeated the words as Meg brushed past them both.

  “I will,” she replied, with more force than was really necessary. She hurried toward the corner without looking back. It was pretty irritating to realize that Rhoda Deel might understand Bill and influence him, when he wouldn’t listen to his own family.

  Boys! she thought. And then, remembering the thoughtful expression on her brother’s face, she decided she couldn’t be jealous of Rhoda. She was a smart girl. And after all, it really didn’t matter who said the right words to Bill, as long as he heard them.

  CHAPTER 9

  Linda’s Party

  Linda Bell’s house was dark gray with white shutters, a rambling picture book house partly hidden by a row of precisely trimmed shrubs. A narrow drive curved up to the door and framed a bed of yellow tulips. Tall birches stood at either side of the drive.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Gracie said solemnly. “Don’t you just love it?”

  “I love it.” Meg wondered if anything bad could happen to people who lived in a house like this one. Surely the children would be beautiful (Linda was beautiful) and the father would love his family and never want to leave them. No one would argue. The mother would be happy. Meg imagined herself and her family living here, serene and happy. Rich.

  “We must be the first ones to come,” Meg said. “There aren’t any lights.”

  The door opened before Gracie could reply. Linda ignored their shy hellos.

  “Can you believe it—the darned stereo isn’t working right!” she stormed. “I just knew something like this would happen! It always does!”

  Well, maybe little things could go wrong, even in this house, Meg thought. They followed their hostess into the foyer and toward a stairway that floated upward in a graceful curve.

  “Take your stuff upstairs,” Linda ordered. “Any bedroom where the door’s open. I have to go back and see if the guys can get the stupid stereo going. It’s making a noise like a jet plane, but Ricky thinks he knows what’s wrong. He’d better! My folks will kill me if they come home and find it broken.”