by Ben Guterson
That afternoon, while she was helping Mr. Wellington and Mr. Rajput with their puzzle, Elizabeth asked them about something that had been on her mind ever since she’d seen them that second evening with their wives.
“Do you remember a few days ago,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Rajput, “when you mentioned how it might scare me to talk about Norbridge’s sister, Gracella?” She wasn’t sure she should bring this up so directly to him, particularly because Mr. Rajput had seemed more-than-usually glum after finding not a single piece the whole day that fit into the puzzle. Still, though, Elizabeth decided to take a chance. “What did you mean by that?”
Mr. Wellington looked up. “Oh, that little comment,” he said. “Really nothing. Nothing at all.”
Mr. Rajput began to rub his temples with both hands as if to soothe a deepening headache. “I’m the one who said it,” he said, “and I meant what I said.” He looked to Mr. Wellington. “She’s not a little girl, and it’s just an old story from a long time ago.”
Mr. Wellington stood up straight, put his hands on his hips, and frowned. “But Mr. Rajput!” he said. “Sharing such unpleasant tales!”
Elizabeth was thoroughly confused at this point. “What story are you talking about?” she said.
Mr. Rajput gave Mr. Wellington a droll stare, as though now that the tall man had crossed him, he was going to proceed as he liked. “Mr. Wellington’s wife has told us more than once that Norbridge’s sister was batty,” he said. “A regular loony bird, all carried away with talking about spirits and magic and whatnot. And a very unkind person to boot! Once—when she was no older than ten—she got so mad at her brother and the other kids, she told them one day she would destroy Winterhouse!” He goggled his eyes wide in emphasis. “The thing is, they say she actually did go on to study magic and spells, and then she ran away. Some people say she wanted to return here someday and actually try to do what she said she intended, though rumor has it she died many years ago or disappeared or some such.”
“Ancient stories!” Mr. Wellington said with a huff. “Really, Mr. Rajput! To share such things with our young puzzle helper! As if we know anything at all about the history of this place!”
“It’s okay,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t mind.” She looked to the two men as they kept their eyes locked on each other. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of what she’d been told; she thought back to how she’d seen the Hiemses standing in front of the paintings of Norbridge and Gracella. “It’s not really that scary, tell you the truth, so don’t worry about it,” she said.
Mr. Wellington let out a quick sigh and straightened his tie with a jerking motion of his hand.
“Oh, hey, look!” Elizabeth said, just then fixing the piece she was holding into a small cluster of pieces of the sky. “It fits!”
“Remarkable!” Mr. Rajput said, and the three of them resumed working on the puzzle, Elizabeth remaining with them for half an hour and finding two more pieces.
Gracella, Marcus, and Selena, Elizabeth said to herself once she left the two men and was heading to her room. What if there is some connection? And what if The Book is the missing piece?
She stopped to examine the bust of Nestor Falls on the landing of the main staircase to the second floor. When she’d hidden a clue behind it during the scavenger hunt with Freddy, she had noticed its inscription and had been meaning to copy it into her notebook under “Important Things People Have Said or Written That I Don’t Want to Forget.” Now she wrote it down:
Some people say this world of ours is just a tumbling stone
No soul, no guide, no heart within, mere atoms all alone
But I believe there’s more to things than simply meets the eyes
There’s good and bad—and so I say: Make sure the good survives.
She examined the words printed in her notebook; she read them silently to herself twice before heading to her room.
* * *
The next few days flew by. Elizabeth spent her time skiing, sledding, swimming, and more, with Freddy; she spent hours reading or wandering the library, and even spotted Marcus and Selena Hiems there from a distance and steered clear of them; she went to the nightly concerts; she listened with interest to lectures about Easter Island and Indian tea; she helped Mr. Wellington and Mr. Rajput with their puzzle; she watched movies in the small theater; sat by the fireplace in Winter Hall; examined the paintings in the portrait hall—especially the one of Nestor Falls, though she and Freddy made no headway on solving the code—and studied the many murals and paintings and photographs along the corridors of the hotel.
A mound of presents grew under the tree in Winter Hall, a thicket of decorations gathered across the ceiling and walls, crates of Flurschen massed at the delivery bay on the ground floor, and a busy hum of excitement grew from a hotel full of guests and bellhops and cooks and cleaners. Elizabeth made a new list in her little notebook—“Best Christmases Ever”—and put “The one at Winterhouse” in the top spot. Or, rather, in the only spot, because none of her previous Christmases had been a fraction as good.
A single thing troubled Elizabeth’s mind over those days, and that was the knowledge that she hadn’t kept her promise to Freddy to return The Book—though, to her relief, he hadn’t asked her about it. The fact was, she felt glad she had kept A Guide for Children because, sure enough, each day a new letter appeared next to the others on the same front page. Now, a week after she’d found the strange book in the library, the letters in silver read “THE KEY I”—which made Elizabeth think that maybe, before too long, the keyword itself would be revealed.
If I can just keep The Book a few more days, she thought, I’ll be able to solve Nestor’s code.
She didn’t feel good about being deceptive, but she’d decided to keep everything a secret from Freddy—for now. The thing she didn’t want was for him to be disappointed in her for not keeping her word.
One other reason she had held on to The Book was so that she could attempt the same exercise she’d tried the morning after Norbridge had told her its story. On four occasions she had tried to make it stir, but on none of these had she been able to drum up the feeling even remotely; and she certainly hadn’t made The Book—or anything else, for that matter—move even an inch. All of this—the silver letters and the strange chapters and the moment when she felt sure she’d made the volume quiver—seemed confusing to her. She found herself wondering why she, of all people, had found The Book and why some of its magic, if that’s really what it was, seemed to be revealing itself to her.
* * *
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Elizabeth joined Freddy in his workshop as he was pulverizing a mound of walnut shells inside a steel canister and slowly adding a thin stream of glue to the crumbling mix.
“I can’t get it quite right,” Freddy said. “It’s either too hard or too crumbly. I’m still doing something wrong, but it should end up looking like a log sooner or later.”
It was inspiring to see Freddy perfecting his WonderLog, she thought, and she felt glad he didn’t mind her watching him work. She had known him for over a week now, and she could almost pinch herself when she thought she had finally—through some miracle of being here at Winterhouse without her aunt and uncle to ruin things—made a good friend. She even thought Freddy was the sort of person who, had he seen the house she lived in or met Aunt Purdy or Uncle Burlap, would still have wanted to remain friends.
“I was thinking,” Elizabeth said, “maybe we can stay in touch after we leave Winterhouse. I mean, if you want to.”
Freddy looked up. “I was thinking the same thing. We should.”
There was no computer at her aunt and uncle’s house, but she could use one at school easily enough. “I could email you,” she said.
“‘Email’!” Freddy said. “‘A mile!’ Hey, here’s another good one. ‘The Morse Code’ turns into ‘Here come dots.’”
“You’re getting way too good at those.” Elizabeth studied the steel canister Freddy held a
s he returned to work. “I’ll bet you perfect your WonderLog soon,” she said. “I really do.”
“I’m just glad Norbridge lets me work on it,” Freddy said. “At home my parents would never let me do anything like this.”
“Yeah, but don’t they know how smart you are?”
Freddy shrugged. “I guess they don’t trust me,” he said. “Norbridge is different.” He stopped working and nodded. “You know there’s a school in the town right nearby? It’s where all the local kids go.” He went back to twisting the crank on a compressing vise he was using, studying the canister all the while as he slowly applied more pressure.
Elizabeth pictured herself at the school—maybe her and Freddy both. “Wouldn’t that be great to go there?” she said. “And live here?”
A sharp crack sounded, and the top of the steel canister popped open. A shower of walnut pieces sprayed upward and the canister fell to the ground.
“Yikes!” Freddy yelled, as he and Elizabeth jumped back.
“Everything okay?” Elizabeth said as she steadied herself.
Freddy sighed, surveyed the mess on the ground. “Everything’s okay. But back to the drawing board.”
As they cleaned up, Freddy grew oddly quiet, and Elizabeth began to think he was upset with himself over what had happened.
“Are you excited about tonight?” she said, to break the silence.
“Definitely,” he said, though he didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “You know, I was thinking. It’s Christmas Eve tonight and then Christmas tomorrow, and everything is kind of in full swing.” He looked at his supplies on his table. “And I’ve got my project going on.”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, although she became worried he might be trying to tell her he wouldn’t have time—or didn’t want to make the time—to do things with her over their remaining days at Winterhouse.
“You’re probably going to be pretty busy on the WonderLog,” she said. “Is that what you’re saying? Like, too busy to do stuff?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, yes, I will be busy, but what I’m getting at is … well, you returned that book, didn’t you?”
That’s what’s on his mind, Elizabeth thought. An uneasy feeling moved through her as she considered what she ought to say. She was just about to claim that with all the excitement at Winterhouse she’d actually forgotten she had The Book or, even, that she had already returned it; but then she decided to tell him the truth—or, at least, most of the truth.
“I know I said I’d put it back,” Elizabeth said. “And I will. I just … I just like looking at it. I’ll return it after Christmas, I promise.”
“I thought you were going to return it a couple of days ago.”
“I’ll return it tomorrow.”
Freddy looked dubious. “For sure?”
“I promise.” She was tempted to tell him about the letters that continued to appear each day, but she already felt bad for having misled him about The Book overall. Maybe, she thought, it was best not to explain the real reason for her reluctance to return it—and, besides, he couldn’t see the silver letters anyway. It might seem strange to him if she kept insisting she was seeing words somehow materializing in a book he preferred she had left in the library.
“Okay, I just really think you should return that book and forget all about it,” Freddy said. “We should focus on all the activities and things here at Winterhouse.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t want to ruin anything.” She tried not to let disappointment creep into her tone, but she couldn’t help feeling that Freddy was telling her—finally and clearly—he wasn’t interested in any of the mysteries she was.
“And the Hiemses haven’t really even been around at all,” Freddy said. “I bet Norbridge talked to them, and everything’s fine.”
Elizabeth looked across the room, with its tidy spread of tools hung on hooks against the walls, the sawhorses and brooms and benches and plywood. Above all, she thought about how glad she was to have Freddy’s friendship—she thought about Norbridge and Leona and how they had known each other for decades, it seemed, but weren’t at all tired of each other.
“You’re probably right,” she said, and she pictured herself returning the Granger book and forgetting the whole thing—but just the tiniest bit of reluctance remained. Plus, she wanted to learn the keyword.
Bells sounded loudly from the corridor, and Elizabeth and Freddy looked at each other with wide eyes.
“Dinner in an hour!” she said.
“We better get ready!” He set his tools down and wiped his hands on a towel. “Norbridge told me tonight’s party is going to be better than last year’s, which would be hard to beat.” Freddy tossed the towel on the table. “Come on. We don’t want to be late!”
CHAPTER 22
CHRISTMAS EVE—AND AN UNEXPECTED NOTE
EWE
OWE
ODE
ODD
Thirty minutes after the bells sounded, the Winterhouse chimes began, though on this evening they were different—solemn and slow and long, the notes seeming to announce that the best night of the year had arrived. Elizabeth put on a beautiful green velveteen dress that Jackson had left in her wardrobe the day before. It fit as though it had been made for her; and as she studied herself in the mirror in her room, she felt as though her life with Aunt Purdy and Uncle Burlap was a distant dream.
I don’t ever want to go back to Drere, she told herself, but even as this thought came over her she had a feeling of sadness—even felt a little sorry—for her aunt and uncle, wondered what they were doing that very moment. I actually hope they’re kind of happy tonight, she thought, and she recalled the picture she’d found in Aunt Purdy’s book, the one of the boy with the sad message on the back. Maybe they’re watching a TV show together or something.
Before she left for dinner, she took in a view of Lake Luna and the star-capped mountains in the distance. The room, which she’d slept in now for a week and a day, felt as much her own as though she’d lived there for years. She liked her room back home in Drere, too, as shabby as it was, but that was more because, in that unhappy house, it was the only spot that was hers, the one place she could escape to read her books or imagine a life somewhere else or just be alone with her thoughts. Here, in Room 213 at Winterhouse, she had all that and more—and no aunt and uncle, only kind people like Norbridge and Leona, or new friends like Freddy. She wondered, again, how this had all come about, and how someone like her had ended up in such a magical place. She pulled her curtains closed, made sure A Guide for Children was at the rear of one of her drawers and surrounded by a pile of shirts—which is where she’d been hiding it for the past several days—checked her hair and glasses in the mirror one last time, and then stepped into the hallway.
Just as she was locking her door, she glanced down the corridor and saw someone slipping around the far corner. She had a bad feeling Marcus Q. Hiems had been waiting to see her exit her room before dashing out of sight. Something about the flash of black pants and shoes she had spotted, as well as the fact that he had staked out her room once before, made her feel certain of this.
She stood waiting for a moment. And then she ducked back into her room, pushed the Granger book even farther to the rear of her drawer, and departed once again after making sure the door was firmly locked.
* * *
Winter Hall was spectacular, glittering with thousands of silver-white snowflakes and streamers, and bright from the twinkling lights on the dozens of trees and the massive candlelit chandeliers and the dancing fire. Everything glowed or glistened or blazed. Another chime sounded and everyone was seated; then a dinner of roast chicken and mashed potatoes and asparagus and biscuits was served, followed by blackberry pie and three types of ice cream, and it felt to Elizabeth that everyone could sit enjoying dinner and the company of friends and family deep into the night.
She looked to the dark windows, which at this
hour and in the endless light reflected the hall’s fullness so perfectly it seemed the room was twice as large, and she thought of how glad she was to be here. She put a hand to where her pendant lay beneath her dress, closed her eyes, and said to herself, “Faith.”
“Dreaming about getting a stack of books for Christmas?” Freddy said.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. “No, I was thinking maybe you’ll get a new calculator made out of walnut shells! Won’t that be exciting?”
Just then Elizabeth spotted Mrs. Trumble standing beside one of the kitchen doors; the woman saw her and gave a small wave.
When dessert was ending and the fire had quieted, Norbridge stepped up to the podium. He wore a green blazer and red bow tie. He even had his beard fluffed out a bit, as though he’d taken extra care to scrub it before dinner. He surveyed the room, and everyone grew quiet. The chandelier lights dimmed.
“Good evening, one and all,” Norbridge said. He stood up very straight and glanced around the room as the fire behind him crackled. “If you will indulge me for just a moment, I would like to address you before you all fall into the longest after-dinner nap of your lives.”
The audience laughed, and Norbridge pulled at his suspenders before continuing. He gestured with one hand to an elderly woman at the front table, someone Elizabeth had never seen before this evening. The woman’s hair was pure white, and she sat stooped over her place at the table as though it was an effort for her to sit upright, but her eyes were deep blue and very clear, even from where Elizabeth sat. To her right sat another elderly lady who looked almost identical, though not quite as aged.
“I would like to wish a very merry Christmas to my dear second cousin, the very lovely and gracious Kiona Falls. She is my grand-uncle Lambert’s granddaughter—that is, her grandfather and my grandfather were brothers, and, well, never mind all that. The thing I want to say is that she is ninety-eight and one-half years of age, and thus is the oldest living member of the Falls family. She will also forgive me, I hope, for revealing her age. Please, ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for the charming, generous, and exceedingly kind Miss Kiona Falls, as well as, beside her, her very precious daughter, my beloved second cousin once removed, Miss Lena Falls.”