The candle wasn’t necessary any more, so she blew it out and put it in her pocket. She started across the room on tiptoe. There probably wasn’t any need to be so quiet, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Not that she was frightened, because she wasn’t—only terribly excited. But her pulse was still pounding a little in the hollow at the base of her throat.
At one end of the big room there was a narrow staircase with ornately carved posts and banisters, but Robin decided to explore the bottom floor first. The next room was very much like the first, except that there was no staircase, and the only piece of furniture was a gigantic table with carved legs as big around as Robin’s body. Another room, with a red tile floor and a huge fireplace with a dome-shaped oven built right into the hearth, had unmistakably been the kitchen. Those three rooms made up the adobe part of the house downstairs.
The upstairs rooms were smaller. They had long windows that opened like doors to the balcony which ran all along the adobe wing. That is, they had once opened onto the balcony before they, too, had been boarded up. Except for a huge, heavy chest of drawers in one room and a bare bed frame in another, the rooms were entirely empty. The floors were bare, and there were no pictures on the walls or curtains on the windows. In the empty rooms careful tiptoeing steps echoed hollowly with frightening loudness.
Back in the room with the two bookcases, Robin turned toward the stone portion of the house. At one end of the room there was a large set of double doors. The wood of these doors was not the same as the wood in the Spanish part of the house. It was so shiny and smooth that it felt almost like glass. Beyond those doors the stone part of the house must begin, the beautiful stone house with its tower, its arches, and its strong stone walls.
As Robin put her hand on the doorknob, a wonderful feeling of expectation made her shiver. It was like opening a fat book to the first page or hearing the first exciting notes of new music—a feeling of promise and mystery.
The heavy doors opened stiffly with a shriek of hinges. Sunlight, sifting in long narrow rays between the boards on the windows, dimly illuminated a very large room. In the soft light Robin could see tall graceful windows, a high ceiling, and a floor of shiny golden wood, set in a pattern of little squares. There was a large fireplace with a marble mantel, and the walls were paneled in smooth dark wood. But the room was empty. Somehow Robin must have been expecting that it wouldn’t be, because she felt disappointed. Like the Spanish part of the house, this room had no rugs, no curtains, and not so much as a single chair. It looked hollow and lonely.
But it was fun to imagine how it must have looked once. As Robin tiptoed through the room and through the rest of the ground floor, she stopped in each huge empty room to imagine what furniture had once been there and what the people had been like who had talked and laughed and lived in such beauty and spaciousness.
The huge kitchen was especially interesting because, with its sinks and cupboards and counters, it was less empty than the rest of the house. On one side of the kitchen a hall led to a series of small rooms, and on the other side there was a small room lined with cupboards, leading to what must have been the dining hall.
Beyond the dining room was the entry hall, with the heavy double front doors that Robin had inspected from the outside, and a wide stairway that led upward in a graceful curve. At the head of the stairs a hallway ran in two directions. Robin turned to the left and explored a series of rooms that obviously had been bedrooms, although they, too, were empty now. She decided she liked one at the end of the hall best. It was smaller than the others and had a funny little alcove at one end. If she lived there, in Palmeras House, she’d pick that bedroom to be hers.
Back at the head of the stairs, Robin turned to the right. This hallway was shorter and had only one door, at the very end. Expecting only another bedroom, Robin opened the door and stepped into the most wonderful surprise of her life.
From that first glimpse, from the first minute, it was more than a room—more even than the most beautiful room Robin had ever seen. Her hands shook on the doorknob, and the shaking didn’t come from fear or cold. Her trembling hands were only an echo of something deeper that had been strangely shaken by that first sight of the Velvet Room.
Part of it might have been surprise, surprise that this room wasn’t empty like all the others. But another part of it was a strange feeling, almost like recognition. It was as if she had been there before, or at least had known it was there. As if she had always known that there would be a place exactly like this.
Just inside the door, against the wall, was a little table. It was a rich, red-brown and as smooth as still water. Robin’s fingers left a shining trail through the coat of dust that covered it. Using her skirt, she carefully wiped off the dust so that the bright pattern of the grain gleamed through.
A thick pale rug cushioned her bare feet as she moved forward and turned very slowly in a circle. The walls of the room were paneled in dark wood. All along one wall the bright bindings of books contrasted with the wood. The books went on and on, all down one side and across the far wall, on shelves that went almost to the ceiling: except in the center of the wall, where there was a large fireplace with a marble mantel. On the opposite side of the room were four tall narrow windows. Above the windows were arches of colored glass. Sunlight, streaming in through the arches made rainbows on the rug.
Near the fireplace there was a couch covered with a white sheet. Robin lifted it up and peeked under. The couch was of red velvet and had slender curving legs.
The room was full of things, beautiful old things. There were chairs, tables, lamps, a tiny sofa, and a huge square desk with a leather top. At the far end of the room a wide doorway led to a circular alcove. Windows of curved glass lined the alcove above window seats fitted with dark red pillows. As Robin knelt on a window seat and looked out, she realized that this alcove was formed by a section of the tower. Through the curving glass of the window she could look back at the rest of the house—the stone arches and the front entry. And directly below was the driveway and the weed-grown lawn.
It was there in the alcove that she first began to call it the Velvet Room. There were heavy drapes of dark red velvet at the windows, and the wide doorway that led into the rest of the library had drapes, too. When all the drapes were closed, there was a full circle of velvet. Robin pulled all the drapes shut, and then sat down and looked around.
It was a wonderful, cozy place. A lot of people must have sat there to read in all the years since Palmeras House had been built. There must have been other children who had liked the wide window seats with their deep soft pillows. They probably took their books there and pulled the drapes shut, just as Robin had, and felt safe and comfortable and hidden. If they were a little younger, they probably pretended they were birds high in a nest, or maybe princesses in a magic tower.
After a while Robin went back into the main part of the library and continued her inspection. She examined every piece of furniture, dusting each one carefully with her skirt. The chairs and tables were not like any that she had seen before, except perhaps in pictures. She guessed that they were very old. Near the windows a whatnot case with a curved glass front, was full of interesting things. There were delicately made fans and a row of tiny painted pictures in jeweled frames. There were some Spanish combs with high jeweled tops and two wide silver bracelets with large, blue-green stones. On the bottom shelf were some old blurry photographs that seemed to be printed on tin and some letters with faded, old-fashioned handwriting. Robin decided that the things in the whatnot case must be very special because the door was locked.
Next she began to look at the books. That was only a beginning, because it would take weeks to look at all of them and years and years to read them all. Some of the books looked very old, with their stiff leather bindings and old-fashioned print, but others seemed fairly new. She picked out a collection of fairy tales and went back to the alcove. She opened the drapes a little to let in just enough light to read by and
then stretched out on the fat pillows. She was sure she was too excited to read and was intending only to try it out, to see what it would feel like to curl up with a book, as if she belonged there; but the cozy comfort of the draped alcove was very soothing, and soon she was deep in the story of the White Cat.
When Robin finished the fairy tale, she peeked out between the drapes and noticed that the sun was almost straight overhead. She’d stayed much too long. Jumping up, she started for the door; but part way there, she remembered that she was not leaving things exactly as she had found them. What if someone came and noticed the difference? She hurried back to open the drapes, straighten the pillows, and put away the book.
For some reason, it wasn’t until then that she really began to wonder about the Velvet Room. She had just accepted it all the way you had to accept a miracle—as too magical for any explanation. But now, as she was preparing to leave, she suddenly wanted an explanation very badly. What if someone came, she thought. And wasn’t it likely that someone would? Why would a room be left like this, beautifully furnished and full of valuable things? There must be a reason. And something else occurred to her. Why was the room so clean? Of course, it had been a little dusty, but not at all as bad as you’d expect if it had been sitting alone and untouched for the six years since the McCurdys had moved to their new home. Why was it there at all—a Velvet Room in a silent empty old house? Who visited it and kept it clean? When did they come? As Robin opened the door and stepped out into the empty hall, she held her breath and strained to hear even the faintest sound.
“La Fantasma,” The Girl Ghost
ROBIN TIPTOED DOWN THE long flight of stairs and through the emptily echoing rooms of the stone house. Time after time she stopped, thinking she heard something, but each time it was only the echo of her own footsteps. By the time she reached the double doors that led to the adobe wing, she felt a little foolish. It was silly to be so nervous. Surely if other people were in the house, she would have heard them.
She opened the heavy doors on their squeaky hinges and tiptoed across the room to the bookcase. There was an awful moment while she wondered what she would do if she couldn’t find the way to open the hidden door. But when she ran her fingers up behind the bookcase, they almost immediately touched a latch. She fumbled with it for just a moment before she found how it worked. Then, as she tried lifting up on it, there was a click, and the bookcase swung out.
A few minutes later, as Robin shoved back the well lid, the rush of warmth and light seemed almost magical after the damp darkness of the tunnel. She climbed out, snapped the padlock, and sat down wearily in the comforting warmth of the sun. There was the big old house, looking as immense, as strong, and as peaceful as ever. Had she really been inside? It seemed almost impossible. And yet it had happened. And because it had, there was a difference in everything—everything from the taste of a breath of air to the way it felt to live in cabin number three, Palmeras Village.
Robin glanced at the sun high overhead and realized it was almost noon. She sighed and started towards the Village, looking back now and then: first at the stone walls, then at the chimneys, and finally just at the tower.
The scolding Robin fully expected for wandering off and staying all morning was not waiting for her when she reached home. The Village seemed to be deserted. The Williamses’ cabin was empty, and at first there seemed to be no one in the entire row of houses. Just as Robin was beginning to feel worried, she saw one of Theresa’s little brothers playing in the mud outside the laundry room.
Juan, or maybe it was Carlo, explained that everyone had gone to the “peeting shed.” Robin was puzzled. She was sure she had heard Dad say that the apricots would not be ready for at least another week. She started for the shed at a run.
Halfway there, she caught up with Mrs. Brown. It seemed Mr. Criley had come to the Village that morning and asked everyone who planned to pit to come to the shed to register and get his first card. Mrs. Brown said she guessed it was so Mr. Criley would know how many temporary pitters to hire.
The pitting shed was full of people. All the women and children over twelve who lived in the Village would be working; and many of the younger ones, clear down to the five- and six-year-olds, would be “helping,” the way Robin used to help before she was old enough to have a work permit.
Mr. Criley was putting people’s names in a book and giving everyone a card. Each card was on string and was hung around your neck, so that every time you finished a box of apricots the card could be punched by the shed boss. Robin would have a card of her own for the first time this year.
The other Williamses were near the head of the line, so Robin squeezed in with them. Fortunately, Mama was busy talking to the woman just ahead of her, so she only said, “Well, it’s about time,” and went on with what she was saying. Shirley was hanging on to Mama’s hand and carefully looking at the ground. She didn’t like to be around so many people. But she’d have to get used to it. Mama wouldn’t make her help the way some tiny kids had to, but she would have to come to the shed every day. There would be no one at home to leave her with. She’d get used to it by the time pitting season was over.
Robin tugged gently at a wisp of Shirley’s thin, corn-silk hair. “Hi, toots,” she said. Shirley glanced up and smiled a split-second smile.
The Williamses had just finished registering when, over the chatter in the pitting shed, there came a rumble of hoofbeats. Everyone stopped talking and turned to watch as Gwen McCurdy galloped up on Mirlo. She was wearing Levis and cowboy boots, and a wide-brimmed hat hung down her back on a braided leather cord. She jumped off and, dropping the reins, walked over to the table where Mr. Criley sat behind his big book.
“Hi, Mrs. Lopez. How’s Jesse’s broken arm?” Robin heard Gwen say to a woman near the head of the line. But then a baby started crying so loudly that, even though nearly everyone in the shed was listening, no one heard just what Gwen said to Mr. Criley. But they all saw that Gwen McCurdy signed the register, and Mr. Criley gave her a card. Glances and nudges were exchanged all through the crowd.
Robin turned and started toward the Village alone. The rest of them could come when they were finished staring. But before she had gone far, there was the thud of hoofs again, and Gwen’s voice said, “Well, hi! Robin. What are you doing?”
“Hi, I was just going home,” Robin said. She rubbed Mirlo’s black nose.
“Look,” Gwen said, “I was just going to ride down to the river. Want to come along?”
“I’ll have to ask my mother,” Robin said.
Mama said yes, probably before she remembered that Robin had been gone all morning. In a minute Robin was up behind Gwen, and both galloped off in a swirl of dust. Where the road ended, they slowed to a walk, and Gwen took something out of her pocket and held it up. “Look!” she said.
“Who’s that for?” Robin asked.
“For me,” Gwen said. “I’m going to work in the pitting shed.”
Robin couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Why?” and that didn’t seem just right, so she simply said, “Oh.”
“It’s my father’s idea,” Gwen said. “My mother didn’t much want me to, but Dad says it will be good for me. Mostly I’m not too crazy about things that are supposed to be good for me, but I think it will be sort of fun to work in the pitting shed. Don’t you think it’s fun?”
“It’s sort of fun,” Robin agreed doubtfully.
“Why don’t we work at the same table?” Gwen said. “Then we can talk if we get bored.”
“O.K.” Robin knew you couldn’t work very fast if you talked much, but she wanted to work with Gwen, anyway, if she could.
The river was mostly dry at this time of year, but it was still an interesting place to explore. You had to cross several yards of sandy, rocky soil to get to the water.
Robin and Gwen left Mirlo tied to a willow at the edge of the river bed. They went on on foot, stopping now and then to look at animal tracks in the sandy patches. Robin
showed Gwen how to catch a doodle bug by breathing into its hole, and Gwen found a skunk’s footprints which looked like little handprints in the sand.
When they came to the river, they found that it was only a few feet wide and ankle-deep, so they decided to take off their shoes and stockings and wade downstream for a way. In the calm eddies, water scooters zipped away to hide and dragonflies hovered on tinsel wings.
After a while Gwen said, “Look, there’s the island.” They had come to a little wooded knoll, which in the winter time must have been surrounded by deep rushing water. But now you could almost step across the stream that flowed on each side of it. A little sandy beach sloped down to the water beneath the shade of willows and cotton-woods. The girls sat down on the cool sand.
“This is a nice place,” Robin said. “Do you come here often?”
“Pretty often,” Gwen said. “It used to be sort of my secret place when I was little. I came here once in the spring when the water was still pretty high. I rode Mirlo over; and the water came clear up to his stomach, and he almost fell with me.”
“That’s funny,” Robin said.
“What is?”
“That you had a secret place. I always had one. Lots of different ones in the different places we’ve been. Some places we’ve been I’ve found real good ones. But I wouldn’t have thought that you’d have one.”
Gwen smiled and shrugged. She rolled over and started drawing pictures in the sand with her finger. Robin sat staring at the water. She was thinking of the most wonderful secret place anyone had ever had. It occurred to her that Gwen probably knew all about the Velvet Room. If only she could think of a way to ask some of the questions that were bothering her. But Gwen began talking about something else.
“After that time I rode Mirlo over here, I didn’t get to go riding again for a month.”
The Velvet Room Page 7