The next day Robin went to work, but there wasn’t much fruit. Late in the morning, to her surprise, Gwen came to the shed looking for her. She wasn’t needed, so Mr. Criley let her go. Gwen had had a wonderful time, and she had a lot of souvenirs from the Islands that she wanted to show Robin. So they went up to Gwen’s room and looked at the things and talked.
Robin had wondered if Gwen would be different when she got home, but she seemed to be just the same. She looked different because her blond hair was bleached even lighter by the sun, and her skin was a deep golden tan. But she hadn’t changed in other ways. She was still as friendly and enthusiastic as ever. And she still said exactly what she was thinking, no matter what.
Today Gwen was enthusiastic about school starting. Robin was surprised. “I thought you didn’t like school,” she said. “And what about that boarding school back East you were going to?”
“Oh, I don’t really like school,” Gwen said. “But I like to see all the kids, and there’s always lots more things to do during the school year. I’m not going to that boarding school after all. At least not this year. I flunked their old test.” Gwen wiggled her shoulders in her familiar shrug. “Mom was furious,” she added cheerfully.
“Will you be going to Lincoln School in Santa Luisa then?” Robin asked.
“Sure,” Gwen said. “That’s where I’ve always gone.” Her face lighted suddenly. “Hey, we’ll be in the same room. You’re going to be in seventh grade, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure,” Robin said. “Dad says we’ll all probably have to be tested before we’re placed because we’ve missed so much school lately. I ought to be in seventh, though. I mean, that’s the grade I’d have been in if we hadn’t moved around so much.”
“Oh, they’ll put you in seventh,” Gwen said. “I’ll bet you could even be in eighth, if you wanted to. But don’t though. It’ll be fun being in the same room. We’ll have Mrs. Jennings for English and history. Most of the kids like her. She makes you work hard, but she’s not mean or anything.”
“It sounds like fun,” Robin said. She sighed. It really did sound like fun—going every day, and starting in September.
While Gwen and Robin were talking, Carmela came up to tell Gwen that Miss Andrews had come. Gwen looked startled. “Wow!” she said. “I forgot she was coming. I’m going to be awful. I haven’t practiced for years.”
Robin was going to leave, but Gwen didn’t want her to. “Come on down and wait for me. It won’t take long. Miss Andrews can’t stand me for very long at a time. I’m her most terrible failure.”
So Robin went downstairs with Gwen and listened while Gwen took her lesson on the big grand piano. Gwen really was pretty bad, but of course she hadn’t practiced while she was in Hawaii. When Miss Andrews finally stood up with a deep sigh, Gwen said, “Miss Andrews, I’d like you to meet my friend, Robin Williams. Robin can really play the piano, Miss Andrews.”
Robin was surprised and shocked. She’d come right from the pitting shed, so her feet were bare and she was wearing one of her oldest dresses. Miss Andrews smiled politely, but Robin recognized the sharp curiosity behind the smile.
“How do you do, Robin,” Miss Andrews said. “Won’t you play something for me? I’d love to hear you.”
“Come on, Robin,” Gwen said. “Play that one you played for me. The long one.”
Robin wanted desperately to refuse, but she couldn’t think how to do it gracefully. So she went over to the piano. She hadn’t noticed how bad her hands really looked until she saw them on the keyboard. The apricot juice had stained her nails, and her thumbs were crosshatched with dozens of tiny scars from the pitting knife. Watching her stained fingers on the white keys, she started out badly; but she had never played on a grand piano before, and the rich tone impressed her so that she forgot about her hands. She even forgot about Gwen and Miss Andrews. When she finished, she wasn’t sure if she had played well or badly. The sounds had been exciting, but that was because of the wonderful piano.
She didn’t want Miss Andrews to have to say something about her playing, so she jumped up quickly. “I have to go home now,” she said. “It was nice meeting you. Good-by, Gwen.” She rushed out feeling stupid and awkward.
She was almost to the barnyard, scuffing along with her head down, thinking of all the things she should have said and done when Gwen caught up with her. “Why did you run off like that?” Gwen asked. “Miss Andrews thought you were great.”
“Great!” Robin laughed. “Gwen McCurdy, you’re making that up. What did she really say?”
“She did say that. She really did. At least that’s what she meant. What she said exactly was ... Gwen arranged her face in a primly judicial expression. “What she really said was, ‘Of course, the child is badly in need of training, but I think there is a real talent there.’ And when Miss Andrews says something like that, it means great!”
From then on Robin became a regular visitor at the McCurdys’ house on Wednesdays, when Gwen had her piano lessons. When Miss Andrews wasn’t in too much of a hurry, she had Robin play for her, too. Robin had heard that Miss Andrews was the best piano teacher in Santa Luisa and that she was very expensive; but she must have understood how things were, because she never asked Robin if she wanted to take lessons. Even when she spent as much as half an hour helping Robin, she only called it “listening to Robin play”.
In between lessons, Gwen often asked Robin to come and help her practice. Really Robin didn’t help much, but they played duets and took turns practicing. Gwen said it was more fun that way. She said practicing got pretty dull when there was no one there to listen and make comments. And Mrs. McCurdy was gone so much, to clubs and meetings, that there usually wasn’t anyone there except Carmela, and she was busy. Once in a while, though, when they were practicing, Gwen’s father came in to listen.
Don McCurdy was a big man with a slow, easy smile. His face was brown from the sun, and he wore riding clothes most of the time. To her surprise, Robin found that it didn’t make her a bit nervous to have Mr. McCurdy in the room. She could go on practicing and giggling with Gwen, just as if he weren’t there.
It took longer before Robin could feel at ease around Mrs. McCurdy. When she had first begun to visit Gwen at the McCurdy house, Mrs. McCurdy was always polite, but her small tight smile made Robin feel a little guilty without knowing why. Then one day that started changing. Robin was on her way up to Gwen’s room when Mrs. McCurdy stopped her. “I’ve been hearing some nice things about you, Robin,” she said.
“Oh?” Robin said, feeling her face getting hot. There never seemed to be any sensible answer when people said things like that to you.
“I was talking to Miss Andrews yesterday,” Mrs. McCurdy went on. “She was telling me that you are very talented musically. Miss Andrews thinks your interest in music has encouraged Gwen to take her piano more seriously. In fact, she thinks Gwen has improved remarkably since you two have been working together.” Mrs. McCurdy’s smile was quite different from the one Robin had seen before.
Robin couldn’t think of anything to say so she only smiled and nodded. After Mrs. McCurdy had gone on down the hall, Robin thought for a moment before she started slowly up the stairs. Halfway up she stopped and extended her arm. “I dub thee Sir Robin,” she said regally. Then she skipped on up the stairs.
A few days after pitting season was over, the Williams family made a very important trip to town. First, they went to the Lincoln School where all the children, except Shirley, were tested to determine their grade placement. The test seemed pretty hard to Robin, particularly the arithmetic, but she thought she did fairly well. Mr. Maywood, the principal, said the results would be mailed to them in a few days.
Next, they went on downtown to go shopping. This was a very important shopping trip because everyone had pitting money to spend.
The children spent most of their money buying shoes and clothing for school, but Mama spent some of hers on things for the cabin. Then they all had
a five-cent hamburger, and Mama treated everyone to a movie. That is, everyone except Robin and Dad. Dad didn’t want to see the movie, so he and Robin went to the library instead.
There weren’t many people in the library that night, so Robin and Dad had it almost to themselves. They had a good time. Dad found a book of poetry and showed Robin some poems he’d liked when he was her age. He had Robin hold the book, and he recited “Ozymandias” and “The Destruction of Sennacherib” in such a dramatic whisper that it made tingles go up the backs of Robin’s legs. It seemed just like old times, back in Fresno. When the library closed, the movie still wasn’t over, so they went for a walk around town. They talked about old times in Fresno and things they’d done there, and Robin told Dad more about Bridget and all about Gwen and the McCurdys.
“And if only they put me in seventh grade,” Robin said, “Gwen and I will be in the same room in school.”
“Robin,” Dad said, “I don’t think you ought to let this friendship with Gwen become too important to you. I’m glad that you and Gwen have had such good times together, and she sounds like a very nice girl; but—well, school will be starting soon and things may be different.”
Robin took his hand and squeezed it. She knew exactly what he was going to say. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she said. “I’m not going to get my feelings hurt. You don’t have to warn me. I’ve already thought about it. Anyway, I like Gwen, but there are other things more important to me. Lots more important.”
They walked on together for a while, just enjoying the night and the peaceful sleepy streets. But then Dad sat down suddenly on a bus bench, and Robin saw that his face looked very white in the moonlight. “Let’s just sit a minute and rest our feet,” he said, but his smile didn’t hide the awful tiredness in his face. Somewhere inside, Robin felt fear move like a cold, dark wind.
They sat quietly, side by side, on the bench. The night was warm, and amber with summer moonlight, but inside the warmth was gone. Robin thought suddenly of the Velvet Room and wished she were there.
The Eye of a Storm
ON THE SATURDAY BEFORE school started Dad suggested that Robin ask Bridget to have dinner with them. Robin wasn’t sure that Bridget would be able to walk so far. And maybe she wouldn’t want to have dinner in the Village. But she ran over to ask her, anyway; and Bridget said she’d be delighted.
Robin had been thinking of making a short visit to the Velvet Room, but she decided to go home instead to help Mama get things ready. She had some ideas about fixing up the cabin.
The main room of the cabin looked a little better since Mama had spent her pitting money; but of course there was just so much you could do for a room that had to serve as front room, kitchen, dining room, and bedroom for half the family. Mama had made some bright cotton curtains; there was a patch of linoleum in the kitchen end of the room; and the cots had new Indian-blanket covers.
Robin got Mama to let her put the boys’ cot in the bedroom just for the evening. By padding up the other cot and letting the cover hang almost to the floor, she made it look almost like a studio couch. Then, with the chairs arranged around close, that end of the room was like a real living room.
The other children ate their dinner while Dad and Robin walked over to get Bridget. Robin was going to eat with the grownups because she was Bridget’s special friend. When they reached the cottage, Robin took Dad around back, so he could meet Betty and the other animals before they went in. Sure enough, Damon and Pythias were curled up on their favorite bench. Robin was just waking them up when Bridget came to the back door.
Robin started to introduce Dad, but somehow it didn’t seem right just to say Bridget. Dad was always particular about calling grownups Mr. and Mrs. She was stammering as Bridget came to the rescue. “Mrs. Gunther,” she said, “Bridget Gunther, but I’d be happy to have you call me Bridget, just as Robin does.”
“In that case,” Dad said, “you’ll have to call me Paul.” He nodded toward Robin. “Anyway, we’ve heard too much about each other to stand on ceremony.” Robin could see that they were going to get along fine.
The evening turned out better than Robin had hoped. Mama had made beef stew and corn bread and even an apricot pie. The pie was a little burned on one side where the oven still didn’t heat right, but otherwise it was a fine dinner. Bridget seemed to be having a wonderful time. Everyone was so busy talking and laughing that Robin didn’t have time to worry about the old bent silverware and the rummage-store plates.
After dinner they all sat around and talked. The others liked Bridget, too. She didn’t get a bit excited when Cary showed her his tarantula in a jar. Instead she was interested, and told Cary some things about tarantulas that he hadn’t known before. Robin could see that Cary was impressed. Before long Shirley was leaning against Bridget’s chair, and as a rule Shirley wouldn’t go near a stranger, not on purpose, anyway. Bridget even got Rudy to talk by asking his advice about her water pump, which wasn’t working quite right. Soon Rudy was telling her all about how a pump works.
But most of all, Dad and Bridget talked. Dad had always been interested in California’s history, and it turned out that Bridget was, too. And Bridget asked a lot of questions about the work Dad was doing. She asked him about the kind of work he did in the mule barns and what his job had been like during apricot season. They talked about wildlife in California, too. That was really interesting to listen to. Dad knew a lot of animal stories, and so did Bridget.
It was almost dark when Robin walked Bridget back to her cottage. On the way they talked about the Williams family. Robin was surprised to find out how much Bridget knew about them.
She even said, “Cary is very much like you, Robin. He has a quick and rebellious mind. He won’t settle for too ordinary an existence.” Robin was astonished that Bridget should have figured that out so quickly. She’d just begun to figure it out herself, and she’d been living with Cary for eight years. Until just a few weeks ago, he’d seemed only like a nuisance.
They were almost at the cottage when Robin said, “Do you think my father looks tired? He does to me. He looked just like that before he got sick the last time.”
Bridget didn’t answer right away; and when she did, she seemed to be speaking carefully. “Your father is an intelligent and capable man, Robin. He really should be doing work that is better suited to his abilities.”
“I know,” Robin interrupted eagerly. “Even back in Fresno, when we still had the dairy, Dad used to say sometimes that he wasn’t cut out to be a farmer. He wanted to study music and history and be a teacher or something like that. But his father died and then there was Mama and all the kids, so he never got to finish school. But I guess I’ve told you about all that.” She sighed. “The last time he was sick the doctor said he shouldn’t ever do heavy work again. But he has to, because it’s the only kind he can get.”
Bridget squeezed Robin’s hand comfortingly. “Well, it probably would be better if he didn’t have to lift bales of hay or tramp all day in the hot sun. But he’s happy to have a steady job, and that will help to keep him well. Happiness always helps a lot.”
Robin tried to tell herself that Bridget was right. Dad just couldn’t get sick now when things were so much better. But there was a corner of fear at the back of her mind that she just couldn’t get rid of.
The next Monday was the beginning of school. Robin was so excited that she felt a little bit sick. For the first time since third grade, she was starting school on the first day and really planning on being there all year.
Best of all, she was to be in seventh grade. The letter from the principal had said that although she was a little below grade in arithmetic she was very high in other subjects, so they had decided to let her try seventh. Rudy and Theda and Cary were all placed a year behind. Rudy was to be in the first year at Santa Luisa High, and Theda was in eighth grade. Cary, who had been to school only a few days at a time, would be in second. He was upset because he thought he should be in third, since he was eigh
t years old. But Robin told him he’d done well to make second, considering how little he’d been to school.
That Monday morning as Robin stood waiting for the bus with all the other boys and girls from Las Palmeras, she couldn’t tell whether she was scared or happy. Whichever it was, she didn’t feel much like talking so she just listened to Gwen who was chattering away, just as she always did. At least part of Robin’s mind was listening to Gwen; the other part kept dashing off in one direction after another. Would she like Mrs. Jennings? How did the other boys and girls at Lincoln School feel about kids from Las Palmeras Village? Would it be a good year or bad? It was so important. A school year lasted such a long time.
The first day of school turned out to be both good and bad, but mostly good. And it was the same way with the days and weeks that followed. There were good times and bad ones. Mrs. Jennings, who was her homeroom teacher, was one of the good things. It seemed to Robin that almost from the first day Mrs. Jennings took a special interest in her. Later she began to suspect that Mrs. Jennings made everyone feel that way. She had a way of calling people up to her desk for little private chats while the rest of the class worked on an assignment.
When Mrs. Jennings discovered how Robin felt about books, she gave her a list of good books to read. Some of the books Robin already knew, but she’d never even heard of some of them. It was Mrs. Jennings who taught Robin to read a book from the outside in, as well as from the inside out. Before that year Robin just jumped into every book she could get hold of and lived it. She had never thought of judging a book except by how it made her feel. If it made her feel good, she liked it; and if it made her feel bad or nothing much at all, she didn’t. But that year Robin learned to let a part of her mind stand off and look at a book as she read. She learned that there were good writers, and writers who weren’t so good; that some books were original, well written, and believable, and some were not. It seemed strange at first to criticize a book, because books had always seemed sacred; but it was exciting to learn to make a judgment on your own and back it up with reasons.
The Velvet Room Page 11