Message from the Match Girl

by Janet Taylor Lisle

  TWELVE

  ONE THING WALTER KNEW: his mother had come to see him. From across her dark ocean she had heard his call, and she had come and brought with her all the memories she could carry. She couldn’t speak to him directly, he understood. That went beyond what the dead could do. But by giving him back his own first things, she could tell him the stories of how his family had been—what he had played with, how he had looked, how he was carried and dressed, the ways he was loved. And missed.

  Because he was missed, Walter could see that now. His parents hadn’t simply disappeared and forgotten. They might have gone to a far-off place. They might have changed, turned to air, lost their bodies and faces. But they had not forgotten. No, not once. They had loved him across sea and time and space.

  How terrible it must have been for them to leave him behind. Walter saw how they had worried before they died. Desperately they had made a desperate plan. What else could be the meaning of the big casserole? His mother had found it and packed him up to go. She had wrapped him in a blanket and composed a special note. She had chosen the family that would take him in: older people who had always longed for a baby. She was smart to think of that, and wise to give him in secret. Otherwise his grandparents might not have been allowed to keep him. “Too old,” the authorities might have said, or “too poor”—and sent him to live with strangers.

  But, best of all, this smart, amazing mother had come when he most needed her. He felt her presence all day as he walked about, and at night when he lay alone in bed—not outside him like a ghost but as an inside happiness. Though soon, of course, she would have to go away. It was the law of the dead: they could not stay. They could come for a little and invisibly watch. They could send presents, enter dreams, conjure up the past. But then, sad as it was, they must go back.

  Walter Kew knew all this. He wasn’t making a fuss. He just wanted his mother to stay as long as she could. She must not grow tired of him, or be frightened off by his interfering friends. She must be allowed to come and go in the park, to visit the Little Match Girl whenever she liked.

  And, especially, she must hold back none of her precious gifts. Walter wanted them all. He needed them: the locket with the mysterious picture of the soldier, the socks, the sweater, the button-on mitten, the rattle, the hospital bracelet that proved his name. He would save them forever, to his final day, because they told him the story he most needed to hear: that he was and always would be a one-and-only child, who was loved and not forgotten, who had never been given away.

  The afternoon was near its end, but the sun was still hot and bright as Poco and Georgina stepped cautiously through the great iron gate of Andersen Park. The hour was late enough, about 6 P.M., for the baby strollers and littlest children to have gone home. Under the Snow Queen’s regal stare, the sandbox sat empty. The swings hung motionless, shoulder to shoulder. Away in a field, a noisy group of boys was choosing up sides for a baseball game.

  “Is Walter there?” Georgina asked. Poco’s keen eyes focused.

  “No.”

  On her knoll the Match Girl sat alone. She was easier to see now that the weeds and bushes were gone. The shape of her head stood out cleanly in her new alcove, though the slope leading up was as overgrown as ever. Its wild disorder somehow set her further apart. Like a wish or a dream, she floated over the park.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Georgina led off.

  They walked past the pond, circling around the knoll to be sure he wasn’t there after all, crouched into some nook in his Walter-ish way. But he wasn’t. The coast was clear. Boldly they approached, slogging up through the long grass. They came to the statue and gazed about. The wildflower clumps looked brighter and thicker.

  “I guess he’s been watering,” Georgina said.

  The Match Girl’s small lawn had grown ragged, though, and they had brought nothing along to trim it. A week had passed since they had dared to visit. On this, their first day of summer vacation, they had been waiting since early morning to come. The last thing they wanted was to run into Walter.

  Georgina eyed the Match Girl’s pockets. “I wonder if he’s gotten anything else.”

  “Nothing lately. I asked him yesterday at school. It’s been more than two weeks since the last message.”

  “Good grief! What does he think is going on? You get him to talk a lot better than I can.”

  “He thinks the same thing he always has. His parents are dead, but his ghost-mother has come and is watching him. He told me she’ll be leaving soon because she has to go back to the dead world.”

  Georgina shivered. “It’s awful. Why does he want to believe that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And where is his real mother? I am so mad at her. She should stop being scared and come out and talk. Can’t she see how she’s tearing him up? I think she is a mother who only cares about herself.”

  “She’s around here somewhere. Otherwise, she couldn’t watch.”

  “But where?” Georgina glared out at the park. Starting with the front gate, she turned herself slowly all the way around, looking for possible hiding places.

  “Nothing! Just nothing.” She stamped off.

  Poco sat down near the Little Match Girl and picked at the grass. Suddenly she leaned forward and touched the statue’s hand.

  “George! Her golden ring is gone.”

  Georgina came rushing over. The Match Girl’s finger was bare. Not only that, but there was no sign of where the ring had been. If they had not known better, they might have thought they had imagined it.

  Georgina snorted. “Someone was here.”

  “But how did they get it off?”

  “With a saw, probably. It was worth some money.”

  Poco gazed about. The area around the statue had been dense with brush. Now, after their work, the knoll was nearly clear, leaving the shy Match Girl open to the world. Had someone taken advantage of her?

  Poco examined her slender bronze hand again but could not see a single cut or scratch. The ring had been removed without any trace of force.

  She was gazing out at the park again when a wind she knew well blew across her cheek. The eyes of the watcher were on her again, cool, steady, and invisible. Was it Walter’s mother? A flash of light erupted near the park entrance. Poco caught her breath, but it was only the sun, its lowering rays reflected off some bright surface—a bicycler’s mirror or a passing car. A moment later, she saw exactly what it was: the front window of the sandwich shop across the street.

  Flash! The window went off again. Flash! It ignited with a golden glow. A person might suppose that, behind the glass, someone was desperately trying to signal. But soon the sun began to move on. The store darkened, then receded into shadow. Except—what was that? Poco rose to her feet. Where the golden glow had been, she saw the outline of a face.

  “Georgina! Georgina! I know where she’s hiding.”

  “Where?”

  “In the sandwich shop.”

  “The sandwich shop! You can’t even see it from here.”

  “Yes, you can. Look! Through the park gate. Walter’s mother is there watching us, I think.”

  “But no one’s ever in there now, except that poor waitress …”

  Georgina’s eyes widened. Poco’s tiny hands flew to her mouth.

  “The waitress!” They whispered it to each other.

  A second later, the Match Girl was left behind, and they were running wildly across the park.

  She was in there. Through the window they saw her long, thin shape behind the sandwich shop’s counter. They stood directly across the street, catching their breaths.

  The store had fallen into late afternoon shadow. Indoor lights faintly brightened the room. They saw her step up to put something on a shelf. She came down, turned her back, bent over, then straightened. She was washing things, with the same quick movements their own mothers made at home. She washed a pot and cocked it upside down to dry. With a dish towel she polished some plates and stacked t
hem. She wiped off the counter and rinsed the sponge under a faucet. She looked ordinary and never once glanced out the window.

  “Are you sure it’s her?” Georgina said.

  For an answer, Poco crossed the street. She opened the sandwich shop’s door and went inside. Georgina scuttled in behind her.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” The waitress spotted them. She came forward, peering through fallen wisps of hair that she pushed aside with a hot, impatient hand. Her face was flushed. She looked suddenly rather young.

  “Hello. We’d like some sodas,” Poco invented. “What kind did you say you wanted, George?”

  “Um … ah …” Georgina looked pale.

  “Orange? Okay. Two orange sodas, please.” Poco stared boldly at the waitress. In the photo, Walter’s mother’s hair had been dark. This woman’s was light brown, and shorter.

  They sat at one of the little café tables. She waited on them the same way she had before, without giving any sign of recognition. Perhaps all children looked the same to her? Poco had found it often true of adults. They seemed to be forever mixing her up with others.

  The waitress brought them napkins, straws, and the sodas.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She had brown eyes and a pretty, sloping nose. Nothing except her slightness reminded Poco of Walter. Could she once have had a child? She seemed more like someone’s older sister.

  Georgina kept glancing around. The grumpy shop owner was not in sight, but through the swinging doors came the sound of crashing pots.

  The waitress went to stand behind the meat counter. She leaned her hip against the sink and stared out the window.

  Poco took a breath and raised her voice. “Have you seen Walter today?”

  The waitress’s face came around quickly. “Sorry, were you speaking to me?”

  “Yes. You know, our friend. The skinny boy in the baseball cap?”

  She gazed at them for a long moment.

  “Oh, that one.” She looked away. “Yes, I see him, but not so often these days.”

  “You know he lives with his grandmother,” Poco said. “That’s because both his parents are dead.”

  “Dead?” Her voice came back like an echo.

  “When he was a baby, they had an accident.”

  “That’s sad.” She stared straight at Poco.

  Poco looked at her in silence. Was this the sort of person who would leave a baby at someone’s door, who would keep his things like treasures and then use them as a lure? Had she loved a soldier? Would she send matchsticks through the mail? Could she hide, time after time, when her child walked by? If only one could see into her secret mind.

  The waitress moved around and clinked some glasses. She glanced at her watch.

  “Do you want another soda?” she asked. “We’re getting ready to close.”

  They got up and paid—with Georgina’s money. She was staring too hard at the waitress to protest.

  “Could you tell us how much tip we’re supposed to leave?” Poco asked the woman. “We haven’t done it by ourselves before.” It was the last thing she could think of to keep the conversation going. Georgina glared and looked embarrassed.

  The waitress smiled. “That’s very nice, but you weren’t any trouble.”

  “But we’d like to. It’s what’s fair.”

  “Well, for two sodas, you could leave a quarter.”

  Georgina fished another quarter out of her wallet and walked over and laid it reluctantly on the table. But even this wasn’t enough for Poco, who insisted on picking the quarter up and delivering it personally to the waitress’s hand.

  “Thank you,” the waitress said. Her eyes darted up. “Aren’t you the girl who worries about squirrels?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you sooner. Please say hello to your friend from me. The skinny one—what’s his name again?”

  “Walter Kew.”

  “Yes. He’s a nice kid.” The waitress’s eyes rested softly on Poco. Then she turned and began to shut off the shop’s lights.

  “Well,” said Georgina, as they walked away down the sidewalk. “It wasn’t her at all. She hardly even knew us. She didn’t really care about a person named Walter. It didn’t matter to her whether his parents were dead or alive. All she wanted was to get off work.”

  Poco frowned and shook her head. “Did you notice her hand?”

  “Kind of red—from washing all those dishes, I guess.”

  “Georgina, she was wearing the Match Girl’s ring. I saw it on her finger when she took the quarter.”

  THIRTEEN

  THE PROBLEM WAS HOW to tell Walter.

  Two days passed while Poco and Georgina tried to think. A mother cannot be simply announced. And if she is changing from dead to alive, from ghost to flesh-colored, everyday woman, a great deal of care needs to be taken. The friends had not really thought of it before, but lost and found mothers can be very difficult.

  Walter had a sensitive nature. He might get upset and refuse to listen. He might decide he didn’t want a real mother around. After all, he’d spent his life with Granny Docker. What if this mother wanted him to be with her? He’d have to move in with a whole new person.

  Georgina said, “We’re lucky we already know our mothers and have learned how to live with all the crazy things they do. If we had to meet them now, we probably couldn’t stand them.”

  They were sitting under a tree in Poco’s backyard on a blazing hot afternoon. Juliette lay nearby, flat on her back and all four feet in the air. But she was not quite asleep, because when, from above, a robin’s voice sang out, one of her Siamese eyes cracked open.

  “Walter will be stubborn,” Georgina went on, steeling herself.

  “He will tell us to go away and leave him alone.”

  “He’ll be angry, just the way he was before.”

  “His whole life could change.” This thought made them rather breathless. But how could Walter be allowed to go on believing in ghosts? There comes a time when a person must grow up and face the facts.

  “We must tell him today,” Georgina declared. “We’ll call him and ask him to meet us at the park. Then we can explain what we saw in the sandwich shop. He’ll probably want to go alone to see his mother.”

  Poco said, softly, “I hope she wants to see him.”

  They were just on the point of getting up from the grass when who should appear but …

  “Walter!”

  He came across the yard with a cheerful stride. Juliette sat up at once.

  “Hello. And hello, Juliette.” He bent over and gave her ears a friendly scratch. “I came to tell you,” he said, straightening up, “that everything is back to normal. You can come see the Little Match Girl whenever you want. My mother has left.”

  “Left!”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry I got so mad. I just wanted to be sure she had all the space she needed.”

  “Space?” The friends gazed at him in alarm.

  “To leave me my things. But now she has.”

  “Wait a minute! How can that be?” Georgina sounded as sharp as a chief of police.

  Walter drew a thin box from his pocket. “A message came from the Match Girl in yesterday’s mail, and when I went to the park, this is what I found.” He took off the box’s cover. Inside, on tissue paper, lay a curl of dark brown hair.

  “Your mother’s?” Georgina leapt back in horror.

  Walter laughed. “Of course not. It’s a baby’s.”

  “It’s yours,” Poco said. “Your mother must have cut it just before she gave you up.”

  “That’s right. This is her last treasure. When I found it yesterday, I knew she had gone.”

  Walter sighed. “My mother was the bravest person. You can’t imagine how hard she worked. To be invisible and have to watch, not to be able to reach out and touch—it took all her energy and force. She lasted as long as she possibly could. Someday, who knows, she might come back. She
never really told me about my father, though she left some clues. I think he was a soldier.”

  Poco and Georgina could only stare.

  “And my grandmother said his last name might have been Walter, because of the name on my hospital bracelet. Like yours, Poco, remember how you said—”

  “Walter, good grief …!” Georgina began, and stopped. He had it all so completely worked out. He loved a mother he’d made up. How could they tell him about the real one?

  “Anyway,” Walter said, “we can talk about it later. Right now I have a special treat. My grandmother gave me ten dollars and said I should use it on my friends. I think she was afraid they might have given me up.”

  “You mean us?” Poco said.

  “Who else?” Walter’s face clouded over. “Unless you don’t want to …”

  “Of course we do! Why do you always have to say that?” Georgina thundered.

  Walter smiled with relief. Then, while Juliette looked on with approving eyes, he issued a startling invitation. He would like it so much if they would come with him now to visit the Little Match Girl. On the way they would stop at the sandwich shop so he could buy them … well, whatever they wanted! Sodas, candy, magazines, hot fudge sundaes.

  “Because I’m loaded!” he cried, pulling his money out. “And then I’d know for sure we’re all back together.”

  There was no way around it. Walter’s mind was set. To suggest any change would have hurt his feelings. He led them eagerly down the street and even insisted on taking Juliette when she staggered to her feet and tried to follow.

  “We should put her in the house,” Poco objected. Walter wouldn’t think of it. The old cat had taken a hold on his feelings.

  “Would you like a ride?” he offered her gallantly. Juliette switched her tail and walked ahead. Above her came a rustle of robin wings.

  “Go home,” Poco told the bird sternly. “And take Juliette. This is none of your business.”

  But neither paid the least attention, and on they all went in Walter’s weird procession.

  “Are we going to tell him?” Georgina whispered to Poco.

  “We have to.”

  “But how?”

  “I don’t know.”