I held it up again. I liked what I had done, but even more, I loved that I had done it.
Was it finished? I wasn’t sure. But I knew the crooked little house should hang with the goddesses. Risky stuff, since all my adults were home at that time. I tiptoed into the hall. Guffer followed me out. He went down and settled near the bottom of the stairs, head on his paws, eyes closed. I decided the coast was clear.
I slipped back into my room and closed the door behind me. I peeled the sheep poster and pulled my art box into the crawl as silently as I could. I fished out a pushpin and chose a spot.
So there I was, standing on my art trunk, tacking the House of the Sun-Maid Raisin Lady to a stud, when suddenly—I wasn’t. I felt the box tip. There was an awful clunk and a slam as I went down. Then a sick, crunchy sound, like a house breaking. A real house. No!
Time did that weird thing where it takes a speed bump. I was on my butt with one knee bent up to my chest and my other leg somewhere below. My heart caught on slowly. Then it began to pound, pushing that river of blood through me.
Oh, Elloroy! Elloroy! Your house . . .
And then I heard his muffled voice calling from below. “She’s come through! She’s through!”
I’m through. I am so, so through.
I tried to gather my wits. It was a good time to have elbows, I decided. I pushed up on them. I got my hands onto two joists and tried to rise. But I was stuck.
That crunchy sound had been my foot crashing through the floor—the sound of a secret breaking wide open.
I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined my lime-green sneaker with the bright orange laces dangling down somewhere in Elloroy’s suite, probably just a few feet above his head. I imagined poor Elloroy looking up at it. I am in trouble, I thought, and that’s about the same time I heard Aunt Brat and Eileen in the upstairs hall.
“Lydia?? . . . Lydia?? . . . Dear God, are you all right? Where the heck—”
Eileen found me first. She thrust her head into the hole from my room. We made eye contact. She swore, then backed out again. “She’s in the crawl space, Brat! Go pull the panel. Be careful on the joists!”
Eileen’s face reappeared at the hole. I suppose I was struggling to get up, because she said, “Now just hang on. Don’t move anything yet—”
“I’m okay!” I tried to say.
“Brat’s coming. She’s coming!”
From where?
“The bathroom!”
My last of kin came pushing through the swinging goddesses to get to me. She is one, I thought, even as I was concentrating to hold on to the old wooden bones of the house.
“Lydia!” she gasped. She crouched before me. “Are you all right? Let me help.” She held out her arms.
“I’m okay! I am!” I said. “And I’m sorry, so sorry!”
Aunt Brat opened and closed her hands, encouraging me to grab on, just as she had the day she’d found me lying in the snow. I gave her one of my hands and then the other.
Eileen coached from the hole. “Easy now . . . gently! Gently!”
“Umm . . . we have mice . . . ,” I heard myself saying as Aunt Brat pulled me up to standing. She kept hold of my hands while I yanked my foot out of the plaster.
Down below we heard Ellory say, “Oh, there. She’s gone now.”
I focused on Aunt Brat. “The mice . . . um . . . that’s how I found my way in,” I explained—as if all of this were the fault of things with whiskers.
“Good grief,” said Aunt Brat.
I mentioned the small hole behind the sheep poster. “I made that . . . um . . . bigger.”
“I see,” said Aunt Brat, looking at her beloved Eileen, who was still stuffed into the opening.
“I didn’t know about the bathroom,” I added.
“How long has this been going on?”
“A while. I’m sorry, Aunt Brat. So sorry. I—I wanted a place to keep the goddesses. . . .”
“The goddesses.” She took another look around. “Yes, and they are stunning. You have been busy.”
“Mom and I made them. I brought them with me. From the old house.”
“Ahh . . . yes. Your box,” she said. She took a few big breaths. “Well, what do you think?” she asked. “How’s your foot feel? How’s that leg?”
“Just scraped, I think.” I drew a few ankle circles. “I’m fine.” Except I wasn’t fine. I was horrified.
“Well . . . ,” Eileen said, leaning casually into the crawl now and propping on one elbow to look around. “Nice little private gallery here. Look at all the art, Brat. Huh-haw! I like it.”
“Yes,” Aunt Brat said. “What a surprise. Here, Lydia. Come this way.” She wanted us out. She held my wrist. “Stay on the joists, please.” She led me, parting the curtain of goddesses with her elbow as we went toward a surprising block of light at the end of the crawl. We passed the copper tub piping and went through a trimmed-out opening into the bathroom. Sunlight angled in at the window and onto the honey-pine floors. Leaning against the wall was my humiliation—a simple wooden panel. Aunt Brat had pulled it right out of the wall; it was the intended access to the crawl.
I sat on the lid of the toilet like a six-year-old while they looked me over. “I’m fine,” I told them. I flicked plaster dust off my shoe. I hid a few splinters that had lodged in the heel of my hand. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
“Sorry” was something I’d rarely had to say. Even as a little kid, I knew that being anything less than very good for my sick mom would’ve been heartless. Yet now I’d done a bad thing to these good people. I’d kept a huge secret; I’d broken the house they lived in.
Lydia Bratches-Kemp, you are the worst.
When Aunt Brat and Eileen were satisfied that I wasn’t damaged, a couple of things happened. First, they put the bathroom panel back in place. “Otherwise,” said Eileen, “it’s positively arctic in here, which is, of course, the same reason we have to wait so long for hot water.”
“Yes, that is most inefficient,” Aunt Brat said. “I guess the blessing here, besides Lydia being all right, is that we’ll finally get someone in to address it. I had no idea the insulation was so poor. Old houses are full of surprises.”
The next thing we did was go into my room and drape a thick blanket over the back of a straight chair. We pushed it up against the hole I’d made.
“Temporary fix. I’ll give Saundra and Nan a call,” Aunt Brat said. “They’re our handywomen.” No one said anything about what might become of the crawl, and I did not ask.
Finally, we went downstairs to see Elloroy and let me have a walk of shame into his suite to see the place where my foot had gone through.
“There it is,” said Elloroy, his old face tilted to the ceiling. (Broken plaster is not pretty.) “I’m so disappointed,” he said.
I hung my head. “I’m sorry, Elloroy. Truly sorry.” I was a horrible, hole-punching vandal of a girl.
“When I heard that noise,” he said, “I thought, Oh boy, oh boy, here comes the end! I’m finally going to be—”
“Dead.” Aunt Brat, Eileen, and I said it together. Our delivery seemed more muted than ever. Elloroy blinked at the three of us through his ice-cube glasses. Then he looked at me.
“But it wasn’t death at all,” he said. “It was your lovely green shoe.”
All I could do was give him an embarrassed smile and apologize again. “Whatever it takes to make it right, I’ll do it. I’ll work off the repair bill. Snow shoveling. Window washing. Anything.”
“Pish,” he said, and that was all.
Through dinner I felt like my adults were looking at me over forkfuls of brown-rice-and-broccoli casserole. Bite after bite, I couldn’t stop thinking about plaster and wood and house parts.
What must they be thinking? I wondered.
Maybe Elloroy had decided to forgive me with that “pish” of his. That little bit of relief was probably the only reason that while I was feeling sorry about what I’d done, I was also feeling sorry th
at I’d lost the goddess gallery. I was sure that a broken floor and ceiling meant I’d be evicted from the crawl.
41
A Not-So-Small Repair
Saundra and Nan, the handywomen, came that weekend. After they’d been into the crawl and out again, we all gathered in my room—even Elloroy. He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling.
I stood out of the way and listened.
“First thing,” Saundra said, “we recommend wrapping all the pipes. Then out with the old insulation and in with new.”
“Okay. That,” said Elloroy. “I want that.”
“We have to demouse it. We do that the nicey-nice way, so we’ll lend you our traps starting tonight. You’ll have to check them each morning. It’ll take a few rounds.”
“There’s never just one mouse,” Nan added.
(I knew this to be true.)
“Now, we suggest tearing down this wall,” Saundra said, patting the one I’d made the hole in. “Push it back a couple of feet and expose the corner of the chimney in this room.”
“It means you gain a nook or a niche,” said Nan.
“Nice place for hanging art, perhaps?” Aunt Brat mused.
“Yes,” Eileen interjected. “Because art has got to have a place.”
“The niche,” Elloroy said. “I want that.”
Aunt Brat turned her shoulders toward me. “Do you like that idea?”
“As long as it’s all okay with Elloroy,” I said.
“How soon can you start?” Aunt Brat asked. “I’m concerned about all this cold air.”
“If you’re ready, we can start today, close up the cold spot, patch the ceiling, and finish everything in a few days,” said Saundra. She looked at Nan, who nodded in agreement. “But remember you’ll be relocating mice for several weeks.”
Elloroy slapped his knee. “Well, youth and beauty, you’re on mouse duty,” he said, and I figured that was fair.
They got right to it. Saundra donned gloves, a paper suit, and a shower cap. She immediately began rolling up and bagging the old insulation.
Saundra would not let me into the crawl. But she cut each goddess down with care and handed them out to me. She rescued the House of the Sun-Maid Raisin Lady before it went out with a heap of insulation. “Nice little housie,” she said. “You’re an artist!”
A niche was going to be nice for the room. But—and I wouldn’t have ever said so to my adults—I wasn’t sure I wanted to hang the goddesses in the open. For the time being, I would store them back in the box they’d traveled here in. I pulled it out from under the bed and lifted the lid. There on the bottom sat the sad-looking plastic sack of greeting cards from my never-present father, including that newest orange one that had come right here to Pinnacle Hill.
I never told Aunt Brat about it, and now I felt a weight settling back on my shoulders. I’d had mixed feelings about being caught for what I’d done to the crawl space. Oddly, I was relieved. Aunt Brat had said it: keeping secrets from the people you live with doesn’t feel right.
But the orange envelope was different. I hadn’t hidden it from her—not exactly. Yet I knew Aunt Brat would want to know that Kemp had sent it here. Was not telling her the same thing as keeping a secret? Or was it choosing not to share? Was there a difference? What about Aunt Brat’s secret? Something was going on with those little pygmy goats, and Eileen, my aunt’s partner in all things—most things—didn’t know. But there could be a good reason. I knew that. In the last two years I’d heard my mother lie to my aunt on the phone; she told her all was well, when it wasn’t.
Mom hadn’t wanted anyone else calling the shots. Now that I knew my aunt, I had to say, I think she might have taken charge.
I turned to the goddesses, all spread out on my bed. One by one, I picked them up and layered them into the box on top of the bag of envelopes.
Packing them up again, Mom . . . at least for now. . . .
I whispered her a promise: “I’ll find them a place.”
42
The Moving of Mice
I did not like taking the mice away from the house—their home. But I liked our method better than some of the horrible ways that humans deal with the tiny creatures. For the last three days we’d found one mouse in each of two traps. Today, day four, was no exception.
“Oh, Lid-jah!” Eileen exclaimed. (She’d recently given me the new nickname.) I was walking toward the front door, an occupied mousetrap in each gloved hand. “What’s that? Two more? And all for the love of a dollop of peanut butter?” I set the traps into an old canvas tote.
“Yep,” I said, “poor little things.” Then, as I did every morning now before the bus, and as the sun was rising, I stepped into Moss’s old boots. Then I went out and buckled into Raya’s snowshoes. I leashed Guffer and we hiked into the woods to release the mice.
I was proud of the dog; he’d gotten used to the scary snowshoes. He didn’t bolt—much—and, so far, he hadn’t pulled me over. Then again, I had the advantage of walking on top of the snow, while he sank in on four legs. That sometimes made him yip. He’d learned he had an easier go if he walked behind me and stepped in my tracks.
I stopped just before the little trickle of a stream and tied Guffer to a tree—just while I went to empty the traps. (I didn’t want him to pounce on a mouse.) “Stay,” I said, “I’ll be quick.”
Guffer didn’t love this part of the woods; this was the section that eventually backed up to the Capperow farm, where the sound of the green wheelie machine often sawed through the peace and quiet—especially to a pair of sensitive dog’s ears. I came this way on these mouse mornings only because of the stream.
Elloroy had said mice were less likely to come back if you carried them across water. I wondered if a stream this skinny counted. But it was the closest one to the house and all I had time for on school days.
I hopped over the stream, not so easy in the snowshoes. I landed and the metal mousetraps clinked against each other inside the tote. I winced. Poor mice. I apologized for the turbulence, though it was the least of things to be sorry about. Some of the mice would become prey. Some might survive in the woods, and others might come back to Pinnacle Hill Farm.
“I would if I were you,” I told the day’s first mouse. I released the pin on the trapdoor. The mouse shot out like it’d been fired from a cannon. The next one clung to the sides of the trap. “Go, little buddy. Go!” I coaxed.
Meanwhile, Guffer watched. He sat in the snow tipping his head left and right, as if to ask, What is that, Lydia? Can I have it?
Finally, the little clingster dropped out of the trap and scurried off across the snow. I put the empty traps in the tote and gathered up my walking poles. I hopped the stream and went stomp-stomping back to Guffer. Before I reached him I noticed that he looked strange. His head was low and he craned his neck left, then right, as if he were trying to see around me. I heard the low rumble in his throat. His sharp bark pierced the air. Next thing I knew he was rearing up like a pony, his blond chest high and his ears forward. He barked again and pulled his leash into a straight line behind him.
“Guff! Easy, easy!” I took a few running steps to meet him. I dropped my poles and grabbed the leash. “It’s okay!” I told him. I turned and looked into the woods. Then I saw—and heard—how wrong I was.
Coming straight toward us was the bright green four-wheeler. I crouched and held my dog. The low buzz of the engine grew louder. The view grew clearer. I could see the Capperow uncle riding high with an ugly scowl plastered on his face. He stopped on the other side of the stream, no more than twenty feet away.
The man said not one word. He just sat staring at me. He revved that monstrous engine. I clung to Guffer. The dog twisted and turned with fright.
Moss Capperow’s uncle raised his arm and made a swipe through the air as if to say, Go on! Get out!
I did not move.
He made the same motion again with more force—he even stood up off his seat. He leaned at me. He sneered. Gi
t!
But how could I git when I had this scared dog in my arms? I stayed low and held on to Guff. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the Capperow uncle. He stared right back at me, waiting.
If I could make it look like I was leaving, maybe he’d be satisfied. I reached for a walking pole, and dragged it close to me. Capperow shifted on his seat.
He used the sound of the machine to give me a final scolding. Then he cut a tight turn and circled away. The four-wheeler leapt, spitting out snow behind it. The awful noise faded to a whine in the distance.
Guffer stopped straining in my arms. I stood and steadied my knees. I covered my nose against the stinky fumes Capperow had left in the otherwise perfect air. I scanned the woods. His tires had chewed through the snow and torn up the damp earth, leaving raw, muddy trails. We were well away from his field, even farther from his barns. He had no business here.
Suddenly, I knew. This was about Guffer.
He thinks he can keep us out of these woods. . . .
A sweaty chill made me shiver. I untied Guffer from the tree and we hustled home.
Inside, I stood in the front hall and kicked off the old boots. Everyone was in morning bustle mode, but I had business. “Question for you all,” I said, and that got everyone’s attention. “I pointed hard with my whole arm and asked, “Heading thataway, whose land is it? Where’s the property line?”
My women looked at each other and blinked. Then they both looked at Elloroy. “Rock wall,” he said. “Edge of the woods. Somewhat toppled last time I saw it.”
I set my hands on my hips. “Oh really?”
“What’s wrong, Lyddie?” Aunt Brat asked. She was checking the clock. It was a university day.
“That scumbucket Mr. Mick Capperow is what’s wrong!” My adults stared at me, eyes wide. “He just rode right onto your property, Elloroy. And he sat there churning up the engine on that ugly, stupid, green four-wheeled thing and he did it just to scare Guffer.” I wiped a bit of spit off my lips.
A Home for Goddesses and Dogs Page 16