by Kit Duncan
One Saturday morning Papa wasn't wearing a suit. He always wore a suit at breakfast, except on Sundays. This morning he was dressed casually. Not like he was going to mow the yard, but definitely not like he was going to the dealership.
"Aren't you going to work this morning?" I asked him.
"Nope."
"Why not?
He flashed a grin at Mama and said, "Don't feel like it."
"Why not?"
"Got an important appointment."
"With who?"
"You're a nosey little stinker," he chided me with a smile.
"Eat your cereal, Honey," Mama said.
I took a couple of bites to appease Mama, then asked Papa, "But what's more important than work?"
Papa winked at Mama, and she smiled back at him. Papa answered, "Buying my little girl a new bicycle!"
I didn't eat the rest of my breakfast, and Mama let the dishes soak in the sink.
Three hours later I was riding my new turquoise Schwinn up and down Thistlewood, and after I had passed the Watson house a couple of time yelling at the top of my lungs Danny and Timmy joined me on their bikes. Not long after that Harry came out with his bike, and we all raced to the crest of the hill at the corner of Thistlewood and Birchwood. Danny won, but I didn't care.
We rode our bikes all afternoon, and that evening, after I had parked it carefully in the Black Room, I sat down in the old swivel chair and admired my new bicycle for a long, long time.
It was nearly a week later before I found enough time to sit still and write Aunt Myrna the good news.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
I got my bike! It's blue-green and it's the most beautiful bicycle in the whole world!
I can't wait for you to see it! Did they have bikes when you were a little girl?
Love, your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
PS: I read the epilogue three times but I can't tell. Did Conway ever return to Shangra-La? I hope so, because I've been very cross at Hilton since Conway left Rutherford.
Aunt Myrna wrote back right away.
Dear Kate,
Congratulations! There's little more exciting than your first new vehicle. This may be the beginning of a life of great travels for you!
Yes, they had bikes in the Dark Ages.
Love, your very ancient
Aunt Myrna
PS: One of the nice things about ambiguity and mystery is that you get to use your imagination to fill in the blanks. I believe Conway did get back to Shangra-la, because it pleases me to believe he did.
Danny and Timmy had gone to visit their cousins for the day, and Harry had a doctor's appointment at two in the afternoon. He was a frail little guy, and seemed to go to the doctor quite often.
It's important, Papa told me, to learn to entertain yourself. I didn't go looking for opportunities to be alone, but more and more I found myself amenable to solitude.
"It's an acquired taste," Aunt Myrna wrote in one of her letters. "You must come to appreciate your own company, and only then can you truly appreciate the company of others."
I enjoyed pedaling up to the corner, then coasting back down. It hadn't taken me very long to learn how to coast without holding onto the handle bars, though I was very careful not to let Mama ever see me do it. That was the very sort of skill Mama would not approve of.
So, over and over that afternoon, I pedaled up the crest to Birchwood, coasted back down it with my arms spread wide apart, and just as I passed Harry's house I'd grab the handle bars. The crest was subtle, hardly noticeable, but gravity took me all the way to the bottom of Thistlewood.
The ride back up the hill became more and more difficult after ten or twelve trips, and I found myself puffing as I got near the top. I turned my bike around and was catching my breath before starting my descent when I heard a screen door slam.
I looked to my right. Steve Maynard walked to the edge of his porch and leaned against a black wrought iron post, his arms folded, and a menacing smirk on his face. He stared at me, his smirk never flinching. I stared back, but I'm sure I flinched. Finally, he stepped off the porch and started walking toward me.
I barreled down Thistlewood, a proverbial bat out of the bowels of hell. I did not let go of the handlebars, and I did not slow down. I pedaled as fast as I could. I had not yet learned much about planning for the future, either long term or short term, and too late I realized I was going too fast to stop at the end of Thistlewood.
It was the first time I ever touched the barn, and when I touched it I embraced it wholeheartedly with every part of my body.
I limped home, pushing my bike slowly. Incredibly, the only damage the bicycle incurred was a thin scratch down the main bar, just under the Schwinn emblem. My right elbow had a little bruise on it the next morning, and my right shin was scraped up a bit. I was wearing shorts, though, so at least I didn't tear my clothes.
When I got home I put my bike in the basement as quietly as I could, went to the laundry room and found a pair of clean blue jeans folded neatly on top of the Maytag. I replaced my shorts with the jeans and went to find Blackie to comfort me.
Mama didn't notice I had changed clothes when she called me for supper a short time later. Papa had had a good day at work, and his conversation with Mama was very animated.
After supper I wrote to Aunt Myrna.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
I had a bike wreck today. It was Steve Maynard's fault. I wonder why he's so mean. I only scratched my bike a little, and I decided not to worry Mama and Papa. I feel better writing to you, though, and hope you will keep my secret.
Love, your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
The phone rang a few evenings later and Mama answered it. I heard her say hello to Aunt Myrna, and then she called out to Papa, and he went into the kitchen.
"Hi, Myrna!" he sang into the phone. Before I could listen to very much more, though, Mama came and escorted me to my room to help me get ready for bed. We had already said our prayers and Mama was just about to read to me when Papa appeared at my bedroom door and asked Mama to come to their bedroom with him. He turned off my bedroom light and shut the door as Mama walked out of my room, and I heard the door to their room shut, too.
I reviewed my sins of the day and wondered how they could have found out about any of them. I was still thinking about this when my bedroom door opened again, and Mama and Papa came back in. Papa turned on the light by my bed and pulled up a chair, and Mama sat on the edge of my bed.
At first they said nothing. I was not so na?ve as to think nothing was wrong, but not so insightful as to know what was wrong. I remembered Papa's maxim. "The first one who speaks loses." I remained very, very still and silent.
Papa lost.
"Katie Arlene," he began, and I knew things were not well. His voice was not stern and he didn't seem angry with me, but he was more serious than I was accustomed to seeing him, and this made me very nervous.
Papa continued. "Aunt Myrna told us about Steve. She didn't have a lot of details, but she had enough to know she should tell us."
"But I told her not to tell!" I wailed.
Mama held my hand and said, "Your Aunt Myrna loves you very much. It's because she loves you that she told us. It was improper for you to ask her to hide such a secret from us, Sweetheart."
"Can you tell us what happened, Squirt?" Papa asked, and I begrudgingly told him about Steve coming out on the porch, about how he stood with his arms crossed, and the frightening look on his face, and how he started walking to me.
I left out the part about hitting the barn on my bicycle.
Mama and Papa said a few things more to me, but I can't remember what. I was too busy being angry with Aunt Myrna for betraying my confidence. I vowed I would never write to her again as long as I lived.
After awhile Mama and Papa each kissed me, turned off my light, and left the room. A short time later I heard the front door shut. I stayed awake until I heard the living room door shut again, perhaps ha
lf an hour later. He and Mama spoke softly to one another, and then I heard them standing outside my room. I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could. The door squeaked a little when they opened it, and then it squeaked a little when they closed it again.
CHAPTER 16