Jubilee

by Patricia Reilly Giff

  From the window, I saw Mason trudging toward the top of the island, away from school. Toward Ivy Cottage? I bit my lip. There was nothing I could do about it.

  Back in the hall Aunt Cora smoothed down my hair and held out a lunch bag with a salami sandwich, my favorite. “And a peach to keep you sweet!”

  I reached up and kissed her soft cheek.

  She hesitated. “I could walk you halfway.”

  I shook my head. I was all right. I took the back way past Sophie’s house to reach the maple tree on the side of the school.

  I spread the small blanket under the lowest branch of the tree. Dog was amazing. He knew just what to do. He circled around until his tail met his nose and closed his eyes. I left a bowl of water beside him.

  Maybe I’d see him from the classroom. It was the best I could do.

  Inside, kids slammed doors and ran down the hall; some of them went into Room Fourteen. But I walked toward the classroom like a snail and went inside.

  “I’m happy to see you,” Ms. Quirk said, and I nodded, going to stand against the side wall.

  Where was Sophie?

  “Glad you’re here too,” the teacher told Harry.

  “Yeah.” He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else.

  Ms. Quirk had written our names out on cards, one on each desk. “Look for yours. That will be your space.”

  I found my name on a desk near the window. I could even see Dog under the maple tree.

  Mason came in at last, out of breath. He had the face of the bait-selling man on the wharf who was mean and miserable and didn’t mind selling those poor little killies that were headed for a nasty end in the mouths of some large fish.

  He slid into the seat next to me, his shirt filled with crumbs. He kicked against the rungs of his desk. On the front of one sneaker was an inked-in JW, his brother Jerry’s initials.

  He was skinny as a spider, with knobby knees. But I didn’t bother to take another look at his bait-man face, or his crumb-y shirt.

  Ms. Quirk perched herself on the edge of a table, her arms out as if she wanted to hug all of us. “This is my first year of teaching, and the first year on an island. We’ll make it a year of firsts.” Clink went the bangles on her wrists.

  If I could have a year of firsts, I’d see my mother. Sophie and I would be friends again. I’d speak!

  Every time I saw him, Mr. Kaufmann always said, “Everything is right around the corner, Judith. You just have to make it happen.”

  But how?

  The sky was sunny blue, a great no-school day. But Ms. Quirk wasn’t thinking about the sky. “Pull up your chairs,” she said. “We’ll get to know each other.”

  Kids dragged their chairs to the front, almost like a cattle stampede.

  Harry and Conor weren’t interested in getting to know each other. They played pencil hockey at their desks. “Peshuum!” Conor yelled and erasers blasted across the room.

  One almost hit Mason, who was staring out the window.

  What would he do?

  But he just grinned at them.

  That was strange for a boy who’d thrown a ball trying to take off my head!

  It was even noisier in the classroom now. Up front, Maddie was telling her life story. Everyone else was whispering. It was a boring life story.

  If I went out the open door, no one would even notice I was gone. I’d take a quick walk down the hall, run outside to see if Dog was all right, and be back by the time Maddie had gotten up to her life in kindergarten.

  I tiptoed around the side of the room, staring at the thick white tiles underneath my feet. In the hall, everything was quiet, almost like the empty school in the summertime.

  Halfway down was a big window. Usually it was dusty with dried-up raindrops. But Ciro, the custodian, had washed it so it sparkled. I had to stay away from him. If he saw me, he’d send me straight back to Room Fourteen, talking about how important learning was.

  I leaned closer to the window and saw Dog sleeping. Then I spotted Sophie walking Travis across the yard. He was crying, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t want to go to school!” His legs churned, kicking everything in his way.

  And Sophie was in his way. “That hurt, Travis.” She bent to rub her knee.

  “Travis is not easy to handle,” Aunt Cora’s friend Mary said the other day. “Especially when his poor mother works nights as a nurse in a hospital on the mainland. She needs a couple of hours of sleep during the day to keep herself going, for pity’s sake.”

  I remembered crying at night for my mother. Aunt Cora had sat at the side of the bed, weighing it down a little, humming, holding my hands with her large warm ones.

  Travis needed an Aunt Cora.

  The hall wasn’t empty anymore. Sophie had gotten Travis as far as the kindergarten door. He was holding on to the molding, shaking his head.

  “You have to go in, Travis.” She sounded desperate. “You’re making us both late.”

  If I could go over to him, I’d put my hands on his shoulders. I’d rock him back and forth until he was peaceful. I knew what was wrong. Travis wanted to be a big boy, but school was too much for him. I remembered that: the huge school, all those new faces. And everyone seemed to know what they were doing, except me.

  I went forward. Travis turned to me, but Sophie pulled him behind her. I had a quick memory of Jenna asking her, How can you be friends with a weirdo?

  I stepped away, my hands up to let her know that I’d just wanted to help.

  “Nobody wants you,” she said in a voice so low I barely heard. But tears flooded my eyes. I backed down the hall and put my hand on the outside door.

  Windy Hill, I told myself. I’d look down at the shimmering sea with the white foam breakers, and watch the egret and herons that swooped over the pond.

  I pushed open the door. Outside, I swiped at my eyes and ran across the schoolyard, stopping to run my hand over Dog’s head.

  He jumped up to follow me. We went through the gate and up the dirt road.

  No one had seen me. No one knew I was gone yet. I’d sit on the steps at Ivy Cottage and draw. I’d try not to think about what Sophie had said. Nobody wants you.

  I caught my breath as we reached the pond in back of Ivy Cottage. My friend, Mr. Kaufmann, had said once, “We’re not fast enough to run away from sorrow.”

  I knew he was right; he was always right. But that’s just what I’d tried to do now.

  The sun blasted into my eyes. I wiggled out of my jeans, unclipped my hair, and slid into the pond. Dog stood on the edge. I held out my arm, so he’d know it was safe, but he sank down, watching.

  I put my face in the water and swam across with slow strokes. I tried to pretend it was still summer, and the school was locked up tight.

  Think about cool water. About Aunt Cora and Gideon. And Dog with his velvet ears.

  It was Friday. No school until Monday, and Gideon would take me out in his boat tomorrow night; he’d sing in a booming voice, telling me that he wanted the fish to hear.

  I floated, thinking about my mother. I didn’t know what she looked like, even though I’d seen pictures. Her head was turned in one; her hand was up in another; a third was blurred. I’d made dozens of cartoon faces trying to guess. Long hair? Red like mine? Tall or tiny? Skinny or plump like Aunt Cora? I gave her words: I’ve missed you, Judith. My leaving was a mistake. I’m coming back.

  If only I could send a message: I’ll never do one thing wrong if only you’d come home.

  I swam back toward Dog, came out of the water shivering, and dressed quickly. As we walked around to the front of the house, I listened to crickets rubbing their legs together in a rusty song. A V of geese flew high overhead, honking.

  Everything made a noise; everything talked.

  We walked around to the front of the house. I stopped. Something felt different. Hadn’t I closed the door when I left last time?

  I knew I had. I wanted to be sure the possums and raccoons left the house to the mice and chipmu
nks with their dozens of secret entrances.

  Had someone been here?

  I tiptoed into the living room; silky sand drifted up in the corners. It was just as I left it. The kitchen with its unpainted wooden walls was fine too: the stove door wide open so mice wouldn’t trap themselves inside.

  Something was different in the hall, though. The print of a shoe tip, or a sneaker, was marked on the sandy floor.

  Just the tip.

  Someone really had been here.

  I leaned against the bedroom door, looking in at the almost empty room with its silver mirror. Who might it have been?

  There wasn’t time to figure it out. A horn blasted. Gideon had nosed the ferry into the boat slip. St. Pascal’s Church bells chimed.

  Nearly the whole day had gone.

  Closing the door firmly behind us, I glanced around for a decent-sized rock.

  I found one on the side path: easy to roll, but big enough to be noticed.

  It was a fine message—Keep out, whoever you are. You don’t belong here.

  I edged it up against the front door, pulled a tangle of vines over it, and headed home with Dog. We’d be there ahead of Aunt Cora, who took care of the church, putting yellow and white chrysanthemums in the altar vases.

  But who was sitting on the stone wall right outside our house? I stopped short, almost stepping on Dog’s thumping tail.

  Ms. Quirk! She saw me and unfolded herself from the wall, stretching a little.

  Dog knew this was unusual. He circled around me, resting his large back paws on my feet.

  “I had a dog like yours when I was eleven years old,” Ms. Quirk said. “Her name was Princess.”

  Why was she talking about dogs? She really must have wondered where I’d been all day.

  Dog sat up higher on my toes.

  The church bells chimed once: four-thirty.

  “I missed you, Judith,” Ms. Quirk said. “I didn’t like to see your empty chair all day.”

  I could hardly look at her.

  She spoke softly. “I came from clear across the country to teach here.”

  I tilted my head. Like my mother, in California.

  “I want to help you, Judith.” She hesitated. “But if you leave school, we’ll both be in trouble. The principal came in today and saw that you were gone.”

  Mrs. Ames. Trouble.

  “This could be a wonderful year,” she said. “There are so many things for us to do. Outdoor things, indoor things.”

  She held out two pieces of yellow paper. “One is a permission slip, the other is homework.”

  I went toward her slowly, taking the papers. But she wasn’t finished.

  “Everyone has a secret world,” she said.

  Ivy Cottage and the silver mirror!

  “So many creatures live here on the island.” She held up her hand. “Deer and coyotes.” She waved her hands. “Birds. Fish.”

  She smiled. “We’ll uncover things about them, where they live, what they have for supper maybe.” She tilted her head. “We can’t appreciate things”—she hesitated again—“or people…unless we know them.”

  Did she mean me?

  But she went on. “We’ll have partners to do it.”

  She touched my shoulder. “So I’ll see you Monday?”

  I nodded.

  “All day.” She went down the road, waving over her shoulder.

  Inside, I looked through the cabinets for a snack.

  Uncovering wildlife?

  With partners?

  I opened the refrigerator and felt the rush of cold air. I leaned in, my head against an icy bottle of milk.

  Friday! The whole weekend ahead.

  I sipped from a glass of icy milk and Dog slurped down about a gallon of water from his new bowl in the corner. He was getting to know this kitchen, our house. I hoped he knew that I loved him, that he’d be here forever.

  I put my glass in the sink and went along the back hall to my bedroom. There were things to figure out before Aunt Cora came home from decorating the altar at church.

  I sat on my bed with the quilt Aunt Cora had patched together for me. It was a sea of blues and greens, like the water that surrounded our island on a peaceful day. Eyes burning, I looked at the curtains that blew against the screen, and the blue-violet rag rug that Aunt Cora and I had made together.

  Mrs. Ames would call to say I’d left school, I was sure of it.

  How could I explain to Aunt Cora what had happened? I’d never want her to know what Sophie had said, those terrible words: Nobody wants you.

  Dog stood at the bottom of the bed until I patted the quilt. Then he jumped up with me, and I rubbed his ears.

  The phone began to ring.

  Mrs. Ames?

  The screen door opened. Aunt Cora was home from church.

  Dog looked toward the bedroom door, and then at me. Maybe he knew trouble was on its way.

  I slid off the bed and walked down the hall.

  Aunt Cora stood there, her purse slung over one arm, smiling at me, and before she could reach for it, the phone stopped ringing.

  Maybe Mrs. Ames would forget by Monday.

  Get real, Judith.

  Aunt Cora saw my face. “Something’s wrong? Something in school?”

  My eyes slid away from hers.

  The phone began to ring again.

  She dropped her purse on the hall table and picked up the phone. “Hello.” She made circles on the rug with one plump foot. “Um-hum,” she said. “Oh, yes. Oh, um-hum.”

  Mrs. Ames’s voice was angry; it was loud. I could almost hear what she was saying.

  I sat on the stairs leading to the attic and leaned my head against the railing, the slats hard against my forehead. Then the phone call was over.

  Aunt Cora sat on the step just below me. “I was the one. I was determined that you belonged in a regular class. I told Mrs. Ames that you didn’t have to speak to get along. I went up there and demanded…”

  Demanded. I rolled that word around in my head, staring down at her soft curls on the step below me. I couldn’t imagine Aunt Cora demanding anything.

  “I want everything for you.” Her voice was thick. “If they only knew you the way I do.”

  Dog stood in the hall, just below Aunt Cora, and put his head on her lap.

  He couldn’t imagine why she was crying, but he knew something was wrong.

  “The day you came…,” Aunt Cora began.

  The day my mother left.

  “I was right here in the hall. The front door opened and you stood there, your mother behind you, her suitcase in her hand. She was on the way across the country, ready to be an actress or a writer. She was so young to be a mother. Too young.”

  Across the country, almost like Ms. Quirk.

  Aunt Cora cleared her throat. “You stood at the window, looking after her, such a little girl. I could see your reflection in the glass, your woebegone face. I knew it was going to be hard for you, but I didn’t know how hard.”

  I was sure she was going to say I’d stopped speaking then. But she put her hand on my shoulder. “For me, it was a miracle! A child to love. A jubilee.”

  She sighed. “Later I started you in a little Sunday church group. You were the only one without a mother, and I think you wondered what the other children thought. You still said a few words. But then…” She raised her shoulders. “You stopped talking.”

  I began to cry without a sound, warm tears sliding down my cheeks. I wasn’t crying like Travis whose mouth opened wide; his screaming was so loud I could hear it from wherever I was. It would have been a relief to cry that way.

  “I’ve never loved anyone the way I’ve loved you, Jubilee,” Aunt Cora said.

  I bent forward and put my arms around her neck. Warm. Safe.

  She reached up and put her hand over one of mine. “It’s going to be all right someday, Jubilee. You’ll talk when the time is right.”

  That was what Mr. Kaufmann had said.

  “Bu
t in the meantime…”

  I knew what was coming.

  “Mrs. Ames will give you only one more chance. Otherwise you’ll be back in the special class.”

  I patted her shoulder and nodded. I couldn’t remember that day at the window. Or could I? My mother on the path, looking back at me, raising her hand to wave.

  And Aunt Cora! How lucky I was to have her. She wasn’t my mother. So I couldn’t love her the way I loved my mother with her question mark face.

  But still…

  We stood up, all three of us. “Let’s have a garden and cheese dinner.” Aunt Cora wiped her eyes and ran her hand over Dog’s broad back.

  Outside, we walked around her garden and tore off lettuce leaves; we dropped plum tomatoes into a strainer, and shredded bits of basil on top.

  I had one more chance. No matter what Sophie said, no matter what anyone said, I was going to stay in that classroom. I was beginning to like Ms. Quirk, who’d had a dog named Princess. I wanted to know about the wildlife on the island. What had she said? Something like You can’t appreciate creatures unless you know them.

  And I wanted to get to know them. And maybe I wanted a partner too.

  I slid dishes and glasses onto the table for Saturday-night dinner as Gideon burst in the front door, his boots loud on the hall floor. “I hope it’s not liver. I hope it’s not pork chops,” he sang.

  At the table, Aunt Cora and I glanced at each other. Gideon always made us laugh. He filled the kitchen with his huge self, his great grin.

  Dog backed under the table. He rested his head on his paws, unsure about Gideon. But Gideon reached into his pocket. “Cora told me about you this morning.” His voice was softer than usual. He held out a dog biscuit.

  Dog hesitated, then moved forward, tail thumping on the floor as he took the biscuit. He stretched out under the table while we ate scallops in a thick white sauce. Aunt Cora and Gideon loved scallops.

  Actually, they were almost as bad as liver or pork chops. Even Dog just sniffed at the one I sneaked to him.

  We ate quickly because Gideon and I were going out in his small motorboat, to putter around the island. We’d watch the sun roll down below the horizon, and maybe I’d draw cartoon gulls with baseball hats, or fish with eyeglasses popping up to have a look at the horizon.