Skylark and Wallcreeper

by Anne O'Brien Carelli

  To pass the time, Marguerite teaches me some questions in French that she thinks everyone should know if they travel: Where does this bus go? How much does this cost? Where are the restrooms? She must think that my mission to Cliff House is just the beginning of my travels. She’s right because now I want to go everywhere.

  She also teaches me sentences that crack me up. Do you know any cute boys? This meal is disgusting. The people across the aisle look up from their iPads and smile at the two of us. We must be an odd pair, twelve-year-old me with my pirate boots and Henry’s black coat, and eighty-year-old Marguerite in her “traveling outfit” of leggings tucked into UGGs. Her long tunic is a swirl of blues and greens, and she’s loaded on several shiny necklaces. This time she’s wearing a series of silver bracelets that jangle at her wrist.

  She has a fur cape that she’s assured me is fake fur, but she’s brought along a fuzzy pink fur hat that ties under her chin. It’s kind of ratty-looking, and she places it over the seat in front of us “to air out.”

  We’re both so anxious to see Granny again. It’s hard to believe I’ve only been gone for little more than a day.

  We go through the letters again, and Marguerite tells me more about her life after Brume. “I’ve been almost everywhere in the world, but the most special place was Germany.”

  “Germany?” After what she’d told me about her experiences with German soldiers in France, I’m surprised that she even wanted to go there. “Don’t you hate the Germans?”

  She pauses for a moment and gently folds the letters and replaces the rubber band. “I did when I was a child. It took many years for me to even think of the Germans as real people. The memories were too horrible.”

  “So why did you go?”

  “I was invited.” She points to her tapestry bag above the seats across the aisle, and I struggle to pull it down. As I place it on the space between us, it pops open to reveal the shoebox filled with the tools of the Resistance. I wonder what else she’s brought along to share with Granny.

  She rummages around in the side pockets and pulls out a flyer that announces her as a speaker at the United Nations. “You spoke at the United Nations? In New York City? That’s so cool!”

  “I gave speeches at a lot of places in the world, but speaking in New York was a real honor. If only I’d known that Collette was so close.” She flattens the flyer and reads aloud the heading “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” She points at her name highlighted under the title. “My speech was about what it feels like to be living in constant danger, terrified that your family will be taken away and killed.”

  “But how could you talk about that in Germany? They were the ones who made your life so miserable!”

  “It was extremely hard, but I discovered it was possible.” She folds up the flyer and tucks it back into the bag. She reaches into another pocket and pulls out two candy sticks. “Root beer,” she says, and winks as she hands one of them to me. “I tell Simone my mouth gets dry, but I just like candy.” She giggles.

  “My granny likes chocolate.” That causes her to beam a wide smile. She reaches into the bottom of the bag and displays two Hershey bars. “One for us to share, and one for Collette. I have them stashed all over the house. You never know when you might need some chocolate.”

  I ask her to tell me the story of the bridge again and how she gave candy bars to the German soldiers. “I know it sounds exciting, Lily. But we were always afraid.” She slips all the candy into a side pocket of the bag so that it’s handy. “At some point, I realized that someone needed to speak up so that children like you won’t have to go through the same thing.”

  “And that meant talking to the Germans?” I try to understand, but it’s confusing. There are some kids at school that I stay far away from because they’ve done things that are mean. I can’t imagine even bothering to talk to them. “How could you forget what they’d done?”

  As I shove the tapestry bag back onto the rack above us and grab the basket of food, she responds, choosing her words carefully. Her accent seems especially heavy, and her voice fades as she speaks. I glance over to see if she’s all right. “Oh, I don’t forget,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t even forgive. But we do have to make sure that history doesn’t repeat itself.” She points to her lap, and I place the square basket on her thin legs.

  She pulls out overloaded sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, a thermos filled with cold soup that she calls “vichyssoise,” and bottles of Snapple. “No wonder this was so heavy!” We laugh as she keeps adding food to my lap and the opened tray table. She holds up a box of different kinds of pastries. “Simone must think we’ll be on this train for days!”

  Stuck in the corner of the basket is a cluster of silk flowers. I carefully lift the bouquet, and Marguerite pats my hand. “Daisies are still one of her favorites?” I nod and gently put them back where they won’t get crushed.

  I watch as we speed by some of the sites that I missed when I slept on the train going up the coast. I think about how scared and lonely I was. Now I text back and forth with Johnny and my mom and finally get a chance to talk to Nicole. My mom has told everyone at the Armory the entire story, from the beginning. She visited Granny after work and tells me every detail about the complicated route she had to take because some subways are still closed.

  Johnny stopped by the Armory to check on Granny, too. He provided the details about Henry and the Pen Emporium, and Granny seems to be following it all, although she’s still not sharing any information about her childhood in France.

  Nicole gets on the phone and tells me that Granny is so overwhelmed about seeing Marguerite that they have to keep checking her blood pressure. Granny’s laid out her favorite dress with the tiny blue flowers and her red sweater, and is planning on wearing her blue silk wedding shoes. “She can’t even stand in them, but she insists. This is a very special occasion!”

  I tell this to Marguerite and she again describes how Collette became Jean-Pierre and the two of them kept their hair short and dressed as boys. “We weren’t going to get away with our disguise too much longer, but I sure did like riding around on a bicycle wearing pants. You can do that now, but back then it was highly unusual. You’re a lucky girl.” We reload the basket, and she reaches for the thermos as the train begins to slow down. “Are we there already?”

  The Metro-North train jerks ahead for a few moments, jostling the basket of food so that it almost falls off Marguerite’s lap. She closes the top of the basket, and we both lean to look out the window. There’s nothing but a crumbling wall marked with graffiti a few feet from the train.

  “We’re getting close to Manhattan, but this doesn’t look like a stop.” I stretch to peer out the window on the other side of the train. There’s more wall on that side, with piles of discarded tires and lumber scattered on the ground. Passengers look around in confusion. A murmur starts to build.

  A low train whistle is heard in the distance, and the train screeches to a sudden halt, throwing us both forward. Marguerite flings out her arm to stop me from crashing into the seat in front of us. I reach for the basket, but it falls to the floor, spilling out the loaf of French bread and bottles of Snapple.

  We slam back into our seats. For a moment, there’s silence in the car, then everyone begins talking at once. Voices are low at first, but as people rise to peer out the windows, the noise level builds.

  “Are you okay?” we both say at once. Marguerite mutters something in French and straightens the silver combs in her hair. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” She fusses with her bracelets and smooths her shirt. I watch her to see if I should be worried. “Find out what’s happening, Lily.”

  A crackling noise comes over a loudspeaker, followed by a muffled announcement. “Can’t hear you!” someone yells, while others push the buttons on the doors to move to other cars. A red light near the ceiling comes on and starts to flash.

  The announcement is repeated, this time by a robotic voice repeating, “Stay seated. Do not
evacuate. Stay seated. Do not evacuate.”

  “We need to get off this train.” Marguerite grabs the seat in front of her and tries to stand up. She stumbles over the basket of food on the floor but manages to step over me to the aisle and wrap her fur cape around her shoulders, closing the toggle at the top. She snatches the pink fur hat and reaches for her tapestry bag, but it’s too high. “Come, Lily. Hurry.”

  “They’re telling us to stay here.” Marguerite’s already moving toward the back of the train. Passengers fill the aisle so that she disappears from view.

  “Do not evacuate,” the announcement keeps repeating as the train car begins to empty. I can see people outside, stepping over piles of debris. I immediately think of downtown Manhattan and wonder if it was Sandy that dumped the garbage.

  “Marguerite!” She doesn’t answer, but then I spot her pressed against the back wall of the train near the exit, as if she’s trying to hide. “I don’t think we’re supposed to leave the train, Marguerite. Come back to the seat with me.” I try to pull gently on her arm, but she pulls away roughly and goes out the door to the gangway that connects the cars. As a man helps her down the stairs, I squirm between people blocking the doorway and scramble down the steps to get to her.

  There’s smoke pouring out from the engine of the train way down the line, and it’s blowing toward us, irritating my eyes. It’s chilly, and I take the pink fur hat from Marguerite’s hand and place it on her head, tying the pom-poms. She adjusts her fur cape, and as I hold her arm, we make our way down the side of the tracks. It’s eerily quiet, even though we’re surrounded by people who were nervous enough to quickly evacuate.

  “Get away from the train,” Marguerite says urgently, tightening her elbow around my arm. I guide her around a crushed wooden box. “Go close to the wall.” As we approach the cement wall a group of kids about my age gather near us, chattering and laughing. They all have their phones out and are filming or taking pictures as they pose against the colorful graffiti.

  The urge to join them is strong. I feel like I haven’t seen anyone my age in weeks, except for the kids who came to the Armory and then left again. I understand how these kids, dressed in shirts and jeans but ignoring the cold, can joke around while the adults worry. I want to be silly with them. But I understand how things can go wrong.

  Marguerite hasn’t said a word. She’s still clinging to me and I can feel her shaking. She leans against the hard wall, closes her eyes, takes in deep breaths, slowly letting them out. “I hate trains,” she says, “but I’ll do anything for Collette.”

  A conductor comes by, waving a flashlight. “Back on board, folks. It’s just kids on the tracks. Started a fire.” He ushers our huddled group back on the train. Marguerite seems steadier now, and when we reach our seat, she calmly hands me her cape and hat. I reload the food basket, checking to make sure that the daisies are still protected. I set aside the box of pastries and shove the basket back into the overhead bin next to the tapestry bag. As the conductor walks up the aisle answering questions, Marguerite opens up the pastry box and offers one to him.

  “So sorry about the inconvenience, ma’am.” He eyes the desserts briefly but refuses. “We have a team working on the problem and we’ll be on our way in a little while.”

  Marguerite adjusts her seat so that she’s leaning back. “Just kids on the tracks,” she says softly to herself.

  Chapter 31

  Huzzah!

  Brooklyn

  November 2012—Day 9

  Marguerite hands me the pastry box and points to the group of kids who have now gathered in the back of the train. “Give them this. They’ll love you.”

  As I approach them, they’re taking silly pictures and playing a game on an iPad. I offer them the box of desserts and am immediately absorbed into the group. Soon I’m in the pictures and sending them to Johnny. They climb on the seats, jump in the air, and flop on top of each other to get a better photo. No one tells them to stop. Passengers are on their phones or complaining to each other about the delay.

  One boy stands on his head, his feet resting on the doorway under the exit sign so we can take a picture. It’s nice not to worry if he’ll fall and get hurt.

  “That old lady’s waving at you.” A girl with sleek blond hair points to Marguerite, who’s waiting in a line for the restroom at the other end of the aisle. We both wave back. I want to say, “That’s not an old lady; that’s Marguerite,” but that wouldn’t make much sense if you hadn’t spent time in a nursing home. Instead I say, “Her name is Skylark.”

  “Sweet.” The girl flashes a picture of Marguerite and takes another one of herself. She shows me a video on her phone that makes us both giggle as if it were the funniest video ever made.

  When we finally pull into Grand Central, there’s Johnny waiting with my mom. Marguerite looks worn out, but she walks briskly up to my mom and grips her with a hug. I can’t look my mom in the eye, and expect her to put her hand out for my phone. But she turns to me and smushes me with a long welcome hug. Maybe she realizes that if I’m going to keep in touch, then I need to keep my phone.

  Johnny is standing by with a wheelchair. “Hey,” he says to me, and that’s all he needs to say. I wave good-bye to my new friends. The blond girl checks out Johnny as she waves back.

  Marguerite refuses the wheelchair, but in the long cab ride to the Armory, Johnny and I squish her between us so she won’t get tossed around in the back seat. Johnny plows through the food basket, inspecting uneaten cheeses and asking about the leftovers. As we pull up to the Armory, Marguerite is sharing the recipe for vichyssoise as Johnny records it on his phone.

  The welcome at the Armory is ridiculous. We are immediately surrounded by residents. I hadn’t been gone long at all, but some of them have no sense of time anymore, so I guess they think I’ve been gone for weeks. Everyone seems to know why I left for the coast and brought back the long-lost Marguerite.

  My granny is wobbly in her blue shoes, and Maria has to hold her up. I pull Granny in gently. We don’t speak, just wrap our arms around each other. Then I step back and turn my cheek so she can kiss it and say, “Such a good girl, my Lilybelle.” I feel like I’m home.

  Marguerite watches and waits. Her skin is pale so that her freckles stand out more than ever. There are dark circles under her eyes, but she still looks strong and cheerful.

  My granny is obviously frail next to Marguerite, and she’s pale under the pink powder that someone has brushed on her cheeks. But her blue eyes are gleaming when Marguerite steps forward. Nurses and volunteers hover in the background, eager to witness the reunion.

  At first the two old friends engage in a fast conversation in French that no one understands. Granny is stuck in place in her high heel shoes, so Marguerite reaches out her arms, bracelets jangling, and steps forward to embrace her Collette. I worry that the hug is too hard for Granny and will hurt her. But they’re laughing and crying and rocking back and forth, so I guess she’s all right. Johnny gives me a thumbs-up, and WM, free of her neck brace, raises her arms and shouts, “Huzzah!”

  “Quite a stunt you pulled there, kiddo,” a deep voice says behind me. “Can I have my coat back now?” I turn to see Henry, his hair neatly slicked over his head and his glasses just as smeared. He flashes his uneven yellow teeth. I’m glad to see him. “Your friend came back to get your bicycle, and he filled me in.”

  I hand him his coat. “Thanks. For more than the coat.” He nods and steps aside to make room for André, who’s pushing the restaurant bicycle with the big basket.

  “André!” shouts Johnny, working his way through the crowd to shake André’s hand. I must look confused because Johnny quickly explains. “Remember when you asked me to return the bike to the restaurant? Well, André was making desserts when I got there, and he’s taught me how to make crème brûlée!”

  I tell them about the food that Simone served while Marguerite told her stories. “I promised Simone I’d come back to Cliff House. Next time, J
ohnny, you can come with me.” Johnny gives me that smile that I know is only meant for me. I grin back.

  Marguerite and Granny sit on Granny’s cot, furiously speaking French. Granny’s kicked off her fancy shoes, and her bare feet look so tiny. They’re poring through the shoebox and inspecting the blue marble pen. “Brume!” I hear Granny say a few times. They appear to be two elderly ladies sitting on a cot in a temporary nursing home, but to me they are two young girls, Skylark and Wallcreeper, plotting their next mission. I want to join them.

  “Let’s get a picture!” Henry pulls out a camera from his fanny pack and gestures for everyone to gather together. Marguerite pulls her fluffy pink hat out of the tapestry bag. Johnny ties it under her chin as I help Granny put on her pink beret. We help them off the cot, and my mom and I bunch together with the two brave Resistance fighters.

  “Wait!” Marguerite’s commanding voice penetrates the constant talking. She signals for Johnny and gives him instructions, her hands flying around. He turns and talks to André, and they roll the bicycle into the middle of the group. Marguerite stands proudly next to the bike while I hold it firmly in place. She rearranges the plastic flowers on the basket, then grasps the handlebars. Granny joins Marguerite, holds the fountain pen in the air, and orders Henry, “Take the picture!”

  As Henry takes several shots, I notice a National Guardsman saunter into the Armory. He’s dressed in full camouflage and strides over to Nicole, who’s been trying to keep Mr. Tennenbaum out of the pictures. “Are you in charge here?” He looks serious.

  “I suppose you’d say so,” she says warily. We all quiet down. “Now what?”

  “Well, I’m happy to tell you that Rockaway Manor is solid.” He grins so that it looks like his entire face is a smile. “Give us a few more days to finish the paint job, and you’re all going home!” A cheer goes up throughout the Armory. The Guardsman tries to keep speaking to Nicole, but he can’t be heard. We’re still posed for the next picture, chattering about the news. Nicole motions for everyone to settle down.