Tremolo

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  My grandparents met us in the parking area and scrunched into the backseat to welcome me home.

  “Well look who’s here. It’s our little hero,” Grandpa said, gently squeezing my hand.

  My grandmother leaned in to smooch my cheeks. “It is indeed, Jean Paul. Now let’s let the boy get out of this stuffy old back seat.”

  I got out shakily and stood under the tall pines, breathing in the fresh clean air and feeling very much unlike a hero. I still tasted soot on my tongue, and the acrid smell of smoke clung to my hair and skin.

  My grandmother reached over and ruffled my hair. “Are you okay, honey?”

  I nodded, sensing the threat of hot tears. I swallowed hard and looked down at the lake. The sun glistened and sparkled on the early morning surface.

  “Yeah. I’m okay, Grandma,” I finally said. My voice sounded raspy and I guessed it was from all the smoke I’d inhaled. “Where are the twins?”

  Grandpa lifted his hand to his chin and squinted down toward their cabin.

  “Guess they’re still asleep, Gus. They were up pretty late waiting for news about you. They finally went to bed around midnight, I’d say. Wouldn’t stop pestering us until we gave them the whole scoop.”

  A smile flitted across my face. Good old Siegfried and Elsbeth. What great friends. Comfort washed over me and I pictured them safe in their cabin, sleeping soundly.

  “Everyone was concerned about you, honey. The Marggranders and the Stones spent the evening with us. We all stayed by the phone. Even our guest in Number Fifteen came out to inquire about you. She wants to see you when you feel up to it.”

  I looked up in surprise. “Honest?” I asked.

  My grandmother smiled and patted her gray curls. Her green eyes sparkled and she exchanged glances with my mother. “Honest. When you feel better, you can go over to say hello.”

  I was honored. Being invited to trespass onto the previously forbidden territory appealed to me immensely. I’d been so curious about the woman and her Cheshire cat that my mood brightened instantly.

  My grandmother gave me an unusually long hug, smiled tremulously at my father, and then headed with my grandfather toward the dining room.

  “I feel pretty good now, Mum. When can I go over to visit her?”

  My parents flanked me on both sides. We walked down the hill toward Wee Castle.

  I looked up at my mother expectantly. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept much last night, either.

  My father spoke up. “You need some sleep, first, Gus. We all do. Let’s go down and get some rest, and then we’ll see how you’re feeling. Okay, sport?”

  I glanced up into his tired eyes and nodded contritely. He seemed worn out and his skin looked kind of gray and drawn. A pang of guilt shot through me. “I’m sorry about all this. I really am.”

  A pair of mourning doves flew low overhead and landed beneath the pines near the trail. Their lavender-gray feathers looked invitingly soft. I had the sudden urge to stroke them. They strutted around, pecking at the ground, and then finally flew up to a branch overhead, sitting side by side. Their soft cooing wafted through the pines. My father slipped his arm through mine and squeezed my hand.

  “It’s not your fault, son. You did what you thought was right. But next time, wait for me before you go chasing someone, okay?”

  I nodded and smiled at my father. He saved my life. He plucked me from the horrible fate of being burned alive. My throat constricted, dry as a discarded snakeskin when I remembered the feeling of his hands grabbing me and pulling me from the burning building. I squeezed back and smiled at him. “Okay, Dad. I will.”

  Chapter 37

  “He looks awful.”

  The small whisper tickled my brain. I lay semi-conscious in my comfortable bed with Shadow’s warm body snuggled at my feet. I nearly drifted back to sleep, but another whisper filled the air.

  “What’s he doing? Let me take a look.”

  I coasted closer to consciousness, certain the second whisper was Siegfried’s. My eyelids felt heavy. In front of me, Elsbeth’s pixie face pressed against the screen on the porch window. Her nose and lips compressed against the mesh.

  Siegfried’s face came into view when he squeezed in beside his sister.

  “Ought-oh. I think we woke him up,” Elsbeth said in a little voice.

  My eyes fluttered open and I smiled at the twins, motioning for them to come inside. Elsbeth squealed happily and they raced around to the screen door. A short conversation took place between my father and my friends. Finally, the door opened and he announced the visitors.

  “Someone to see you, son.”

  I sat up against my pillow and twisted my wrist around to glance at my Mickey Mouse watch. It was one thirty. I couldn’t believe I’d slept five hours.

  They both climbed up onto the bed. Elsbeth was the first to throw her arms around my neck. I thought she was going to cry and hoped fervently that she wouldn’t.

  She gulped a few times and lay her head on my shoulder, then kissed my cheek with her soft lips. “I’m so glad you’re okay. We were so worried about you.”

  I blushed and cast my eyes downward, feeling unusually awkward with one of my two best friends. She backed up a little, surprised at her own actions.

  Siegfried slid an arm around my neck and pulled me forward, rubbing his knuckles against my scalp.

  I laughed and pulled away from his gentle grip.

  “Noogies for the nerd,” he said, repeating one of our favorite mantras.

  I snorted a laugh, relieved to be back on familiar territory.

  “You snorted!” Elsbeth giggled. Once again, the rhythm and tone of her laugh was identical to the song of the loons, the tremolo.

  “You sound like a loon!” I laughed even louder.

  I snorted again, even louder this time, and the guffawing began. It built to a crescendo. We gasped for breath while tears spilled down our cheeks. My stomach and sides began to ache as I lost total control. I couldn’t stop chortling and doubled over, gulping and shrieking with my friends. My throat was tight and the glands beneath my jaw began to ache. Each time we tried to stop, we’d look at each other and start up again. I foolishly mimicked Elsbeth’s loon laugh, followed it up with a loud snort, and started us up all over again.

  “Stop!” Elsbeth begged between shrieks, rolling on the bed and holding her stomach. “I can’t take any more.”

  Shadow looked back and forth between us. He cocked his head to the side, trotted up to my pillow, and licked my cheek. His tail wagged furiously.

  Finally the tumult died down. We collapsed on the blankets. Elsbeth lay on her side at the foot of the bed, her head pillowed in her arms. Her sides still heaved and she looked up at me with a wide grin. Siegfried sprawled on the side of the bed, his back toward me. Finally he rolled over and scooted up toward the headboard. It grew quiet in the room.

  He began to pick at a scab on his thumb and his brow furrowed. “Gus?”

  I sat up against my pillow. “Yeah?”

  “Did you ever actually see Sharon out there?”

  Elsbeth sat up cross-legged on the foot of the bed, listening intently. I looked at her expectant face, and then back at her brother.

  Siegfried avoided my eyes.

  “Um…no. It wasn’t her,” I said slowly.

  Elsbeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Was it Frank Adamski, the whole time?”

  I hesitated. Siegfried continued to avoid my glance. I wondered what he had deduced.

  “I don’t know, Elsbeth. I just don’t know,” I answered honestly.

  She stared at me for a long moment. Without warning, her face crumpled.

  “She may still be out there,” I said. “There’s a good possibility that she’s still hiding. We just ran across the wrong person this time.”

  I tried to convince myself. I didn’t tell them that Frank Adamski had collected our offerings at the rock. Although Sharon wasn’t the one we were feeding, th
ere was absolutely no evidence of foul play. She could certainly be hiding out in another area of the woods. Or she might’ve found shelter with someone. Anyone. She was afraid to go home, I was certain of that. Her uncle had some sort of power over her father. She might not be protected there.

  I reviewed the possibilities with the twins, and we agreed not to give up hope. We’d start searching again as soon as Frank Adamski was caught.

  At the mention of his name, the twins grew quiet again. Siegfried was the one to ask this time.

  “What happened, Gus? What did he do to you?”

  I hesitated again, wanting to vent the feelings of horror, but reluctant to frighten my young friends. I decided to hold it in, glossed over the story, and ended with the fact that he’d revealed his association with the church burglaries.

  Elsbeth’s eyes began to sparkle and Siegfried raised one eyebrow in surprise.

  “You saw the loot?” Elsbeth asked, using the word she’d heard in the movies to describe the scepter.

  A faint blush of excitement crept onto her cheeks. She began to breath faster and moved closer to me.

  “Yeah,” I said, conjuring up the memory, “It was gold. It flashed in the light. There were stones set in it. Red stones, I think.”

  “Rubies?” Siegfried asked, “Wow. It must have been worth a million dollars.”

  “At least,” I agreed, “Maybe more.”

  “Wowee,” Elsbeth whispered, her eyes dancing in pleasure. “Rubies.”

  The bedroom door opened.

  “Anybody hungry in here?”

  My mother entered, bearing a tray. Tomato soup steamed from a bowl. Three grilled cheese sandwiches were piled on a plate with napkins beside a huge glass of milk.

  Siegfried jumped up and cleared a spot on the bedside table.

  My mother lay the tray down and leaned over to brush my hair from my brow.

  I pulled back before she could kiss me. She smiled indulgently and stroked my cheek instead. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Ready to eat?”

  “I’m starving!” I reached for the first sandwich.

  “Are you twins hungry?” my mother asked. “I can make more in a jiffy.”

  They both shook their heads politely. I realized with surprise that she had intended all three sandwiches for me.

  “No thank you, Mrs. LeGarde. We’ve just eaten.”

  “Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything else, honey.”

  “I will,” I mumbled through the grilled cheese. “Thanks, Mum.”

  I wolfed down my food, and the twins explained what happened after I was dragged away by Adamski. It was Siegfried who climbed up the tree and saw the smoke. He was the one who summoned my father and Officer Lawson for the rescue. He had a feeling, he said, a strange feeling that I needed help.

  I looked into his startlingly blue eyes and smiled. “You knew I was in trouble?” A sense of amazement filled me.

  He nodded and smiled, embarrassed.

  Elsbeth breathed in sharply. Sitting up straight, she looked at us with shining eyes. “I know what it was!” A mysterious tone laced her voice. Her eyes danced and her face lit up. She held up her arm and pointed to a scab. “It’s the bond! We’re blood brothers, remember? That’s why Siegfried knew you needed help. He sensed it.”

  Siegfried looked at her in surprise, as if enlightened.

  I pushed down the covers, lifted my pajama pant leg, and fingered the scab on my knee, glancing back and forth between my friends. “Wow. You’re right, Elsbeth. That has to be it.”

  We held hands, forming a circle. Without hesitation, we chanted in unison. “Blood brothers, forever.”

  We were silent for a moment, and then Elsbeth whispered. “Forever. Amen.”

  Chapter 38

  I leaned toward the mirror over the bathroom sink and ran a wet comb through my hair.

  “You look nice, honey.” My mother handed me a freshly pressed shirt. It smelled like spray starch and felt stiff in my hands. I pulled it on over my clean undershirt and fastened the buttons.

  “Now, Gus. This is a very cultured woman. You need to be on your best behavior. Remember to use your napkin if she offers you anything. Don’t fidget. Sit up straight. Answer with ‘yes ma’am’ or ‘no ma’am’.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled indulgently. “Mum, I know how to act. I’ll be polite. Really. I will.”

  She laughed, smoothing my hair over one ear. “Okay, honey. I know you will.”

  I hopped off the porch steps and walked toward Number Fifteen. The man in the dark suit and sunglasses waved to me.

  Approaching the front porch of the cabin, my heartbeat quickened. What would she be like? I reached the front door and was about to knock when it swung open.

  A kindly woman in a black dress beckoned to me. “Please come in, young man.”

  I stepped inside. The woman stood before me with her right hand extended. For a moment I thought I was supposed to kiss it and kneel before her.

  She reached for my hand and shook it gently. “I’m pleased to meet you, Gustave.”

  I shook her hand and looked into her kindly face. Her eyes were drawn and tired, and she looked sad.

  “You may call me Mrs. Jones, young man. I’m afraid it’s not my real name, but my protectors assure me that my privacy would be compromised were my true identity revealed.”

  I finally spoke, trying to digest her formal words. “Um. Okay. Pleased to meet you, too, Mrs. Jones.”

  She smiled at me again and gestured elegantly toward the small sofa in the living room.

  “Won’t you please have a seat?”

  I approached the sofa, careful not to knock into anything or trip on the thick rug. My mother’s voice rang in my head. “Thank you, ma’am,” I murmured.

  She sat beside me in an overstuffed chair. Through frequent visits with Millie Stone, I recognized the slow, careful descent of an arthritis sufferer. I fidgeted with my collar and smiled awkwardly, suddenly tongue-tied.

  A collection of silver-framed photos stood on the coffee table, on the side tables, and on the shelves above the small dining nook. I counted over twenty-five photos scattered about the room and was surprised she’d brought them with her to the cabin.

  “Are you recovered from your adventure last night, young man? We were all quite worried about you.” She spoke with a strong Boston accent.

  It was an easy question to answer. “Oh, I’m fine now, thank you very much, ma’am.” I folded my hands on my lap, remembering to sit up straight, and casually surveyed the closest photographs so I could think of something to ask about them. I really wasn’t sure what to say or how to start a conversation with this lady.

  The first was a picture of a young man and woman surrounded by a large group of children of various ages. I assumed it was her family. I looked to the next photo, and found the same faces arranged in different poses. The remaining photos were similar. Beach gatherings, birthday parties, boating shots, they stood on the table in a packed cluster, offering memories from the past in neat black and white images.

  “Is this your family, Mrs. Jones?” I finally asked.

  She nodded. “Yes it is, dear. Of course these photographs were taken a long time ago. All of my children are grown now.”

  “I see.”

  She reached for a brown paper bag. “They’re Bing cherries, Gustave. Would you care for some?”

  My eyes widened. I loved cherries. I nodded eagerly, then shoved my hand in the bag to draw out a large handful. I heard my mother’s voice in my head again. I opened my hand, released the bunch, and removed just three cherries.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She reached into the bag and withdrew a small handful for herself, chewing slowly as she enjoyed the flavor. “These are some of the sweetest cherries I’ve ever tasted.”

  I popped the first cherry into my mouth. It was large, firm, and bursting with flavor. The burgundy skin was nearly black. I worked my way down to the pit, then stopped and near
ly panicked, wondering how to dispose of it. I rolled it around in my mouth for a while longer, then just sucked on it.

  To my relief, Mrs. Jones reached over for a small blue and white bowl, deposited her pit inside, and placed it between us on the coffee table.

  “Here you go, just put them right in there.”

  “Thank you.” I spit the pit into my hand, and dropped it in the bowl. “These are delicious, Mrs. Jones,” I said, starting on my second one.

  The curtain in the window fluttered. A large cream-colored Persian cat jumped lightly to the floor. He tripped across the floorboards and leapt into my host’s lap. His large, copper eyes glowed atop his small, pug nose. He rubbed his head against her sleeve, and began to purr.

  “It’s the Cheshire cat,” I said, spitting my second pit into the bowl. I reached over to pat him.

  He pushed his head against my hand and then leapt beside me, purring even louder.

  “His name is Ivanhoe,” she said proudly. “He’s quite good company for an old woman.”

  I looked up at her. “You’re not old.” As soon as I said it, I wondered if I’d goofed. Was I being too familiar? Would my mother have frowned?

  She laughed and offered me more cherries. “You’re sweet to say that, dear. But I’m afraid I sometimes feel as if I’ve lived a hundred years.”

  I took a handful this time and began to work on them in earnest.

  Mrs. Jones wiped her hands on a blue paper napkin and offered me one as well. I put it on my lap.

  “My parents said you needed peace and quiet, Mrs. Jones. They said not to bother you.”

  She cocked her head to the side as if surprised. “Oh? Well, that was very thoughtful of them. I wondered why you hadn’t stopped by to pay a visit yet.”

  I glanced around the room, examining more of the photos. My gaze rested on a grouping of photos on top of the sideboard. There was a picture of the President in the oval office in the front. I looked closer, noticing a number of shots of him. They weren’t familiar poses; none had been featured in Life Magazine. In several shots, Mrs. Jones stood proudly beside the President. His arm was around her in two of the photos.