Keeper, Page 2

rooms.” She reached over to give me a hug. “Hello, you must be Stephen,” she said. “I’m Nora, the cook. I do almost everything here and will be glad to have some help.”

  I nodded, happy to see a kindly face and walked in as she held the door open. I looked around the living room which was nice. There were easy chairs, sofas, and even a table set up for chess.

  I felt like one of the pawns in the chess set. What was in store for me?

  “I have an apple pie coming out of the oven,” Nora said. “I’ll cut a slice for you. Boys are always hungry.”

  My mouth watered at the thought of apple pie, but Aunt Velma put an end to my anticipation. “Not now,” she ordered. “First, take your things downstairs. We don’t want any clutter with guests on their way.” She pointed to a narrow staircase by the front hall. “Your room is down there. Take your bags and come right up. Nora needs the groceries from the car.”

  I followed orders and made my way downstairs. I found myself in a large basement full of broken chairs, old bed frames and other junk. Making my way through the debris, I located a small room at the end of the basement. There was a bed, a dresser, a chair, and a table with an old fashioned lamp. No TV, no books. A dreary sight. This wasn’t what I had hoped for.

  “Hurry up, Stephen. Nora’s waiting for the groceries,” Aunt Velma called from the top of the stairs.

  There was no way to escape. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hide. I felt like a trapped animal. “Yes, Aunt Velma,” I shouted from the basement. “I’m coming.” I dropped my suitcase and backpack on the bed and ran up the stairs.

  After delivering bags of groceries from the car and setting the tables in the dining room for the tourists, I was allowed to sit in the kitchen for a moment to eat my pie. I swallowed the last bite just as the German group arrived to be seated at the dinner tables. They looked healthy and suntanned; they laughed, joked, ate their meals, and went to the living room after their dessert to sing German songs. I removed the dessert dishes and coffee cups from the tables, then sat in the kitchen with Nora and had my dinner while she told me about her life in Ireland.

  She reached over to pat my hand. “I waved to you from the upper window, but you didn't see me. Poor little lamb that you are,” she said. “I know how you feel. My ma and pa both died young and relatives didn’t want me. They had plenty of young ones at home already. I was sent to my cousin in Mendocino to work as a cook and housemaid. I wasn’t much older than you, Stephen, and was so homesick. I couldn’t bring many of my things with me from Ireland, but I did take along the family frying pan. I couldn’t cook decent without it.” She pointed to the stove. ”Just look at it! Cast iron. And very heavy. Makes wonderful cakes.” She took a handkerchief from her apron pocket to wipe her eyes. I was about to give her a hug, but Aunt Velma’s voice broke the spell.

  “Stephen, our guests would like ice delivered to their rooms. Fill the buckets from the pantry and take them upstairs.”

  Nora showed me the pantry door just off the kitchen where I could fill the ice buckets. I noticed some keys hanging separately on the wall above the flour bin. Each key had a number for a room except for the last key in the row. The number was scratched out. Could this be the key to the forbidden room? I wondered about it as I carried buckets of ice upstairs. I couldn’t complain about the extra job because the people were nice, and they all gave me a tip. I said nothing to my aunt about the dollar bills in my pocket. I earned them.

  When I climbed into my bed that night, a bright full moon was shining over Valley Springs Farm. The light came in the window above my bed. Across the road, surf boomed on the shore. I was determined to see the beach in spite of Aunt Velma’s orders.

  Still dressed, I crawled out of bed, put on my shoes and tiptoed to the basement door. The old fashioned latch squeaked as I lifted it, but all was quiet upstairs. Pushing the heavy door open, I sneaked outside after putting a stick in the doorway to make sure I could get back inside. In the pasture, a donkey brayed once then silence. I crept down the road, scared but excited. When I got near Highway One, I stood up and ran across to the bluff above the beach. At the edge of the cliff, I grabbed a handful of scrubby bushes and slid down to the deserted, moonlit beach.

  Fat pulpy seaweed gave off a strange, fishy smell. Hunks of driftwood were scattered across the sand. This was my private ocean. Kicking off my shoes, I ran through tide pools, squishing my feet in the sand. Why should I worry about Aunt Velma’s warning when I was having a wonderful time?

  Then I heard a loud splash behind me. Too scared to turn around, I started to run back the cliff where I had left my shoes but something hit me in the back. I fell in a heap remembering a newspaper picture of a giant squid weighing three hundred pounds. I could almost feel its slimy tentacles wrapping around me.

  But it was a big dog on top of me licking my face. I jumped up to throw my arms around him, loving the feeling of his shaggy, wet fur.

  “You waited for me," I laughed. "You found me in spite of mean old Aunt Velma.”

  Barking and wagging his tail, the dog jumped up and ran down the beach. He wanted to play. I chased him, but every time I got close, he ran off. I sat on a driftwood log and waited until the dog dropped, panting, at my feet.

  Just then, in the light of the full moon, I saw a figure appear at the top of the cliff. Was it a ghost? Who would be out this time of night?

  I ran back for my shoes with the dog bounding behind me. When I looked back at the cliff top, the figure had disappeared. When we got up the bank and across the road, the dog stopped at the old barn and growled.

  “Keep quiet,” I cautioned. With my hand on his back, I could feel the fur rising like a stiff brush. Something was wrong. Animals can sense things. Scared, I ran to the house, reached the basement safely, and took off my wet shoes. I planned to hide the dog in my room, but when I called him, he ran off.

  I woke up with the sun pouring over my bed through the window. I shut my eyes and pulled the covers over my head, but I could hear Aunt Velma calling me from the top of the stairs.

  "Time for dishes, Stephen. Right now. There’s work to be done.”

  I wished I could hide under the bed, but struggled up, put on my damp shoes and washed my face. The cracked mirror in the tiny basement bathroom didn’t give a perfect reflection, but I was able to comb my unruly red hair and check the freckles. Sure enough about a dozen new freckles arrived overnight. Maybe it was just a few spots on the old mirror.

  I hurried up the stairs trying to smile as my sister had advised. As I paused at the top of the stairs to catch my breath, I could see the living room window. A red car pulled up next to the Germans' van. A lady and a girl about my age got out of the car and went into the house. I ducked into the kitchen where Nora’s friendly greeting brightened my morning. She gave me a bowl of cereal, glass of milk, and the promise of pancakes later on. I finished rinsing the guest’s sticky breakfast dishes and poured soap powder into the sink when I heard a cheerful voice.

  “Hi, Stephen. Miss Velma asked me to help. My mom’s upstairs sewing curtains, so I’ll be here all day.”

  I dropped a dish into the sink and did a double take. She was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. Her blonde hair was braided and tied with pink bows matching her blouse. She wore white shorts and had long, tanned legs. A dimple appeared at the side of her mouth as she smiled and waved a dishcloth. Things were looking up for me.

  “I’m Sequoia.” She joined me at the sink.

  "You’re what?” I wondered if she might be talking about some strange disease.

  “SeeKwoyAh.” She repeated the word slowly. “I can tell you’re not a native Californian. Everyone here knows the word." She dried plates and cups as I rinsed them. "The sequoia is the largest tree in the world,” she said. "A tall redwood tree that grows right here in Mendocino.”

  The kitchen door banged. Aunt Velma swooped in. She looked tired. I began to feel just a bit sorry for her, but her voice was like a bite.

  “Stephen,�€
 she said, “I hope you know how to use a paint brush. The pasture fence needs a coat of whitewash. I’ll pick up some paint when I’m in town today.”

  I plunged my shriveled hands back into the dishwater. “Yes, ma'am. I’ll do my best.”

  Sequoia giggled and whispered, "Let’s use some of the paint to make a new sign. WITCH SPRINGS FARM.”

  Aunt Velma stopped on her way out. “Did you say something, Sequoia?”

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Velma. I just told Stephen to hurry. I’m getting ahead of him.” She waved her dishtowel.

  Aunt Velma nodded. “Good. Now I heard a dog barking out by the barn last night. If you see him, throw rocks or use a stick. Chase him away.”

  I didn’t intend to throw rocks at my friendly dog but nodded to Aunt Velma and continued my dishwashing. When the sink was empty and the dishes put away, Sequoia and I sat down to a wonderful meal of pancakes and syrup. I scraped leftovers from the guests' breakfast into a paper bag.

  Sequoia winked at me. “For that dog, I’ll bet. Miss Velma is so mean. Please don’t hurt the dog. I saw him this morning curled up outside the basement door.”

  “Yep,” I said, “We’ll have to hide him.”

  The dog was still waiting for me outside the door. I called him inside before Aunt Velma came out to get in her car. Stretching out on the floor, eyes trusting, tail thumping the