And the world outside the window was dark.
As dark as it would be if a curtain had closed. I heard an audible gasp from Rose's lips.
Or was it coming from my own?
5 The Room Upstairs
I remember a line I once read in a famous short store, calling truth "a hard deer to hunt." If ever sleep was a "hard deer to hunt," it was so this night. I closed my eyes and turned on my side with my back to my bedroom door. but I couldn't help anticipating the sound of it opening, and then seeing either Cinnamon or Ice or Rose herself there to tell me he had returned. At times my eves popped open and I stared at my own window. The darkness played tricks, metamorphosing into someone's silhouette and then turning back to nothing.
Steven had been right about the house itself. It was so well built, sounds familiar to me from my own home back in Ohio were not audible here. Pipes didn't groan, boards didn't creak, shutters didn't tap a beat to the marching wind. At night this house tightened like a fist, not to open again until the first light of morning,
The silence was not welcome, however. It caused me to feel shut up, entombed with my own childhood fears. I heard my own little groans, heard myself breathing. For hours I tossed and turned and fought with my pillows. Every once in a while, I glanced at the illuminated face of my clock and panicked a bit at the hour. I would get no sleep whatsoever, I thought, and tomorrow. I would be a mess and make one mistake after another during my violin lesson.
Once. before I actually did fall asleep -- or, rather, pass out-- I heard what sounded like approaching footsteps in the hallway and lifted my head from the pillow, expecting the door to open. Whoever it was paused, but then turned and descended the stairs. Stillness overtook the echo of those steps, and once again. I was drowning in silence. I let out a breath, closed my eyes, and tried desperately to think only good thoughts, to visualize my beautiful little lake back on the farm. remember Chandler's laughter and smile and all the wonderful things we whispered to each other so I could drift into sleep.
Sleep finally came, but like it would if I had been anesthetized. When sunlight streaked in. it stood at my bedside and waited impatiently for me to acknowledge morning. I knew that was true because when I finally did wake up. it was more than a half hour later than I needed to make my new schedule. After all. I had promised Mr. Bergman I could manage the earlier session. I had even bragged about how easy it was for me to be an early riser. Now what would he think of me?
I literally threw off my covers and leaped off the bed, rushing around to get myself showered and dressed, and did it all in less than half the usual time. I practically flew down the stairs.
There was still no one else at breakfast vet. Except for Mrs. Churchwell, there were no servants around either. Before I was finished eating, however, the girls and Howard began to stream into the dining room. I could see from the sleepy eves on all the girls that I was not the only one who had been in a desperate battle for some rest.
Steven, who looked like a somnambulist himself and who was the last to come to breakfast, was oblivious to how the rest of us looked, but I could see Howard had suspicious eyes. He continually glanced from one of us to another and asked delving questions like. "Anyone hear a lot of moving about in the hallway last night?"
Rose was the most obvious, turning constantly to Cinnamon for the answers. Finally, Howard came right out and asked what we were all up to.
"Who says we're up to anything. Howard?" Cinnamon returned,
"You look like a pack of conniving
conspirators. Roman senators planning the
assassination of Julius Caesar or someone of similar
importance . "
"Maybe you?" Ice said, smiling coolly. "Very funny. What's up. girls? What am I
missing here? The silence speaks volumes." "We stayed up late comparing notes about old
boyfriends," Cinnamon replied. "And decided that
none of them compared to you."
Steven laughed and Howard smirked and
nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Have your little girlie secrets.
See if I care."
"Thanks for giving us permission," Ice said.
She didn't say much, but when she did, it carried the
chill that her name suggested.
Howard glanced at her and then quickly
returned to his breakfast. There was no question she
intimidated him far more than Cinnamon did. "I've got to get to an early lesson," I said. "I'll
take care of my own dishes."
"Butter him up for me, will you?" Steven cried
after me.
Actually, my morning went relatively better
than I had expected it would. Somehow, when I put
my fingers to my bow and held my violin, my fatigue
took a back seat to my enthusiasm and I was able to
play well enough for Mr. Bergman to give me a real
compliment. However, it was couched in one of those
between-the-lines type of remarks.
"Madame Senetsky certainly has a gift for
recognizing exceptionally talented young people." he
said. He had taken me through what he called the
basics, moving me along quickly because of his
satisfaction with my performance at almost every
level,
"Thank you," I said. He looked at his planning
book and kept his eyes glued to the pages, ignoring
me, as if thank yous were unnecessary and even
embarrassing for him.
"We'll continue the same time tomorrow," he
said as a way of dismissing me.
I met Steven on my way out.
"How is he?" he whispered.
"Like a hungry raccoon," I said. "He'll tear
through anything."
"Huh?"
I laughed as I hurried away.
With the time I had in between my violin lesson
and my next session. I mailed out the letter to Uncle
Simon and then finished cleaning and organizing my
room. While I was doing so. I heard footsteps above
and paused to listen. It was the first time I had heard
anything above me. There was a shuffling and even
the squeaking sound of something metallic being
opened and closed. Both Howard and Cinnamon
should be in their drama class with Mr. Marlowe. I
thought. Ice was in her vocal lesson. Rose was at
dance class, and I knew where Steven was, Mrs. Ivers
was in the laundry room and Mrs. Churchwell was in
the kitchen. I had seen Madame Senetsky and Laura
Fairchild conversing in Madame SenetsWs office
below when I had hurried to the stairway. Who was
that up there?
Daddy used to say curiosity could often be like
a worm to a fish, dangling on a hook, drawing you
closer, drawing you into trouble, but it was hard to
resist.
I checked my watch, saw that I still had some
time, and went to the stairway leading up to the third
floor. All I had been told was there was a costume
room up there. I had vet to see it. I listened for a while at the foot of the short stairway, but heard nothing.
Then I slowly ascended.
The third floor was quite unlike the rest of the
house in which we lived and worked. There was only,
a single light fixture in the center of the ceiling,
halfway down the corridor. It was a weak light at that,
casting thin, soft shadows that caused the gray walls
to look like stone.
Apparently there was only one room up here. I
paused at the door, listened again, and then opened it.
The slight illumination from the hallway spilled in
b
efore me to reveal rows and rows of costumes. They
began just inside and ran the length of the room. I
found a light switch on the right side and flipped it on.
A series of bigger and brighter fixtures in brass lamp
shades lit up the room well enough for me to see
everything. On shelves above the costumes to my left
were all sorts of hats and helmets. Against the right
wall was another set of shelves, upon which were
props-- the swords Cinnamon and Howard were
playing with the day I arrived, the armor, canes and
magic wands, as well as crowns with imitation jewels.
Below that were pairs and pairs of shoes and boots,
slippers, and Indian moccasins.
The room felt dusty. Stepping into it, I sensed that once I moved something., a parade of particles would begin to float through the air, swimming from one set of costumes to another. The smell was musty, stale, as if the door to the room hadn't been opened in
years. Of course. I knew otherwise.
If this was the only room up here and there
were no other doors, who had been moving around?
To do what? No one had come down the stairs. "Hello?'" I called, wondering if someone was
deeper in the room, perhaps behind some costuming.
There was no response. I walked in further and then
followed the aisle on my right, past the rows of
costumes organized by century and style, from the
Middle Ages to the Roaring Twenties, with lots more
from other eras and styles on the opposite side of the
room.
I reached the rear of the room and started to go
around the other side in order to return to the doorway
when I saw what I realized was another door, behind a
pair of gowns that looked like they could have been
worn by Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. Where did this door go? It had a key in the
lock. Why was it practically hidden from sight, I
wondered. and I lifted the gowns away to turn the lock
and then try the knob. It turned, but the door opened to another door. Still curious. I put my ear to that door and listened. I thought I could hear someone singing to the music of what sounded like a mandolin. I knew
the sound well. It was a form of lute.
"Who's in here?" I heard, and spun around to
see Laura Fairchild in the doorway. She seemed to
swell in the doorway, her neck stretching, her eyes
beaming with rage.
As quietly as I could. I closed the door, locked
it again and stepped out into the aisle.
"Honey? What are you doing here?" she
demanded.
"I was just curious," I said. "I heard about the
costumes and wanted to see them."
"I've already instructed Howard and Cinnamon
not to touch anything in here again until they are told
to do so. You had no permission to be up here." "I'm sorry." I said. "I didn't really touch
anything."
She pursed her lips and gazed at me skeptically,
after which she looked into the room as if she would
be able to tell in an instant if I had moved a single
dress or boot.
"There's no reason for you to be on this floor,"
she emphasized. "I thought I heard someone above my room, and thought it might be one of the others," I explained. I knew it couldn't possibly be one of my fellow students, but she made me feel so guilty, her eyes narrowing with cold suspicion. that I thought I had better come up with some other sensible explanation, even though all I was guilty of was
curiosity.
"Isn't it time for your next session?" she asked,
or more like commanded.
"Yes."
"Then you had better get going."
I started out and she went further in. I hesitated
in the doorway. What was she doing? Was she really
checking to see if I had taken anything? How could
anyone keep track of all that was in here anyway?
And why would I take anything from the room? I lingered in the doorway and watched her trace
my steps toward the rear. Then she surprised me by
lifting away the old gowns as I had done and then
testing to see if the door was still locked. Suddenly
she spun around, as if she could feel my eyes on the
back of her neck.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Nothing," I said quickly and hurried away and
down the stairs. Where did that door go? Was
someone singing behind it? Who?
Curiosity was certainly a warm on a hook for
me. I thought. And like the perennial fish, it would
Zet me in trouble. too. I felt sure of that.
After our speech lesson, during which we were
each recorded reading a selection from James Joyce's
Ulysses for Mr. Masters. I pulled Cinnamon aside and
told her what I had heard and what I had done. "I didn't see any door in the rear of the
wardrobe room when Howard and I went up there,"
she said. "But maybe that was because I didn't go all
the way back and didn't look behind those costumes
you said were hanging in front of it. Howard and I got
excited over the armor, which was close to the front,
and got into that. Our Ms. Fairchild did tell Howard to
tell me to stay out of the room until we were
instructed to go there for a specific thing, but I didn't
think much of that. You said you distinctly heard
footsteps and then you heard someone singing?" "Yes. I'm sure that's what it was," I said. "Of
course, it could have been someone listening to
music.'
"You're sure of what?" Ice asked, catching up
with us. I told her all of it briefly. She didn't look
surprised.
"I've heard someone above at night," she
revealed. "or what I thought was someone above, but I
haven't heard anyone singing or any music playing." "I never did before." I said.
"Ice's room is directly under the costume
room," Cinnamon remarked.
"I'm sure I heard footsteps, but there was no
one there in the costume room." I said.
"Did you try to open the second door?"
Cinnamon asked.
"I didn't have a chance. Ms. Fairchild appeared
as suddenly as a ghost. I closed the first door and
"Let's not think it's Howard's ghost of Mr.
Senetsky again," she pleaded.
Cinnamon thought a moment. Rose was coming
along with Steven.
"Don't say anything to Rose just yet. She's
spooked enough by what we found last night." We agreed and went on to our vocal class. Mr.
Littleton had decided to turn us into a little chorus.
with Ice, of course, singing lead. We had an
opportunity to really hear her vocalize, and all of us.
even Howard, were very impressed.
Later, when we confronted each other in dance
class in our dance costumes. Steven took a lot of
ribbing from Howard, who baptized him Mr.
Toothpick Legs. Mr. Demetrius employed Rose as his
assistant to help us develop fundamental moves and
exercises. She truly had a striking figure, and moved
with such grace and east, she was inspiring to watch
and to try to emulate. She seemed made of rubber,
able to turn, twist and mo
ve in defiance of gravity
itself.
While we were working in the studio.
Cinnamon nudged me and nodded toward the
doorway.
There, apparently observing us for some time.
was Edmond Senetsky. Rose saw that we were
looking behind her and turned and saw him there as
well. She suddenly became very nervous. A moment
later, he was gone. She looked back at us and then
caught Howard gazing at her, a big fat Cheshire cat
smile spread over his face.
"Did y'all see him?" Rose asked immediately at
the end of the dance session. "Maybe he returned to
the school to get his scarf."
"Not in the daytime." Cinnamon insisted. "He
couldn't risk being seen up there. He'd have no
explanation for it."
"One of us has a real fan," Howard Rockwell
sang as he walked by us. He rolled his eyes and
laughed.
"Stuff it. Howard," Cinnamon called after him. "There's no doubt in my mind that if Howard
found out what we've discovered and planned to do,
he would make more trouble for us." Ice remarked,
glaring after him with eves that looked capable of
drilling a hole through a steel wall.
"Forget about him," Cinnamon said. "We'll
follow our plan tonight."
After we completed the school day, we all went
up to shower and rest before dinner. Tonight, we were
told, we would be enjoying a French meal, and we
would be given a lecture about wines as well.
Madame Senetsky would be at this dinner to observe
us. Laura Fairchild said.
"French food happens to be her favorite," she
added. "Everyone is to be on his or her best behavior
and look presentable."
After I took my shower and lay down to get
some rest. I fell into a deep sleep. I was that exhausted
from tossing and turning, fretting in and out of
nightmares the night before, and now, equally tired from a day of tension as well. Unfortunately. I slept so deeply. I didn't wake even when the others were talking and making noise outside my room. I didn't even hear Cinnamon knocking on my door. I woke
only when I felt her shaking me vigorously. "Whaaa...?"
I gazed at all three of them, dressed and ready
for dinner, standing beside my bed.
"Oh, no!" I screamed and sat up. "What time is