Restoring Harmony (9 page)

17

GRANDPA AND I WERE PICKING OUR WAY ALONG the creek that ran behind the house. I wanted to make a stew, and Grandpa had suggested I build a fire in his stone fountain on the sunporch, but we needed fuel. We’d scoured the underbrush close by for anything we could burn but hadn’t found much, so we were expanding our search.

“It’s those squatters,” Grandpa mumbled. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his sweaty nose. Even in the heat he was wearing pants and a button-down long-sleeve shirt.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I added a few small branches to the burlap sack. We’d found it in the garage and were using it to hold anything we were lucky enough to get.

“When times got tough,” he explained, “most of our neighbors moved away to live with their grown kids. For a while, your grandma and I were practically the only ones on the whole street. Now squatters live in almost every house. And they’ve already collected all the firewood.”

“Are they . . . dangerous?”

“Oh, probably not.” He added a long, skinny branch to the bag and it stuck out the top. “They’re just homeless, I guess. But you should be careful. Don’t talk about the garden to anyone. You don’t want Doug to have to defend it.”

“Really? Would he have to?”

“Well,” Grandpa said, “that’s why he came here last summer. His sister and her husband asked him to because they
said
they needed a guard at night.”

“Wow.”

“I don’t think they really needed one, though,” Grandpa explained. “His sister, Courtney, she knew Doug was down on his luck, but he wouldn’t take her charity, so I think she made up a story about people stealing from the garden at night.”

From what I knew about Doug, that sounded about right. He would’ve wanted to seem useful if he was going to live off his sister. Grandpa added a few pinecones to the bag to use as fire starters while I sat on a boulder and dug a stone out of my sandal.

“His sister and husband lived here last year?” I asked. “You mean they died that recently?”

For some reason, I thought it had been a while. I guess because of the way Brandy talked about it like it was no big deal. Of course, when you’re six, even a few months is a long time. I picked up some sticks for kindling.

Grandpa nodded. “Flu,” he said. “Over the winter. Both the husband and wife, and the baby too. I guess Doug didn’t know I was a doctor. He never asked for help.”

“That’s just awful,” I said. My nose prickled in that funny way like when you’re about to tear up over something sad but you’re not actually going to cry. “He never told me.”

Grandpa put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “Yeah, well . . . he used to be a lot more friendly. We talked some last summer, but since they died . . . he keeps to himself. At least he did until you forced your way into the garden.”

He smiled at me, so I knew he was just teasing. We’d reached the end of the housing development and the creek disappeared into some woods. There was a big sign that said
PRIVATE PROPERTY
and three strings of barbed wire blocking our way.

“Can you get through the fence if I hold the wire up?” Grandpa asked.

“Probably, but I don’t want to get shot or anything.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I know the guy who owns this land.”

He grabbed the top wire and lifted it, and I scooted in between, grazing my calf.

“Ow.”

“You’re fine,” he said.

“Gee, thanks! Are you coming?”

“No way. I’m too old to run if we have to make a quick getaway.” He saw the shocked look on my face and laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Ben Jamieson was a doctor at the hospital with me. He’s pretty good with a golf club, but I doubt he’s ever shot a gun. Besides, he lives way on the other side of the property. Just go look in the underbrush for a few logs.”

I sighed. I hoped Grandpa knew what he was doing. Or rather, what I was doing! I walked along the creek into the deep shadows of the fir trees. Silence enveloped me, and the scent of pine made my heart churn with homesickness. If only I knew how Mom was doing . . . Maybe now that she’d heard Grandma was alive, her mind had eased. I hoped so.

The squatters had obviously ignored the
PRIVATE PROPERTY
sign too and weren’t concerned about getting shot because there was a beaten footpath along the creek and not much wood in the brush. What was there was mostly too big to haul away. Off the path I found enough branches to fill the bag until it was too heavy to carry. We went back for three loads before we called it quits. In the yard, Grandpa and I collapsed on the blanket next to Grandma, hot, sweaty, and exhausted.

“Wait,” she said, getting up.

“Oh, we’re not going anywhere,” I told her.

She came back with two tall glasses of water, and Grandpa and I drank them down gratefully. Then I got up to stack the wood somewhere dry. The sky was so empty and blue that it didn’t look like it would ever rain again, but you couldn’t be too careful.

“Just leave it on the grass,” Grandpa said. “Your grandma will stack it under the eaves.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “I can take care of it.”

“No,” he said. “I want her to do it as part of her physiotherapy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Me,” Grandma said. “I’ll do it.”

I watched her pick up a few sticks in her scrawny arms and carry them towards the house.

“For a while,” Grandpa said, “she was making really good progress. We did physio and speech therapy every day, but then she just lost interest. I think she was depressed. She seems happier now that you’re here, and I’m determined to get her doing stuff again.”

“Well . . . all right. If you say so.”

I smiled to myself. I couldn’t help thinking he might just be getting Grandma in shape to make the trip back to Canada.

It wasn’t quite the eleventh hour when we sat down to steaming bowls of vegetable stew, but it was close. Grandpa didn’t think we should eat the meat either, and he’d thrown it in the burn pile he had going on the other side of the creek.

“Who taught you to cook?” he asked.

“Mom.”

“Breeee,” Grandma said.

“Is the stew all right?” I asked.

“It’s okay,” he said. And then he laughed. “It’s great. Thanks.”

The spoon gave Grandma too much trouble because of the paralysis on one side of her mouth so she slurped hers directly from the bowl. She managed to get down two full servings, which said exactly what she thought of it, and my heart soared. I couldn’t take care of my own mother right now, but I could feed my grandmother to help get her strong and restore her health.

We’d been outside all afternoon and evening, but I hadn’t heard Doug or the kids through the fence like I usually did. He had to be home from the market by now, didn’t he? I decided to take them some stew, and I made my way through the garden by moonlight. Doug’s electricity was turned off too.

“Brandy? Michael?”

“Molly?” answered a tiny voice.

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you guys?”

By the time I got to the French doors, they were standing there peering out at me. “How come you don’t have a lantern? Where’s your uncle?”

“He’s not back yet,” Brandy said.

Michael stood silently by her side. He still hadn’t said a single word to me in the week I’d been here, no matter how I’d tried coaxing him. In fact, I hadn’t heard him talk to anyone and wondered if he could.

“Come out here and have some stew,” I said. “I’ll get some bowls from inside.”

The house was laid out almost exactly like Grandma and Grandpa’s, but the only furniture was a lumpy-looking couch and two cots where the kids obviously slept. I found some bowls, spoons, and a lantern in the kitchen and took it all back outside, where I dished up warm stew.

“Have you eaten anything?” I asked.

They shook their heads as they spooned the food into their mouths, chomping like starving animals.

“Is your uncle usually gone this long?”

Brandy shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“When you’re finished, I think you should go to bed.”

“I don’t want to,” Brandy whined.

“If you crawl into your cots,” I said, “I’ll run home and get my fiddle and play you some tunes to help you sleep.”

“Really? Okay!” she agreed.

“Into bed, then.”

For all her protests, Brandy was sound asleep when I got back with Jewels. I played a few quiet lullabies, but Michael lay there, wide-eyed, watching me. Some people can’t sleep when there’s music playing, so I quit after a while and settled onto the couch to wait.

I must’ve fallen asleep because, when something crashed in the hallway, I woke up disoriented and confused. A second crash brought me to my feet. The lantern was still burning, but very faintly, and I looked around for something to defend myself with. Brandy turned over on her cot, but didn’t wake. Michael sat up, startled. I’d just picked up my fiddle case to use as a weapon when Doug stumbled into the room. I could smell the booze on him from where I stood.

“Shhhhhh,” he said really loudly. “They’re sleeping.” And then he swayed forward and crumpled to the floor.

18

July 21st-Never refuse any advance of friendship, for if nine out of ten bring you nothing, one alone may repay you.

-Madame de Tencin

DOUG NEVER MENTIONED COMING HOME DRUNK, so I didn’t either. After a week, I’d found myself in a daily rhythm. I’d weed each morning, and sometimes he’d join me-other times he wouldn’t. Then I’d go back to my room and lose myself in music, playing Jewels for two or three hours. It was impossible to worry about Mom with the notes running through my mind.

One night I had a horrible dream that my mother had died, and the next day, even the music wouldn’t block out the image of my sister Katie weeping and telling me I’d failed my family. I packed Jewels in her case, feeling angry that she’d let me down somehow.

I didn’t want my grandparents to see my bad mood, so I walked down to the market in the lazy afternoon sunshine. I’d never really explored it, except the produce stalls. This time I wandered down a row of stands selling goods, things like overalls, fabric, and yarn. Most of the material was sturdy cotton, used for making work dresses and shirts, but at one stall, a woman sat in a chair and all around her drapes of silky fabrics floated colorfully on the breeze.

“These are beautiful,” I said.

She nodded. My hand reached out and touched a piece of sky-blue silk. It was exactly the color that Katie had been talking about me wearing at her wedding. So far I had refused to believe I might not make it back in time. I had to be there. You don’t miss a family wedding. Especially your sister’s. Tears welled up in my eyes. The idea of not being at Katie’s wedding combined with my horrible nightmare was just too much. I had to get home, and I had to do it soon.

“Hi, Handsome Molly,” Spill said. He’d come around the end of the aisle. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His eyes were so warm, like he was happy to see me, and his look washed away a bit of my homesickness. I tried to smile back, but I knew it looked forced. “Hi.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure.” I brushed at a tear. “Just dust in my eye.”

He looked at me like he knew the truth, but he didn’t press me. “I went to the house to get you,” he said, pushing his hair away from his face, “and your grandpa said you were here. I have to make that delivery now, and I was hoping you could come along.”

This was exactly what I needed! A chance to tell my parents I was okay, and maybe there’d even be a message from one of them. “I don’t want to get you in any trouble,” I said, “but it would be so great to email my parents. I know they’re worried. I’ve been gone almost two weeks already.”

“No problem,” he said. “I just need to get my bike and cart.”

We wove our way through the market into the scary part and walked past one of the tents where men were playing cards. I thought I saw Doug, but I didn’t stop to double-check. It wasn’t like I was going to talk to him if he was there anyway.

“I don’t really like this section,” I told Spill.

“You’re okay as long as you’re with me.” I moved a bit closer to him. “Why were you crying just now?” he asked.

“I wasn’t.”

“You
were
.”

“Okay, I was. But . . . it’s just . . . I’m supposed to be in a wedding, maid of honor for my sister . . . and that blue silk reminded me of it.”

“When’s the big day?”

“Not until the end of September. The thing is, I’m good at farmwork, but I’m a really slow seamstress. I’d pretty much have to start making my dress now in order to have it done.”

We’d reached the edge of the market, and Spill stopped at a white tent. “Wait here,” he said. A few minutes later he came out pushing his bike. He’d replaced his usual small trailer with one that was much larger than I would’ve thought you could pull with a bicycle.

It had high sides and was wide enough that I bet you could put two big bales of hay in it. Of course, then it would be too heavy to move without a horse, so it wouldn’t do you much good. Mysterious things bulged under the tarp.

“You’ll have to walk,” he said. “I’ll let you ride on the way home.”

“That’s fine.”

He rode up the hill towards my grandparents’ house, and I followed on foot. In spite of the hill, and his load, he kept up a good clip.

“Okay,” I panted after a few minutes. “Just tell me where we’re going and I’ll meet you there.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to go slow. I guess maybe you’ll have to ride in the trailer after all.” He stopped, peeked under the tarp, and then told me I could sit on one of the crates he had near the back.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t see how you can pull it at all, and with me in there-”

“It’s a military trailer,” he said. “The tires are a special design, extremely high pressure, and made to have the least amount of rolling resistance possible. You want to try pulling it?”

So instead of getting in, I took a seat on the bike while Spill jogged alongside me. The trailer was definitely heavy, but nothing like what I’d expected. It rolled along so smoothly, without any friction, making the load feel like it was propelling itself. We definitely needed one of these for the farm. After a few minutes, he took over riding again, and I sat in the back. The road twisted and climbed through more neighborhoods with overgrown shrubs and trees crowding together.

“Spill? Can I ask you a question?”

“I might not be able to answer it.”

“It’s not about you. It’s about my grandparents.”

“I definitely won’t be able to answer it, then,” he said, laughing. “I hardly know them.”

“I’m just wondering why if they were rich enough to buy such a nice house, and my grandpa was a doctor for so long, they don’t have any money.”

“My guess is no liquid assets.”

“What do you mean?”

Spill was pulling us up a pretty steep hill, but he never lost his breath at all and continued to talk normally. “People with old money are still rich,” he explained. “And there have always been, and always will be, the poor.”

We reached the top of the hill, and the road flattened out into open countryside.

“For a while,” he continued, “there were people like your grandparents, who earned good salaries and reinvested their savings in technology and real estate. They made money fast, but it was mostly on paper. They were rich in assets but usually had a ton of debt. When the Collapse came, they lost everything.”

“Oh.”

“The truly rich knew that the oil was almost gone and that the governments of the bigger countries would have to make a move of some sort,” he continued. “People with money were connected. They had inside information and knew once the oil was gone, everything would collapse. It was pretty obvious the U.S. would be hit the hardest because all the way through the twenties we still had an oil-based economy.”

This all sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention in school instead of thinking about music all the time.

“The smartest thing the wealthy did,” Spill said, “was trade their U.S. dollars for gold and euros. Everyone knew Europe would fare better after the impending crash.”

“Because they’d been preparing for it for fifty years, right?” I said. I guess I had been listening a little in history class.

“Right.”

We’d gone about eight kilometers when Spill turned down a gravel road. Ahead of us stood a monster house! This must be what Mom and Dad call a Pasture Palace. It was pale-pink brick with arched windows and two chimneys that reached up to the sky. I stared at it in awe. This house was at least twice as big as my grandfather’s four-thousand-square-foot castle.

The gravel gave way to a long brick drive that led almost to the front of the house but then curved to the left. We passed through an archway and came around to the back. In the distance was a lake. Not a pond, but an actual lake in their backyard.

“Okay. Here’s the deal,” Spill said. “Mr. Polodichuck probably won’t come down because he doesn’t like to talk to ‘the help,’ and Mrs. Polodichuck is usually resting in her room at this time of day. Mrs. Miller is the housekeeper, and she’ll let you inside.”

“To use the computer?”

“Well . . . actually, you’re going to have to be sneaky about it because there’s no way they’d let you use it. That’s why you can’t use CyberSpeak. It keeps a record of your conversation. Email’s more secure because you have to sign in to your account.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” My stomach already had butterflies.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t worry.” He pushed the bike and trailer up close to the back door. “Once you’re in the kitchen, there’s a little built-in desk for housekeeping stuff. I used the computer once to check on an order, so I know it’s there. Okay?”

“I guess. . . .” This did not sound good.

“Just use it quick and get out of there.”

“Won’t she notice?”

“I have to stack everything outside the door, and Mrs. Miller stands out here with me, checking things off the list.”

“What happens if we get caught?”

“We’re not gonna get caught. Be bold, Handsome Molly.”

I took a deep breath for courage. I could do this, I told myself. I’d done a lot scarier things in the last two weeks.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

He took the tarp off the trailer and handed me a large wooden box. I’m strong, but my knees buckled under the weight. “My God, what’s in here?”

“Sherry,” he said.

I set the box down beside the pile he had started by the door. Sherry? Hadn’t Spill told me that booze was really hard to get? He’d said he was a delivery boy, but I was starting to worry about who he might work for.

“If anyone asks, say you’re with Quinn,” he told me.

“Ha! Now I know your name.”

He just shook his head. “Like these people know my
real
one.”

“Oh.” How many names did he have?

I straightened my sweaty shirt while he knocked on the kitchen door. A woman in a long, black housedress answered, and a whoosh of cold air streamed out of the doorway. Unbelievable. They actually had air-conditioning. I’d heard of it, but I didn’t know anyone who could afford it.

“You’re late, Quinn,” Mrs. Miller said.

“Sorry. I’ll unload quickly.”

“I’ll get my clipboard,” she said.

“Wait. Mrs. Miller? This is my cousin Miranda. I was just wondering if she could come inside for a minute and sit down. The heat’s really getting to her.”

I made my face go kind of slack to look like I didn’t feel good.

“Oh, I don’t know, Quinn,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “The rules-”

“I know, but . . . I thought the air-conditioning . . . well, never mind. Maybe she can just go down to the lake and splash some water on her face.”

“No, no . . . that’s not a good idea. Mr. Polodichuck wouldn’t like her down by his boat.” She studied me. “All right, come in for just a minute, Miranda.”

I smiled feebly and followed her inside.

“Sit there,” she said, pointing to the little desk chair. “I’ll get you some water.”

Spill was standing in the doorway, and I gave him the thumbs-up. The air was as cool as the creek in the spring! I gulped in satisfying deep breaths. She handed me a glass of water with ice in it, and then the two of them went outside and shut the door. I was in! I turned to face the desk, but I couldn’t see a computer anywhere. Would they have moved it? Spill seemed so sure this would be easy.

Think, Molly, think.

Of course! It was built into the desk. I ran my fingers under the edge and found the power button. An infrared keyboard appeared instantly and the wall lit up, showing the desktop. High-definition projection. Wow! The color was so strong and three dimensional that I wanted to reach out and grab the spinning apple and take a bite.

Spill’s voice outside the kitchen snapped me out of my daze and reminded me to hurry. I typed in my info to bring up my email program, but nothing happened. The apple continued to spin, antagonizing me. Did I need a password? How could I possibly guess?

“Damn,” I said aloud.

“May I help you?” asked a smooth computer voice.

I jumped. It was voice activated. “Zippee email site,” I whispered.

“One moment.”

The screen instantly changed to Zippee and the sign-in page. I typed my name into the box, but nothing showed up.

“What the-”

“May I help you?” asked the computer’s cool voice again.

“Quiet!” This time when I tapped a few keys and swore the computer asked in a quieter voice if it could help. “Keyboard,” I growled, realizing how stupid I’d been.

Keyboard is now active
ran along the bottom of the projection.

I signed in. There were a few old emails from some school friends, but I didn’t have time to read them. Quickly I typed in email addresses for Mom, Dad, Katie, and Aunt Poppy, and then I wrote my message.

I’m all right. Still with Grandma & Grandpa. Will rtn
ASAP. No $. Working on it. Don’t worry. Love, M
P.S. Tell Mom to stay in bed.
P.P.S. Delay the wedding! PLEASE!!!!!

I hit send, and relief washed over me like the air conditioner, but then I heard a noise in another part of the house. Footsteps! I quickly typed
shutdown,
and the computer’s projection and the keyboard disappeared. I jumped up and ran for the door, slipping out and closing it quietly behind me.

“Everything okay, Miranda?” Spill asked.

“Fine. Everything’s fine. Thanks.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, winking at me.

I looked at the stack of boxes he’d unloaded. Sherry, fruit, a freezer box with
HYPERFOIL FOR ALL YOUR NEEDS
printed on the side, which was probably full of meat. I kind of admired that he could get things the average person couldn’t, but it also scared me a little. Who was this guy? And did I really want to owe him?