The Daring Escape of Beatrice and Peabody (17 page)

You can tell Ruth Ellen’s mama is running the whole thing through her mind and she’s not sure what she should do.

Then Sammy is pulling on her sleeve, telling her it is almost time for
The Adventures of Superman
to come on the radio and he doesn’t want to miss any of it.

Ruth Ellen’s mama mulls things over. She looks at how the library is so neat and everything is polished and how there are little lace cloths on all the sofas in the parlour. I watch her line up on one side of her mind why she should let me be and on the other why she should take me home.

‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly. ‘My aunts must have just stepped out for a walk.’

‘Mom, I don’t want to miss my show,’ says Sammy, grabbing her arm and pulling.

Then she hugs me. ‘You can stay with us any time you want, Bee,’ she whispers.

I nod. ‘I will think about it.’ It takes quite a bit more convincing that I am really all right, and finally they go.

Mrs Potter hobbles into the library with a big slice of honey cake and sits on the couch.

‘Where were you?’ I snap.

‘Right here, just like always.’

‘Well, no one could see you. No one can ever see you. Except me.’ I look at my dog. ‘And Peabody.’

‘Yes, I guess not.’ Mrs Potter gives Peabody a bite of cake.

‘Well, I could use some help sometimes.’

She scratches Peabody between the ears. ‘Some things you have to do for yourself, Beatrice.’

‘But I do EVERYTHING for myself.’

‘It’s better this way. It will make you strong. Now come sit beside me.’ She pats the sofa. I look at the two of them snuggled up, and go over to the other side of the room and sit in Mrs Swift’s chair.

I sigh many times to show her how mad I am. She pretends she cannot hear.

‘Ruth Ellen’s mama said Mrs Swift was an abolitionist and suffragist a long time ago.’

‘I know, I heard.’ Mrs Potter gives Peabody the rest of the cake.

‘I thought the cake was for you.’

‘A bite is all I need these days.’ She rubs Peabody’s back. Her fingers are thin as the pen on the desk.

‘How come you didn’t tell me my mama lived here?’

Mrs Potter doesn’t look up from scratching Peabody. She is scratching his belly now. ‘We were going to tell you when it was time.’

‘Well, don’t you think it is time?’ I am very hot. ‘How old are you?’ I ask.

She stops scratching. She takes her time answering me. ‘I’m old enough to be your grandmother, Bee.’

‘How come you don’t let anyone see you but me?’

Mrs Potter laughs. ‘Who’d want to look at me? I’m not much to look at.’ She straightens her shawl.

Her skin is soft and creased and very old and she has gotten much thinner since I started going to school and making friends with Ruth Ellen. I look at her closely: her hair pulled up in a tight bun, her pink shawl cinched with a large safety pin, her cane leaning against the couch.

Mrs Potter chuckles. She sips her tea and puts the cup on the side table. Then she holds her arm out. ‘Here, touch me, Bee. I know what you are wondering. Do I feel real?’

I go over and sit beside her. I put my fingers on her arm. Her skin is warm and soft and wrinkled and old. I lift it to my face and feel it against my cheek. Her arm smells like rose water.

‘Who are you, then?’ I whisper.

Mrs Potter leans over and hugs me. I smell the warm wool of her shawl and feel the tenderness in her arms as they wrap around me.

‘Maybe if you thought of us as your companions you’d be getting it right,’ she whispers in my ear.

It is a voice light as air.

That night Pauline’s notebook is sitting on my pillow. This time I don’t stuff it under my mattress. I open to the first page:

How could she leave me?

Peabody pushes my door open and comes in and jumps up on my bed when he hears me crying. He circles until he finds just the right spot near my belly. He whines when I cry, so I make myself stop so we can both fall asleep.

The next morning, the notebook is back on my bed.

I throw it across the room.

I hurry downstairs and find Mrs Potter and Mrs Swift in the kitchen talking quietly.

‘I want you to tell me about my mama,’ I say, sitting down beside them. ‘And I want you to tell me who you are and why only I can see you.’

Mrs Potter opens her mouth but Mrs Swift waves her hand and shakes her head slowly. Mrs Potter closes her mouth.

‘Not now, Beatrice. Later, when we are rested.’

Already their edges are beginning to blur, like the wind is blowing awful hard. I pack my school lunch and do not bother to cut them cake. They wouldn’t eat it anyway.

At school, we are greeted with an empty teacher’s desk. There are no knitting needles and no baby blanket.

We are like this for the whole day, with the lady in the half-moon glasses coming in to check on us and teachers up and down the hall taking turns. None of the teachers stays very long and no one tells us anything.

Left to ourselves, we read
Heidi
. Jonathan gets the blanket from the corner where the janitor leaves it all folded up now. He spreads it out and then we all pile on top, giving Ruth Ellen lots of room for her brace. We are past the part where the little bundled-up girl meets her crabby grandfather who no one likes very much.

Susan does not understand all the words, but my voice settles her down and she loves to lie snuggled up to Ruth Ellen. Even Robert and Thomas like the book. I can tell because when I say I am so parched I am sounding like a frog, Robert is the first one to the pitcher getting me a drink of water.

But on Monday everything is different when we walk into class.

White ruffled curtains hang in the windows. The glass
has been polished. Best of all, soft music is playing on the Victrola.

I look over at Ruth Ellen. Her mouth drops open. Jonathan rushes right over to the Victrola.

A tall woman stands up from the rocking chair. Her back is as straight as the map pointer she holds at her side. Her hair is piled on top of her head and her glasses are perched on her nose. Instantly everyone is quiet. Susan hides behind Ruth Ellen and the rest of us are starched shirts, folding all the noisy pieces of ourselves into place.

‘I am your new teacher, Miss Healy. Please take your seats.’ The woman pronounces every word like she has read the dictionary many times. She does not raise her voice and she does not smile.

We rush to our seats.

‘Slowly, slowly. I do not allow running.’ She moves over to her desk. It is covered with books. Our
Heidi
sits on top.

‘I do not allow whispering or chewing on your hair or any shenanigans whatsoever. There will be no talking when you are doing seat work. Children will sit at their tables until it is time for recess. We will have three recesses a day because children need a lot of fresh air. We will eat our lunch outdoors when the weather is promising.’

I look over at Ruth Ellen, raising my eyebrows. ‘Three recesses?’ I whisper.

‘Young lady?’ It seems Miss Healy has ears on the
back of her shoes. Otherwise, how does she know I am whispering when she is looking over at Jonathan?

I shiver.

‘I do not like secrets. Do you have something to share?’

I shake my head quickly.

‘No, ma’am,’ I whisper.

It takes us about two minutes to realise Miss Healy does not knit and does not do anything like Mrs Spriggs. First of all Miss Healy has very definite ideas of what we should be doing with our time and she walks around and around the class making sure we are doing it. I bet she walks a mile before lunch.

She stops by Susan many, many times. Susan is having trouble staying in her seat, which is no surprise to me or Ruth Ellen or anybody else, but it takes Miss Healy a few minutes to catch on.

‘Perhaps you’d like the rocking chair?’ she asks finally, and Susan flies over and spends the rest of the morning rocking and looking through the fat Sears catalogue Miss Healy brought to class. ‘What do you see, Susan?’

Susan keeps climbing off the rocking chair and plods off to be near Ruth Ellen, but Miss Healy reminds her that Ruth Ellen is busy with her own work and perhaps Susan can find a picture of a boot. After that she looks for a rain slicker and then a hat.

‘Very good, Susan. That is very, very good.’ Miss Healy gives her a chunk of soft banana and a big hug. Susan
stuffs it into her mouth and looks happily into Miss Healy’s eyes. ‘I lub you.’ Miss Healy smiles softly, clears her throat and walks over to see what Jonathan is doing.

He is looking out the window at the leaves on the maples that are now golden. He nods his head to the Glenn Miller music that is playing softly.

He has not run around the room once. He hasn’t looked in the trash bucket, either.

Miss Healy rubs Jonathan’s back. ‘Do you like that music, Jonathan?’ He nods. ‘Why don’t you draw me a picture of what that music feels like? Can you do that for me?’

She puts a fresh piece of starched paper in front of him, and a brand-new box of crayons. Jonathan dumps the crayons out and looks at them for a while. Ruth Ellen and I are holding our breath, the crayons are so new and perfect.

When Ruth Ellen and I come outdoors for recess, Francine and her friends are standing where we always stand, up against the building. I think they want a good look at our new teacher.

‘Hey!’ says Jonathan. ‘Why are you in our place?’

We all watch Francine to see what she will say. She is wearing the same dress from her papa. All I can think about is how I spat on her the last time I saw her. And now I know about how her papa ran off with that showgirl.

Francine takes a step closer and points her finger at my chest. ‘You spit on me again and I’ll make you eat the dirt you play on, you little retard.’ She pushes me. ‘Maybe I’ll do it anyway.’ She laughs and then her friends pull her away before Miss Healy sees anything and they run off for games no one asks us to join.

Miss Healy pulls her skirt up past her knees and runs back and forth from the building to the broken basketball hoop. She is out of breath when she gets back and her face is very red, but she turns around and runs again and again. It is rather funny to see a teacher run. She bounces
a lot, and she gallops. It is surely something we have never seen before.

Ruth Ellen and I try not to laugh at the way Miss Healy looks sort of like an old horse. Susan holds on to Ruth Ellen because she didn’t have enough hugging while she was sitting in the rocking chair. Thomas and Robert crawl around the stone foundation of the schoolhouse. Jonathan kicks a puddle, splashing mud up on his pants.

Miss Healy stops in front of us and lets her skirt fall back to her shins and she pants for a while to catch her breath. ‘Why are you just standing here?’

Susan wraps herself around Ruth Ellen’s arm. There is a bunch of screaming over by the hopscotch because Francine must have won the game. Miss Healy is waiting for an answer.

‘We aren’t supposed to mix,’ I say finally, my cheeks hot because I have to say it out loud.

Miss Healy stands there looking at me, all out of breath from her running, and I feel a little hot under her glare.

‘Phooey,’ she says finally. ‘This playground is for everyone. Now, go play.’

Holy moly. We watch her lift her skirt to her knees and run off for the basketball hoop again.

Robert wants to know if I can keep reading.

Miss Healy looks out at the class, with everyone looking all happy with the prospect.

‘Well, certainly. After all that fresh air, a book would be wonderful.’

Before she has a chance to say anything else, Robert is up getting
Heidi
off her desk and Thomas is unfolding the blanket and spreading it on the floor. Susan is grabbing Ruth Ellen’s hand, pulling her over, and then we all pile around each other and Robert is handing me the book.

‘Where were we?’ I ask, testing them to see if they were listening.

‘Heidi is all alone with the mean grandfather,’ Thomas says.

Jonathan is nodding. Susan snuggles up to Ruth Ellen.

‘Okay,’ I say, taking a big breath:

‘“Where am I going to sleep, grandfather?”

‘“Wherever you want to,” he replied. That suited Heidi exactly. She peeped into all the corners of the room and looked at every little nook to find a cosy place to sleep. Beside the old man’s bed she saw a ladder. Climbing up,
she arrived at a hayloft, which was filled with fresh and fragrant hay. Through a tiny round window she could look far down into the valley. “I want to sleep up here,” Heidi called down. “Oh, it is lovely here. Please come up, grandfather, and see it for yourself.”’

While I am reading, Miss Healy drags the rocking chair over and sits beside us. She begins winding Mrs Spriggs’s bits of yarn into a ball. I don’t let myself get too interrupted because I am reading about Heidi’s new bedroom. I know how important it is to have a bedroom that helps you feel good about things.

‘“I am making the bed now,” the little girl called out again, while she ran busily to and fro. “Oh, do come up and bring a sheet, grandfather, for every bed must have a sheet.”

‘“Is that so?” said the old man. After a while he opened the cupboard and rummaged around in it. At last he pulled out a long coarse cloth from under the shirts. It somewhat resembled a sheet, and with this he climbed up to the loft. Here a neat little bed was already prepared. On top the hay was heaped up high so that the head of the occupant would lie exactly opposite the window.’

Miss Healy reaches over and gently pulls my hair back from my face and ties it with a piece of yellow yarn.

‘You can’t see where you’re going with your hair hanging in your face all the time, Beatrice.’

Without my curtain, I am a window with the light pouring through.