The Humming Room (8 page)

It was late morning when Roo finally left the garden. The door that led outside was badly warped and stuck tight, but with some effort she managed to budge it. A thick covering of ivy pulled away from the house as the door opened. Now she could see why she had never noticed the door before; the vines had grown so thickly over this side of the house that it had completely concealed it. This was the back of the house, too, where the space between the banks and the house itself was so narrow, and the drop so precipitous, that Roo hadn't spent much time there.

Outside, the sun shone bright but the air felt cool against her hot, damp skin. As she started back toward the front entrance of the house, she plotted how she might return to the garden. It would be tricky to get past Mrs. Wixton again. Maybe she could make some sort of deal with the old lady. She wouldn't run off again if Mrs. Wixton would give her an hour a day to herself. She could do a lot in an hour. She could clear the garden more thoroughly, getting rid of all the dead branches and leaves. The garden would need water too—the little trickles from rainwater weren't enough. She could haul in water from the river.

Roo had just rounded the corner of the house, when a voice came from down by the banks.

“Was this your little hidey-hole?”

Turning sharply, Roo saw Violet kneeling by the jutting rock that marked the little cave. “You must be part snake to have squeezed in there,” Violet said.

“Mrs. Wixton told,” Roo said.

“Mrs. Wixton has been fired.”

“Really?” Roo's voice brightened at the news, but Violet's expression was uncharacteristically grim.

“We found her looking around some empty rooms this morning. Ms. Valentine got suspicious.” Violet shook her head, her brown eyes severe. “Do you realize we've been turning the house inside out all morning, looking for you? Ms. Valentine's been frantic. She thought you might have drowned.”

“And now she'll see that I'm fine,” Roo replied.

She met Violet's gaze, but Violet looked away.

“What?” Roo asked. Her stomach suddenly felt queasy. “What will she do?” She watched Violet's mouth tighten. “Will she send me away?”

“This is not a good place for you, Roo.”

“Yes, it is,” Roo insisted, her voice rising.

“No, Roo. It's not really a good place for anyone.”

“
You
stay,” Roo accused.

“I'm paid to stay. I have three little sisters back on Donkey and a mom who's raising them on her own. I need this job. And I'm needed here. You're not.”

Roo thought of the garden, of the freshly cleared earth, bare now but full of possibilities.

I
am
needed here
, she thought.

“Come on,” Violet said. She walked over to Roo and took her hand, squeezing it once. “Let's go inside and get this over with. Ms. Valentine will be so relieved to see you she might forget to tear you into bits and feed you to the gulls.”

 

Ms. Valentine
was
relieved. In fact, at the sight of Roo, she rushed up and hugged her; but the hug was brief and the fury quickly followed.

“We've tried with you, Roo, we've tried, even Mr. Fanshaw cannot deny we've tried but now I'm done. What were you thinking? Do you realize what a panic you put us into? We thought you were dead. No, no, this won't work. We should have never taken you here in the first place.”

Roo opened her mouth to protest, but Ms. Valentine held up her hand. “Mr. Fanshaw gave me leave to make this decision. I hate to do it but you've forced my hand. I've made arrangements for the Burrows to take you back.”

“No!” Roo cried.

“You'll be able to go to your own school, in your own town. It's where you belong—”

“I belong here!” Roo insisted, and then she surprised everyone, including herself, by bursting into tears. For a moment, Ms. Valentine and Violet just stared at her, not knowing what to do.

“The Burrows are good people, Roo…,” Ms. Valentine said, her voice softening. But Roo was not crying about the Burrows, as much as she hated the thought of living with them and all the other foster children again. She was not even crying because she would have to leave Cough Rock, which she had grown to love. Her tears were for the garden. She felt it tug at her like nothing ever had before. If she left, no one would care about it. No one would try to help it. It would remain a graveyard. Not quite dead and not quite alive, which seemed to Roo to be worse than death.

Violet wrapped her arm around Roo's shoulder and led her upstairs. She didn't try to console Roo—Violet saw that it would do no good. Instead she removed Roo's muddy shoes and put her straight into bed. She pulled the blankets up to Roo's chin, kissed her softly on her forehead, as though she were sick, and let her be.

For a long while Roo lay very still, staring up at the ceiling, while her body went through the small hiccupping aftershocks of a hard cry. She tried to tuck her thoughts in, as she always did, making them very small. But for the first time in her life, it wouldn't work. She could feel her thoughts flexing against their confinement, the way a foot pushes against a shoe that it's outgrown. She could not keep her mind from the garden. She imagined the sun beating down on the soil now that the weeds and leaves were cleared. What if it didn't rain for a while? The areas she had cleared would become as dry as dust. Had she made things worse by trying to help? Her worries went around in circles. Eventually the small hiccups began to subside, and her breathing grew quiet. That was when she heard the crying again. It stopped her thoughts, made her sit up, and listen harder. The crying was steady, emotionless but imploring, like a bird calling out to another bird.

Throwing off her covers, Roo jumped out of bed. She felt a sudden, angry determination to find the source, once and for all. She hurried to the girls' dormitory and went straight to the secret door in the beadboard cabinet. This time she entered the passageway with more confidence. She headed straight for the door at the end of the passage, but at the sight of the black round chute to the garden she hesitated. She could go down there now. She could haul water in from the river and pour it on the soil. It wouldn't be enough, but it might help a little.

The crying grew more insistent, as if the person knew she was there. Forcing her attention back to the door, Roo put her hand on the knob and turned it, expecting it to be locked again. But this time the knob turned all the way. The crying suddenly stopped. Whoever was on the other side must have been watching the door, waiting for her. It made her stomach feel tight and she wavered, thinking about the bite mark on her uncle's face. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened. She didn't hear anything, but once again she sensed someone listening for her as well.

I'm fast
, she reassured herself.
I'm fast and small. If I have to, I can outrun whoever this is.

She took a breath, turned the knob, then inched the door open, so that if something started to come out, she could slam the door fast.

On the other side of the door was a chair. And sitting in the chair was a boy. He stared at her with a look of both terror and anticipation, his dark, deeply shadowed eyes still damp from crying. In an instant, though, his expression changed to irritation.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

He looked to be a little younger than Roo, and was as skinny as she was; but while Roo was hard and wiry, he looked withered. His blue pajamas drooped on his thin frame.

“Stop staring at me!” he screamed at her.

“Are you the one who's always humming?” Roo asked.

“Who
are
you? I don't know you.”

“I live here,” Roo said, though that would change very soon.

“No, you don't. There's only me and my father here.”

“Who's your father?”

“Emmett Fanshaw, who do you think? There's only me and him. And the help. Oh”—he sat up straighter and looked at her very imperiously—“did they hire you to clean? I hope so. Violet is too clumsy. She's broken five of my bones since she's started here.”

“That's a lie,” Roo said. “And I'm not your maid, I'm your cousin.”

She started to close the door then, but the boy called out, “Wait!”

Roo stopped, glaring back at him.

“What?”

“You can't be my cousin,” the boy said, his voice less disdainful now. “I don't have any cousins.”

“I'm your cousin because our fathers were brothers.”

The boy thought about this. “I remember once hearing something about my father's brother.” He looked up at Roo, and she braced herself for him to say something awful about her father. Instead, the boy stood and said, “All right then. You can come in and see my coyote.”

Roo drew back her head, one eyebrow raised dubiously. “You have a coyote in your room?”

“A small one.”

Roo hesitated. She didn't like the boy, and she doubted very much that he had a coyote in his room. In the end, though, she gave in to her curiosity.

The room was very large and the drawn curtains made it dark, but Roo could see that it had the same long rectangular shape as the girls' dormitory.

This must have been where the boys slept
, Roo thought.
And they also had a door that led to the body chute
.

This room was far more luxurious, though. The furniture was formal and heavy, with a large four-poster bed in one corner. There was a stone fireplace whose mantel held stacks of board games and books. The other end of the room was lined with shelves, and on the shelves were dozens of animal skeletons mounted on wooden blocks.

“I'm still working on the coyote,” the boy said, pointing to a large skeleton that sat on a desk in the corner. It was propped up with metal posts and wire, and there were bottles of glue and a small drill on the desk. The coyote was such a spindly thing, it seemed to be made up of birch branches bent to form a spine and legs and the most delicate toes imaginable. The skeleton tilted to one side, as though it were limping, and Roo noticed that the bottom part of its right hind leg was missing.

“Are they real bones?” Roo asked, reaching toward one of the coyote's legs.

“Don't touch. Yes, of course they're real.”

The boy watched Roo as she walked around the room, examining the shelves. There were birds, frogs, lizards, coiled snakes. She stopped at a skeleton with a long tail that was shaped like a conical seashell and what looked to be half a beehive covering its back.

“Armadillo,” the boy said. “Look at the joints in the shell. That's how they can roll up in a ball. And that one there…” He pointed to a long, squat skeleton with impossibly fine ribs and the head of a tiny dinosaur. “A Gila monster. She was tricky to put together. The coyote was easy.” He ran his finger lightly over the coyote's front leg. “See how the elbows turn in and the feet turn out. That's so the legs can swing in a straight line. Makes them faster. But Violet snapped one of the metatarsals on this hind leg, so I'm waiting on a new one. What do you think?”

“I think it's creepy,” Roo said.

“That's what Violet says. But it's not very different from doing a puzzle. When things are all in pieces, don't you want to put them together again? I do.”

He seemed more likable somehow now, Roo thought. More like a regular boy. She looked at him carefully, taking in his bony shoulders, slightly curled in like an old man's, and the bruised purple shadows beneath his eyes. His wide jawline made it seem as if he were meant to be more substantial than he was. His lips were full, though dry and pale, and his hair was black and thick and wild looking.

“What's your name?” Roo asked.

“Phillip. What's yours?”

“Roo. How come I've never seen you around the house before? Or out by the water?”

The question appeared to displease him.

“I prefer my room.” His tone grew cold and self-important again. It reminded Roo of his father. “I suppose you don't know how to play canasta?”

“No.”

“You'll learn.” He walked over to the fireplace and took two packs of cards from the top of the mantel. Then he sat down on his bed and stared at Roo, his back stiff and head held high, waiting.

“Well?” he said when Roo didn't move.

“I never said I would play,” Roo replied.

“But I
want
you to play,” Phillip said, looking genuinely shocked, as if no one had ever denied him a thing in his entire life.

“Then you had better
ask
me to—nicely—not order me around like I'm your servant.”

Phillip opened his mouth to say something—and from the look on his face it wasn't going to be anything polite. But then he shut his mouth again. After staring up at the ceiling for a moment, he looked back at Roo.

“Please,” he said stiffly.

It was just short of civil, but Roo accepted it.

The game was complicated and Roo had to focus. But she was a fast learner and before long her thoughts began to wander back to the garden.

“I'd better go,” she said finally, laying down her cards.

“But why?” Phillip cried.

“I have things to do.”

“What things?
What things?
” he demanded, his voice growing sharp.

“It's none of your business what I do,” Roo retorted.

“It is my business! It's
my
house!” Then his anger turned to shrieks:
“Don't go, don't go, don't go!”
until a door on the far side of the room was flung open and in rushed Ms. Valentine and Violet. At the sight of Roo, Ms. Valentine's mouth popped open. She looked from Phillip to Roo and back again, as if unable to convince herself that she was seeing them both together.

“How did this happen?” she asked in a thin, horrified voice.

Violet hurried past her and gripped Roo by the shoulder, quickly guiding her out the door and shutting it. She turned to Roo, poised to scold.

“Don't!” Roo warned her. “It doesn't matter anyway. You couldn't drag me back in there. I don't know how you can stand him, I really don't. He's awful.”

“Not awful, Roo,” Violet said. “He's just had a rough time of it.”

“So have a lot of other people.”

“Like you?” Violet asked.

“Well, you don't hear me screeching, do you?” Roo said.

Phillip's screams filled the hallway, interspersed with Ms. Valentine's attempts to calm him down.

“No, I don't,” Violet agreed. “You suck it all in. You keep yourself as hard as a steel beam. Phillip lets it rip, but in a few minutes he'll be done. He'll go limp and I can hug him and wipe his eyes and cheer him up. Which is better? I don't know.”

“Anyway,” said Roo, shaking this off, “why did you keep us a secret from each other? You lied to me when I asked about the humming.”

Violet sighed, blinked quickly, and glanced away. After a moment she said, “Phillip is strung tight as a fiddle. There's no denying he's lived a strange life, cooped up on this island with no other children around and his father gone so much. He adored his mother and she adored him back. She was all he had, really, and they were always together, best friends. So when she died—well, it shattered the poor thing.” Violet shook her head. “I've never seen a person grieve so hard. He just stays in his room all day, tinkering with those awful bones, growing more gloomy and sullen. He barely eats a thing. He's just wasting away. We thought it might help him if he had friends, so this past summer Ms. Valentine arranged for some children to visit him. Two brothers close to Phillip's own age who live on Murray Island. They came once, but while they were here Phillip went into a rage, screaming and breaking things.”

“He was the one who bit my uncle's face?” Roo guessed.

Violet nodded. “Mr. Fanshaw is worried—we're all worried—about his mental state. He's convinced himself of all kinds of odd things. It just seemed best to keep the two of you apart for a while. We were going to tell him about you eventually, of course. We wanted him to get used to the idea before he met you.” She paused, a little smile starting on her lips. “My mother thought that was foolish. She thought we should let you and Phillip meet. She said two strong tempers are like a pair of waves coming at each other. Sometimes they smooth each other out.”

“Well, obviously that didn't work,” Roo said, jabbing a thumb back at Phillip's door. The shrieking had now changed over to wild sobs.

“What did you say to him anyway?”

“Nothing!” Roo insisted. “All I did was start to leave. He wanted me to stay.”

Violet laughed. “Well, maybe Mom was right after all. When I first met you, I thought you and your cousin were much of a muchness.”

When Roo screwed up her face, Violet explained, “It means you two are just the same. Both of you so proud and snappish.” She rubbed her knuckles gently against Roo's chin. “What do you think? Can you stay out of trouble for the rest of the day?”

 

Roo wasted no time. As soon as Violet went back upstairs to Phillip, Roo went outside and walked the perimeter of the house until she came to the overgrown ivy that concealed the basement door. She glanced around quickly before she opened it a crack and slipped through.

Once inside the garden, Roo went to work straightaway, clearing more dead grass and leaves, adding to the pile in the corner. She strained and pulled at roots till her hands were red and her shoulders ached.

In the basement she found an old bucket caked with dried cement and took it outside to the river. There were many boats on the water today. The Summer People had begun to arrive. Only a few weeks ago, Roo would have admired the fearless way they plowed through the waves in their speedboats and Jet Skis, but now they seemed only careless and clumsy. She thought of Jack's silent approach in his canoe; the way he rode the river as easily as a loon. Glancing over at the island with the olive-green house, she saw that there was now a boat docked by the pier. Four candy-colored Adirondack chairs were set outside the front of the house. Jack would be long gone. She wouldn't get to see him again before she left. It bothered her to think about that. Would he wonder what had happened to her?

Pretty soon she'd be back at the Burrows' house. She thought about the cramped room she would have to share with the other foster girls. When they saw her, they would know that she had been tossed out of her uncle's house. They would love that. Roo felt her face heat up and her muscles tighten. The tinny voice of an approaching tour boat spliced into her thoughts.

“—at a time when it was thought fresh, cold air could help in the treatment of tuberculosis. Unfortunately, the sanitarium killed more children than it healed. It finally closed its doors in 1961 and the island is now privately owned.”

Roo quickly dragged the side of the bucket on the bottom of the shallows, scooping up as much water as she could hold, then hauled the bucket back into the garden before the tour boat swung around the island into view.

Back in the garden, she tipped the bucket and let the water spill out onto the soil, walking backward. By the time the bucket was empty, only a narrow swath of earth had been dampened. It would take hours and hours to water the entire garden this way. And the soil was so dry that it drank up the water quickly and still needed more. It was futile, she knew. Yet she kept at it, filling the bucket again and again and pouring it on the earth, until every part of her body ached and the daylight began to dim. Violet would bring supper soon and would be looking for her. She should go back upstairs. Dropping to her knees, she put her ear to the ground and listened. The silence lasted so long that she began to feel sick, worried that somehow she had done more harm than good. Then she heard it. The sound was as faint as before, but still there. She smiled with relief, but the very next moment she sat up in alarm. Something was in the garden with her. She had seen it move—just a quick flash in her peripheral vision, a shadow gliding up the slope toward the boulder. It had been too large and shaped all wrong to have been the black squirrel.

Roo got to her feet and stared all around her. Nothing moved. The garden was perfectly still and so quiet she could hear her own breath. Yet, she
felt
something was there with her. Watching. The way she had watched others from her own hiding places.