Time Windows (14 page)

"At least the slaves were safe here, even if they weren't very comfortable," said Dan, his voice pulling her back to the present. "Think how much worse it would have been to believe you were going to get help and then end up nearly dead in a room without air."

"You mean what happened in my house." She took a deep breath, knowing it was only in her imagination that the cold air in the cellar was too thin to fill her lungs. She inspected the sliding door hastily and saw that the stones were only a veneer cemented onto a wooden panel. Abruptly, she headed for the stairs. "Let's go."

"Yeah." Dan led the way back up the stairs and through the hallways to the dining room. "Want to start looking now?"

"For what?" But of course she knew.

"Your airtight room!"

"You mean you want to help me?" Miranda hesitated. She felt proprietary about her house and wanted to guard its secrets.

"What are we waiting around for?" cried Buddy.

"Miranda hasn't invited you," Dan told his brother. "She might not want a noisy, argumentative little boy invading her house."

Dan seemed oblivious to the fact that she hadn't invited him, either—but she didn't want to be rude.

"No, it's okay," she said. "You both can come."

Miranda said good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Hooton and Mrs. Wainwright, and the boys told their parents the plan.

Mr. Hooton looked at his watch. "Sounds fine—but remember, Dan, you said you'd help me catalog the Revolutionary War maps this afternoon. Can you be back by two?"

Dan nodded. "I work in the museum on weekends," he told Miranda. "Earn my allowance."

"It's more than that," Mr. Hooton added. "I really need his help. There's a lot to do to keep this old place going."

"You can say that again!" said Dan. "But turning the place into a museum was about the only way we could afford to keep it in the family."

"It's fascinating! My father would love to see the secret room."

"Any of you are welcome anytime for a private tour," said Mrs. Hooton. She handed Miranda her umbrella as they stepped out onto the porch.

Miranda and the boys dashed, rain hard on their backs, through her tangled garden and up onto the porch.

"It's really something to get a chance to see this house from the inside, you know," said Dan. "It's been shut up ever since my dad was a boy."

Miranda's father walked into the front hall from the dining room. "Hello! Is this a house-warming party?"

Miranda grabbed his arm. "We're on a treasure hunt! Did you know this house was part of the Underground Railroad before the Civil War?"

"Is that a fact? The house is certainly old enough to have been a stopping point."

"Mrs. Wainwright—she's the Hootons' aunt—said our house has a secret room!" She and Dan and Buddy recounted Mrs. Wainwright's tale.

"Quite a story! But where could the secret room be? I've been all over this place and never seen any sign of a hidden door." Philip looked puzzled.

"Well, that's what we're here for," said Buddy.

"If you don't mind," Dan amended.

"Of course I don't mind. Go right ahead and search. I'll help you myself, once I finish staining the bookcases in the library."

"I bet I find it myself," said Buddy. "I'm a good finder! I can find almost anything!"

"Yeah," said Dan. "Especially if it's something you're not supposed to have!"

Philip smiled at the boys. "Just make it a quiet search, please. Mandy, don't forget your mother is in bed." He walked back to the library, and Miranda and the boys went into the kitchen.

"Is your mother sick?" asked Dan.

"No, not really. Mither just has a headache or something."

"Mither?"

"It's a nickname I've had for her since I was small. My mother, Mom, whatever you want to call her—she never used to have headaches in New York, but it looks like Garnet isn't agreeing with her."

"Yeah," drawled Dan. "Must be hard being away from all that smog. Does your Dither get headaches, too?"

Miranda felt annoyed at his teasing. "Dad's fine," she said shortly. Then she pointed to the cellar door. "Look, we could start down there. Your secret room is in the cellar, so ours might be, too."

"Good idea," agreed Dan. "We'll start at the bottom of the house and work our way to the top."

The stone steps of the cellar were dark, lit only by a single bulb in a small cage hanging from the ceiling. It was not a large cellar, only half the size of the house, with damp gray walls and an uneven cement floor.

Miranda led the way down into the long, low room. One small window, high up on the end wall and covered by a grate, let in a narrow shaft of dim light. In a far corner stood a modern furnace and water heater.

"Check under the stairs first," said Dan. He started moving along the walls. "It's hard to be sure—sometimes the cracks are almost invisible."

Buddy explored the walls near the water heater. "Nothing back here but some boxes."

"We had the china packed in those." Miranda started wandering around the room, tapping occasionally on the stone walls.

Dan tiptoed up behind her, then suddenly clapped his hands onto her shoulders. "If that wall turns around suddenly and you disappear," he hissed into her ear, "don't say I didn't warn you!"

Miranda jumped. She could feel all of his fingers right through her T-shirt, ten warm points of contact She turned around and he stepped back, letting his hands drop.

"Okay, let's stop, then," she said. "This looks to me like a good example of your basic bare room."

"But you're right to be tapping!" he said. "The hiding place wouldn't be much of a secret if we could spot it right away, would it? In fact, we should probably test all the walls to see if they're hollow." He reached over her head and rapped the wall with his knuckles. "If it sounds like that it's
not
hollow."

He was still standing very close, his arm raised, his eyes holding her own, and Miranda made no effort to move away. She forgot her earlier annoyance at his teasing and stared back at him. She hadn't noticed before how warm and brown his eyes were. Even in the gloom of the cellar, she could see the golden flecks of light in his irises. The tingle of excitement had started up in her again, but this time it had nothing to do with the past. She remembered the raindrops racing together down the pane.

"Both of your heads are hollow," commented Buddy pleasantly.

She laughed and ducked away under Dan's arm.

After twenty more minutes of tapping, they were convinced the cellar did not contain the secret room. They trooped upstairs and set off through the rooms on the ground floor, exploring each with the tapping technique. Their search revealed nothing. Undaunted, they set off for the second floor, but they were met at the top of the stairs by Philip, who shook his head.

"Sorry," he said in a subdued voice. "Mandy, your mother isn't feeling any better—I know she won't appreciate any tapping up here."

"Dad! We still have half the house to search!"

"Another time."

"Well, how about if we skip this floor and go up to the attic? We'll be very quiet—okay?"

Philip considered this, glancing down the hall to the closed door of the room where Helen lay in bed. "All right, then. But no more tapping, please."

Miranda threw open all the windows to let in the fresh breeze. "Mmm," she sighed. "It always smells so good after a storm."

Dan roamed around the attic. "Lot of junk up here, but I bet some of it's museum material." He trailed his hand along the low bookcases under the windows. "Did you bring these old books and stuff with you? Look at this mechanical bank!"

Miranda walked to his side. "They were here when we moved in." She leaned on the bookcase and felt Dan watching her as she gazed at the treetops blowing in the breeze outside. She had felt Nicole's presence in the attic as an intrusion, but she wanted Dan here. Maybe she and the dollhouse had been alone for too long. Having Dan beside her seemed to ease the close atmosphere of the attic. Having Buddy along helped, too ... But where was he?

Miranda went to the head of the stairs and peered down. "Buddy? I thought you came up with us." There on the bottom step sat Buddy. She hurried down to him. "Hey, Buddy. What is it?"

"I'm not going up there." His voice was defiant.

"Why not?"

"You'll laugh," he predicted sulkily and turned his face to the wall.

She touched his shoulder and sat next to him on the step. "I promise I won't."

"Well,
he'll
laugh, then." He cast a glance over his shoulder up the stairs.

"No, he won't. I won't let him."

"I'm scared." He met her eyes, and she saw it was true.

"Of the attic?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

He hesitated. "I—I don't know. There's like something—waiting. I have this weird feeling." They sat quietly for a minute, then he smiled at her. "Hey, you really didn't laugh."

She shivered. "No." A thought struck her. "Will you come up with me, Buddy? I'll stay right with you. I just want to show you something."

"What?"

"The old dollhouse your aunt was talking about. The one the slave made before he moved on."

"I don't care anything about old dollhouses!"

"I just want you to look at it, and ... tell me what you think."

He mulled this over, staring apprehensively up the stairs. Dan appeared in the doorway at the top. "Having a cozy chat?"

Buddy stood up abruptly. "I had to get a drink of water," he said with dignity.

They climbed the stairs. Miranda led the way to the dollhouse corner. "There," she said. "What do you think of it?"

Dan knelt in front of it. "Mandy! This is amazing! It's really old—a museum piece, for sure." He looked up at her. "It's the dollhouse the carpenter slave made, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Why didn't you say anything when Aunt El first mentioned it?"

Miranda just shrugged.

"Is it really a copy of your house?" asked Buddy.

"It really is," she told him. "But not exactly the way our house is now—it was built almost a hundred and fifty years ago. Our house has a bigger porch. And the dollhouse doesn't have the same kitchen, either, because the one in our house was renovated in the 1940s—and the downstairs bathroom was added on."

"My parents would give anything to have this for the museum, I bet," said Dan. "How much would you want for it?"

"It's not for sale." She looked at it with new appreciation and recalled the story of the slave who had made it. His gift had been one of love and thanks—why should the house now hold so much terror?

"She needs it to play with," said Buddy. "Right, Mandy?"

"Um—right," she said.

"Oh, yeah?" drawled Dan. "You seem too old for dolls, but it does look like you're all set up for some heavy-duty play, with the fan and those cushions. Is that what you're doing over here all the time? Playing?" His voice was teasing. He peered behind the house. "But where are the dolls?"

A feeling of panic swept over her Forget about merging raindrops. She had to get them out of the attic. "Let's go down now," she said.

Buddy edged toward the stairs.

Dan looked at her oddly. "How can you play house without any dolls?"

He would never be able to understand. But Buddy sensed something. Maybe Buddy would see what she saw. "Buddy," she called, "wait a sec. Come back and look at the house."

"I saw it."

"Come see it again."

"I don't like dollhouses," he stated flatly.

"Just for a second."

He returned reluctantly. Miranda nudged Dan aside and positioned Buddy behind the house. "Now, you stand here," she instructed. "I'm going to stand on the other side of the house—and you look through the windows here and tell me if you see me."

"Why?"

"Just for fun," she returned, blushing under Dan's amazed stare.

"Now that's what I call fun," said Dan.

"Please, Buddy. Then we'll go downstairs."

She ignored Dan's incredulous face and positioned herself in front of the house. Buddy stooped down to peer through the dollhouse attic windows. She saw his face at the little windows and waved to him. He waved back. Dan waved at her, too. What an idiot he must think her!

Buddy came around from behind the house. "Okay? Can we go now?"

Miranda nodded, her face flame-red.

"Well, that was really fun," said Dan. "Wish we could play that game more often."

Miranda jammed her fists into the pockets of her shorts and didn't answer.

"It's lunchtime," Buddy announced. "Let's go, Dan. I'm hungry." He headed toward the stairs.

"Bye," she said, and slumped down onto the cushions behind the house. Footsteps hurried down the stairs and, far away, Miranda heard a screen door slam. Dan probably thought she was insane and would never come back. And that was fine with her, despite the moment in her cellar when she thought she might end up liking him better than any of the boys she'd known in New York.

She had the dollhouse—she didn't need any more than that.

"Tell me about it." The voice startled her.

She jerked her head up. "I thought you went home!"

Dan sank to the floor next to her. "May I have a cushion?" he asked politely.

Wordlessly, she handed him one.

"I saw Buddy out," he said. "Since the hostess forgot her manners."

Miranda stared at the floor. "I know. I'm totally rude."

"Yeah."

She looked up at him. "So why bother to come back?"

"Because I like mysteries."

"What?"

"You are such a mystery!"

She almost smiled. "You mean, I'm such a weirdo."

"Right." His eyes met hers. "Friendly one minute, weird the next."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. Look at it from my angle for a minute. Here we get new neighbors in the old Galworthy house at last. When we get back from vacation, we invite them over. And one of them is a great-looking girl my age. But she's totally unsociable, really gives me the royal brush-off. She stays inside all the time. I think: Maybe it's my hair? And so I get it trimmed. I think: Maybe she doesn't like my shirt? I make my mom buy me a new shirt! I think: Maybe she just doesn't like boys, and maybe I should forget her, but I think, Go for it, Dan Hooton. At least go over and ask her out to a movie.