Ten Days at Federal Hill: Chapter Two

(To read chapter 1 first, click here.)

Chapter Two: Secrets Through the Grate

After chicken and dumplings, which Carla was afraid to eat, and a game of capture the flag in the boxwood garden, the children went to bed. Frances, Julia, and Carla slept in the nursery at the far end of the house under the big hemlock trees. Frances had a large four-poster bed with mountains of blankets. Julia’s small daybed was tucked into an alcove under a pretty fan window. Frances allowed Carla to sleep in the big bed with her if she promised not to kick, snore, or steal covers, all of which Frances would do throughout the night. The older girl sat in bed flipping through Seventeen magazines, but Julia hid behind a long sheet that concealed her bed like a drape. She clicked on a flashlight, and read her book. Carla could hear the crisp pages turning. This looked much more interesting to Carla, who was bored with peaking at Seventeen magazine, so she slipped from the four-poster and knelt beside the daybed.

“Julia, what are you reading?” she asked.

“A book.”

“Yes. I know. Which book?”

“You wouldn’t be interested.”

“How do you know?”

“Girls don’t like this book.”

“I’m not a normal girl.”

“You said it, not me.”

Carla hesitated. “So … what’re you reading?”

Finally Julia slid her hand from under her tent, holding the book. Carla read the title.

“The Iliad.” Carla was surprised. “The Iliad? Really? I’m impressed.” Julia pulled the book back in. “Do you like it?”

“Well, I’m reading it.”

“What part do you like best?”

“How the women cry when Hector dies, and how they bury Achilles.”

“Ah – ‘cause he’s the hero, right?”

“No!”

“But I thought ....”

“Hector is the hero of The Iliad. Achilles is a nasty bully.”

“Are you sure?” Carla asked.

“Have you read the book? Anyway, I like it when Achilles dies. And his funeral is cool. I wish I could have a funeral like that.”

“You might have to wait a few years,” Carla responded. “Listen, I’m tired of talking through a sheet. Can I come in?”

Julia didn’t answer, but the sheet rose slightly, and a skinny finger beckoned Carla. She tucked her head under the drapery and crept onto the daybed. The girls leaned against either end, facing each other.

“This is cool!” Carla said. Twinkle lights twirled on the windowsill, covering several stacks of books. Strands of beads hung above the bed and pencil sketches were taped to the walls. The windowsill was wide enough for all Julia’s treasures. One beautiful, ornate wooden box sat among the books.

“What’s in the box?” Carla asked, pointing to it.

“Secrets,” answered Julia.

“Oh, you mean like your diary?”

“No. Like … my teeth. I keep my teeth in there. I’m going to make jewelry from them.”

“That’s kinda gross, Julia.”

“I know. Don’t tell Frances.”

“Alright.” Carla wondered then. “What else?”

“Well, real secrets, people’s secrets. Things I hear. I hear a lot because nobody ever notices me.”

“That must be handy, if you want a box of secrets,” said Carla, and both girls giggled.

Julia was quiet but didn’t return to her book. Then she asked, “You want to know where I hear some of my secrets?”

This interested Carla quite a bit. “Sure! Do you mean … now?”

Julia put a thin finger to her lips. She whispered, “Let me check.” She carefully shifted the edge of the sheet and peered out at her sister’s bed. “She’s almost asleep. We should wait a few more minutes.” She opened her book again, and then looked sideways at Carla. “Want me to read to you? Till we leave?”

“Sure, why not. Read your favorite part.”

The account of Achilles’ chase of Hector around the city of Troy was quite exciting, and by the time Achilles gloried in his victory, Frances was whiffling softly into her pillow. The two girls tiptoed from the sleepy bedroom, down the hall, up the large foyer stairs, down another hall to the far end of the house and into a large bathroom. It was quite dark. Julia knelt down and moved aside a bath rug that lay on the wooden floor. A glow came then through the floor and Carla knelt down as well to look. The bath rug had covered an opening – a large square hole about the size of Frances’s magazine, with a double metal grate in it. Through this grate the girls could see the kitchen, which was lit, and hear the conversation there. Julia lay by the opening with her elbow beneath her head and signaled for Carla to do the same. They listened.

A man’s voice, low and muffled, and a woman’s anxious voice drifted up to them. Uncle Robert and Aunt Velma were discussing Connie. Grandmother Julia’s rocking chair squeaked rhythmically in the background.

“They called when they got to Lynchburg,” she said. “They removed the appendix, but they’re taking her on to Richmond for a few days to be sure the infection is checked. Sally said it was a bad case.”

“It came on rather sudden,” Robert added. He was eating a plate of chicken and dumplings and held a small terrier on his lap. The dog’s name was Toby. He was brown and white, and very nervous, and he begged for bites of chicken. Uncle Robert absent-mindedly fed him from his plate.

“Cecil and Carla are staying,” Velma added. “Not sure how long, but I’m glad. The cousins haven’t seen each other as much as they should.” Velma pulled her chair to the table and leaned across to her husband. Carla could see both their faces beneath her. “I’m a little worried about Julia. She stays more to herself than ever.” The woman ran her fingers through her red curly hair. “I hope she and Carla will play. I was sorry Connie had to leave. She’s closer to Julia’s age.”

Carla glanced across at Julia, but read nothing in her face.

“She’ll be fine,” her husband said, soothingly. “She likes her books. She’s into her imaginary worlds.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” replied Velma, and shoved her chair out again. “Well, I’m tired and ready for bed. You coming?”

“Yes. I’ll wash this up and be there in a second.”

Carla’s aunt left the room. Uncle Robert washed his plate and walked

to the corner where his mother sat, a dark corner Carla could not see.

“G’night, mom. You want to go upstairs?”

“No, son. I’m fine right here. Shamrock will keep me company.”

Footsteps echoed through the house. Toby followed Uncle Robert to bed. Carla began to sit up, but Julia signaled for her to stay as she was and listen. Then they heard their grandmother speak.

“Shamrock, my dear, it’s another night in the kitchen for us.” She reached down and petted a black cocker spaniel that lay on a little oval rug between her feet near her knitting basket. “I shall knit and tell you a story, okay?”

Carla saw Julia smile broadly and wondered if she had lain on the bathroom floor more than a few times and listened to a midnight story told to Shamrock.

“Once upon a time there was a puppy named Shamrock who lived in a little cabin in the woods,” she began, and she told of a little girl whose best friend was a puppy who protected her from dangerous animals, guided her when she was lost in the forest, brought rescuers when she fell into an old well, and slept with her every night. They were best friends.

Then Grandmother Julia quietly added, “Shamrock, I’m glad little Connie left. This house is not a safe place for children, you know.” Shamrock gave a little whine. “Time for sleep now.”

Soon the old lady was nodding. The girls tiptoed carefully back to their room. After Julia disappeared behind her curtain, Carla sat up in bed and heard a quiet clicking noise in the hall. A moment later a small black shadow entered the room, went directly to Julia’s alcove, nosed its way behind the drapery, and hopped into the bed.

Carla lay in bed thinking about her grandmother’s words. Why was this house unsafe for children? And if it was, why were so many children living here? Why was she left here? Was the story about Shamrock meant for the dog, or was it meant for the girls to hear? Too exhausted to worry about it all, Carla fell asleep with her back against her older cousin and the covers pulled up to her chin.

(To read chapter 3, click here.)

[This story is copyrighted by the author, M.K. Christiansen.]