Chapter Eleven: Abe
Velma Christopher had bigger concerns than some children’s muddy
clothes. Grandmother Julia was unwell. She’d taken to her bed late
Sunday afternoon
while Velma was gone, weak
and confused. This morning when her daughter-in-law had tried to
rouse her, the old woman moaned, cried, and covered her head with the
sheet. She had been this way before a few times, Velma remembered,
and it lasted only a few days. But she needed constant attention. She
was deeply depressed and fell into dark moods where no one seemed to
be able to reach her. Velma pulled a chair beside the old lady’s
bed and touched her gently on the shoulder.
“Grandma, it’s Velma.”
There was no response. There was never any response when she was like
this.
“Just rest, Grandma. I’ll go get some breakfast for you and bring
it up here. Maybe biscuits? I know you like biscuits. Tea?” She
rubbed Grandmother Julia’s shoulder and tenderly traced her
hairline, putting a few stray gray hairs into place behind her ear.
Tracks of dried tears etched the older woman’s face. “I’ll
bring Toby and Shamrock up too. They can keep you company on the
bed.” Velma absently brushed a hand over the floral bedspread,
sprinkled with roses, daises, and poppies. The dogs had spent many
hours on this bed. This was the secret to helping Grandmother Julia
recover – the dogs. Nothing reached her, nothing moved her and
helped her regain her old self, like those two dogs. Velma felt a
young hand on her arm.
“Mom, I’ll go get them.” It was Abe.
“Thank you, Abe! That’s a big help. You know how she loves the
dogs. I’ll stay here until you come back.” She looked into her
dark brown eyes. “How come you’re not outside playing with the
big boys?”
“They sent me back. They’re working on the old truck.”
“Mmm.” His mother nodded. “Why not play with Julia and the
cousins? I think they’re inside.”
His face soured. “Yeah. No … they’re doing their own thing. I
didn’t get asked.”
She frowned at him and tousled his dark brown hair. “Abe! I’m
surprised at you!” But she didn’t pursue it. “Okay, go get the
pups. Hurry on, now!”
In a few minutes he returned with Shamrock in his arms and Toby
trailing at his heels. Quick as a flash, Toby was in Grandmother
Julia’s bed, standing guard beside her. Abe set Shamrock down on
the bedspread. The cocker spaniel scooted up and curled behind the
old woman’s knees. Soon she was rhythmically licking her paw.
“That’s better,” Velma said. “Now, I’ll go get her some
breakfast, which she won’t eat. Will you stay until I get back?”
Abe nodded. He tucked his feet under him in the lumpy, upholstered
chair, and watched his grandmother. In the stillness of the house her
quiet breathing filled the room. Sometimes she whispered quietly and
then cried a little. He heard his mother in the kitchen and the
clinking of dishes and silverware. He knew she would return carrying
the old wooden tray with a bowl of steaming oatmeal, buttered
biscuits, a cup of hot tea, and a few strawberries. He listened again
and could barely hear the voices from the attic. They were laughing,
talking, sharing secrets, excluding him without thinking about it. He
stroked Shamrock’s soft fur. Julia was the youngest, but somehow he
was the one always left out.
His mother returned just as he knew she would. She persuaded one
spoonful of oatmeal past the old woman’s lips, but then his
grandmother withdrew even more, curling up and hugging the blanket to
her chest. She tucked her head down and pursed her lips.
“She won’t eat,” Velma said. She sighed. Then they both heard
an eruption of laughter from the attic. She looked at her youngest
son. A cloud seemed to have darkened his face.
“Why don’t you go up there and just try?” she asked.
He frowned. “I’d rather stay here with you.”
“You and I both know that’s not true.” She placed the tray on a
table. “Have you actually asked them?”
He shook his head. He wouldn’t look at her.
“Then go,” she said. “Don’t do the grumpy thing if you
haven’t even asked.”
Abe shuffled out of the room and down the hall. He was suddenly quite
grumpy. He hated his sister and resented his cousins. Then he heard
them laugh again. It wasn’t fair they were having so much fun and
he was so miserable! Abe went quietly up the steep attic stairs,
turned down the low hallway tucked into the top of the house, and
listened outside the door of the small end room where they were sat
in a circle on the floor. He could not see them, but he could hear
their voices. Cecil was telling a story about a house he’d been to,
and Julia was bragging about crawling through a tunnel, and then Abe
heard a voice he did not recognize, a boy’s voice. They were
calling him Edward.
“That’s what the patch of cloth says,” Julia told him. “It
might be your name.”
“All the other kids have names now,” Carla added. “Real names.
Lucie let them pick them out.”
“I’d like to meet this Lucie, if she’s as nice as you say.”
Cecil laughed. “As nice as ….” He and Carla looked at each
other. How could they communicate to him how different life was at
Lucie’s house? Cecil began. He told Edward about his friends, about
their lives now, the peace and safety there, the freedom to play
games and ride horses and swim when they liked. Carla described the
beautiful gardens and comfortable bedrooms, and Lucie’s wonderful
meals. These concepts were lost on him.
“Edward, you really can’t know what it’s like until you go
there,” Cecil finished.
“Then take me there. I’m not afraid!”
The four children sat in a tight circle on the floor. Carla spoke
first. “Okay, we have to think about this house we’re in. If
there’s a corresponding Federal Hill in Lucie’s world -”
“I never heard her mention it,” Cecil interrupted.
“Well, if there is, we have to think of the most likely ways to get
there from here.”
“Why do you think there are three copies of each house?” Julia
asked.
“Because Lucie always talked about them that way,” Cecil
answered. “Actually, she talked about them as if the three were
really one house – her house, our house, the workhouse. Just
three radically different versions of one house. They were all laid
out the same. The rooms and halls and … and dimensions were the
same.”
Julia nodded. “Okay. So let’s assume my house has a sister house
in Lucie’s world ….”
“A sister house. I like that!” Carla said.
“A sister house. It might or might not have the kitchen wing and
the rooms above it, because those were added later,” Julia said.
“Basically we’re talking about the big dining room, the entrance
hall, the assembly room, and my parents’ bedroom. This nursery was
added too.”
Carla interrupted. “Somehow I don’t think it would be smaller in
Lucie’s world. Nothing seems smaller there. Everything seems
bigger, more impressive.”
“How ‘bout these attic rooms,” Cecil said. “They’d be in
the other houses. They’re old.”
“Yeah,” Julia answered. “Old and very dusty.” She swiped a
finger slowly across the floor and blew a cloud of dust into the dim
air. “Tell me,” and she looked at her cousins, “what are the
different ways y’all traveled from your house to Lucie’s house?”
But she didn’t hear their answer. Instead, a thundering sneeze came
from just outside the door.
“What?!” Cecil exclaimed. He raced to the door, yanked it open,
and found his young cousin crouched outside. “What are you doing
here?”
“I live here!” Abe belted out. “Just in case you’ve
forgotten!” Then he craned his neck and looked around Cecil’s
legs, peering at Edward. “And who exactly is that?”
(To continue reading the next chapter, please click here.)
[Ten Days at Federal Hill in its entirety is copyrighted by the author, M.K. Christiansen.)
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