Colette and the Silver Samovar (7 page)

I decided I would go back to my apartment and make Mr. Singh tell me what hospital my mother was in. Then, if he wouldn't take me, I would go by myself. I was nine years, three months and nineteen days old. I would figure out what to do all by myself!

“Help,” said a voice. “Please help me.”

I followed a brick path to the back of the yard, where it disappeared into a little house. I'd seen something like it once, and my mother had told me it was called a gazebo. High-pitched barking came from the other side of a stone wall. Spike and his long yellow teeth popped into my head.

I grabbed a fistful of dried ivy and hoisted myself to the top of the stone wall. Where was the dog, and why was he barking?

And who was calling for help?

Chapter 9

The dog saw me. He zoomed between the wall and a spot in the back of the neighbor's yard. Every so often a faint voice called, “Help.”

“I'll go get Elena,” I said to the dog before he tore off again. As I crawled backward, a stone crumbled away from the wall, my foot slipped and I was hanging by a fistful of ivy with my legs dangling into the wrong yard.

“Help!” I yelled.

“Help,” said another, weaker voice.

The black dog was back. Foam billowed out of his mouth, his eyes were wild, and his hot, wet breath dampened my ankle. I tried to pull myself to safety, but the ivy tore farther from the stone and dropped me closer to the dog's open mouth.

The vines snapped. As I fell, I wondered if anyone would miss me. My parents didn't even know where I was. My evil grandmother could bury me, and no one would know where to look. I saw my father wandering the streets calling my name. I heard Oprah crying that she was sorry she'd made friends with Zain. Mr. Singh's voice floated through my head, telling me that this is what happened to girls who talked too much. Auntie Graves rocked and prayed.

THUD!

I hit the ground so hard, I saw exploding balls of light. I thought that if I wasn't dead yet, then the black creature that was hurtling toward me would finish the job.

A soft, wet tongue licked my face. The dog barked, then nudged, then licked, then barked again. It disappeared.

The ground stopped spinning, and I could breathe again. The dog had disappeared, but it was still barking. No one was calling for help anymore.

I walked toward the barking. The farther I went from the house, the steeper the ground got. Pretty soon, I noticed a ragged path where boot treads mingled with paw prints. I crept toward the lip of the yard and peered down a steep, muddy hill into a tangled mess of branches. Was that where the dog had gone?

As if to answer my question, he appeared again, this time bringing a small, yellow rubber boot. The dog dropped the boot at my feet and looked at me with worried eyes. He kept starting down the ravine and then running back and barking at me.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked.

“Help,” squeaked the voice.

I don't know why it took me so long to understand that the little gnome lady must have slipped on the mud and fallen into the ravine. Maybe it was because I was so afraid of dogs that I wasn't thinking at all. I peered into the ravine. I could just see a fleck of yellow against the dark earth. The other boot!

I grabbed a root that was growing out of the wall of earth and let myself down the hill. I found a foothold against a rock, then another tree branch.

I reached the yellow boot after what seemed like an hour. The little gnome lady lay on her stomach, her right cheek pressed against the dirt.

“Hello?” I said.

Her eyes flickered open. Slowly they focused on me.

“Why, hello,” she said in a faint voice. “Are you a forest sprite?”

“No. I live next door.”

“You do? How is it that I've never seen you around?”

“I just moved in.”

“Oh,” she said. Her eyes closed again.

I wondered if the fall had knocked all the sense right out of her. Again she opened her eyes.

“Well, I seem to be in something of a pickle,” she said.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“I think I have twisted my ankle,” she said. “And I did hit my head rather badly.”

“I'll go and get help,” I said.

“I'd rather you didn't,” she said. She rolled over, lay on her back and faced the sky. “You see,” the lady went on, “there are some people who would like to move me into a place called a home. And they might think this little tumble is a good reason to cart me off. But I already have a home, don't you know?”

I nodded. I did know!

“I knew you'd understand. I think I'd prefer to keep my clumsy fall a little secret between you and me. And I do hope you'll help me. You look just like a woodland sprite after all. And sprites are known for their ability to keep secrets.” She took a deep breath and pushed herself to a sitting position. “You have been brought to me by the forest fairies to assist me in my hour of need.”

I wondered if a bump on the head could make someone go crazy. Then I remembered that my mother was lying unconscious in a hospital.

“Have I made you sad, my dear?” asked the gnome lady. “But of course I have. Just look at that frown!” She held out her hand. “Help me home, and we'll have a nice chat.” She hoisted herself up and tested her foot, wincing when she tried to put any weight on it. “Give me your arm, if you will. I just might need a little assistance getting back up that hill. Of course, Amos here will be of great help.”

At the sound of his name, the black dog pressed himself against the old lady's shins. “There, there,” she cooed. “That's such a good boy. My name is Ethelberta Jarvis, but please call me Ethelberta, my dear,” she said to me. “May I ask what name the forest fairies have given you?”

“Colette,” I said, staring up the hill and wondering how I was ever going to get her to the top.

“What a wonderful name,” she said. “Well”—she extended her arm—“shall we go?”

I don't know how we made it. All I can say is it took a lot of tugging, pushing, grunting and groaning. By the time we climbed up over the edge, I was huffing and puffing like an engine on a freight train.

“That's the hard part done,” said Ethelberta. Her face was pale. “Now, if you'll look over there in the grass, I believe you'll find a cane. I dropped it when I took that silly tumble.”

I looked where she was pointing and found an old cane lying in the wet grass. Then, with her left hand holding my arm, and her right hand on her cane, she slowly limped toward the house.

We clumped up the steps, followed by Amos. Ethelberta Jarvis pushed open a wooden door and led me inside. I couldn't believe it.

The house was almost empty.

“Where's the furniture?” I blurted out.

“Well, dearie, that's rather a long story,” Ethelberta said. She limped over to a doorway and disappeared. I followed her into the dining room. A mattress was set inside a giant cabinet that was built into the wall. It faced a fireplace that was laid with dried sticks and pieces of wood. Ethelberta picked up a package of matches and lit a fire. The kindling crackled in the hearth, throwing a golden light onto the dark wood-paneled room. She sank onto a blanket and some cushions that were spread out in front of the fire.

“I live in this room, my dear,” she said. “Isn't it cozy?”

I looked around. There was an old-fashioned kettle hanging from a hook over the fire. A brown teapot and two china mugs sat on a wooden tray. On the mantel were stacked a few plates and some knives and forks. Ethelberta picked up a long piece of wire that looked like a straightened coat hanger and handed it to me. Then she opened a metal tin and took out a muffin.

“Let's toast this muffin, shall we?” She stuck the end of the metal prong through the muffin and held it low to the flame. “If you go and fill that kettle with water,” she added, nodding at the kettle dangling from the hook, “we can have some tea. I'm chilled to my bones.”

I went into the kitchen, turned on the water, filled the kettle and went back into the dining room. Ethelberta sat propped up on three big cushions with her ankle resting on another smaller one. Amos was curled in a ball on her knee and was watching the toasting muffin with hypnotized eyes. Ethelberta smiled. “Just hang the kettle back on that hook, then swing the arm into the fireplace,” she said. I did as she told me and watched as the kettle stopped right over the flame.

“That's right, Sprite. It'll just be a few minutes, and we'll be all set. Since this is a special occasion, I think we should open a pot of jam, don't you?” She pointed at a jar on the mantel. “I made that jam myself from wild blackberries I found growing down in the ravine. Boiled it up right here in this old fireplace, just like the pioneers! In fact, since the electric company and I parted ways last month, I live on what I can find in the ravine.” She nodded at the pile of sticks beside the fireplace. “It's amazing how resourceful one can be if one must!” Within minutes, we were camped out in front of the big old fireplace enjoying hot muffins with homemade jam and steaming cups of tea. A little color had returned to Ethelberta's cheeks. “There's nothing like a cup of tea to cure what ails you,” she said, smacking her lips. She put her cup down, fed Amos the last of her muffin and turned her full attention on me. “Now then,” she said, “tell me all about you and where you came from.”

I looked into the fireplace and tried not to cry.

Ethelberta put her crooked old hand on my arm. “Now, now,” she said. “It's quite all right to cry, you know.”

So I did. I cried so hard, I thought I'd dry up into a speck of dust and blow away. Then I told Ethelberta the whole story.

She shook her head when I told her about the tea leaves and what the fortune-teller had said. She squeezed my fingers at the part about not knowing where my father was. She poured tea when my throat got parched from talking about my mother and how she believed in fairies just like Ethelberta did. She looked thoughtful when I told her how mean my grandmother was and how she wouldn't take me to see my mother. Before I could stop myself, I told her my plan to run away and how I had been just about to leave when I'd heard her call for help.

Ethelberta looked like she'd seen a ghost. “So that's why I fell down the ravine,” she said. “I was wondering why something like that would happen.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The forest fairies wanted us to meet, don't you see?” Ethelberta asked. “So I could stop you from running away.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“So you can help your grandmother,” Ethelberta Jarvis said.

“Help my grandmother?” I said.

“I knew your mother when she was just a wee child,” Ethelberta told me. “She was a celestial sprite, she was. Not a woodland sprite like yourself. She always had her head in the clouds. I spent many hours with your mother.” She glanced at the door as if expecting my grandmother to come marching up the walk and barge into the room.

“Your grandmother tried very hard to push your mother into a square box, but she just didn't fit. She had all these interesting ideas, and no matter what your grandmother did, your mother kept on popping out of that box. Unhappily, your grandmother never learned to let Alice be Alice. So when she grew up, she ran away, just like you wanted to do.” Ethelberta stopped and tapped her nose with her finger.

“Grandmama is so mean,” I said.

“That's not meanness, child,” Ethelberta said. “It's scaredness.”

“What's she got to be scared of?” I asked.

“Some people are just scared,” Ethelberta said. “Scared of what other people might say. Or what they might think. Sometimes they're scared of life, so they keep everything in their lives all buttoned up nice and tight, including how they feel about things. That works for some people, but other people need to wiggle their toes a little.”

“I'm sure Grandmama can wiggle her toes,” I said.

Ethelberta smiled. “Well, now, I'd sure like to see that.”

I wanted to ask Ethelberta what was so special about wiggling your toes, but Amos yawned and Ethelberta yawned right after him.

“Maybe we can talk some more about this tomorrow,” Ethelberta said. “And Sprite, I think it might be best if you didn't mention our little tea party to your grandmother. I'd like to have you visit me often. But it might be difficult for you to come and see Amos and me if you tell her about”—she hesitated and then continued—“how I am camping in the dining room.”

“Why are you camping in the dining room?” I asked.

“Well, Sprite, this house was built by my grandfather, who was a very rich man. By the time I inherited the place, there wasn't much money left. It's a good thing I know how to stretch a dollar! Despite my best efforts, however, my accounts have been dwindling of late, and I've had to sell a few things so I can pay those pesky bills. Well, as you can see,” Ethelberta said, as if reading my mind, “maybe more than a few things! It's a good thing people are hungry for antiques!” She chuckled. “Never mind. I have a hearth. I have Amos to keep me warm, and I have these soft cushions to sit on. And I have a vegetable garden that gives me lots of food, and a few dollars to buy what I can't grow. And now I have a wonderful new neighbor to keep me company!” She clapped her hands as if she'd just been given a birthday present.