How It Happened in Peach Hill (23 page)

I lifted her hand from her lap and turned it over, placing my palm flat against hers before looking carefully at the map of lines.

“I see a long life,” I said. “Much of the conflict has been resolved. Adventure and romance await you.”

“What will I do without you, Annie?”

I stared at her palm.

“What I want to find out,” I said, “is what I’ll do without you.”

Every sound and every breath of air seemed to leave the rooms with Mama.

The worries I didn’t want to face were pounding for attention in that quiet. Where would I live now? The rent was paid until the end of the month. Then what? How long would my stolen money last? Would I like school as much without Mama here to object? How was Helen doing out there in the world alone, if I was afraid right here in Peach Hill?

Oh, my aching head.

Tomorrow, I’d think. I’d find the answers tomorrow.

Peg came early in the morning. She was holding the newspaper, folded back to show Mama’s face, uplifted as if in prayer. The headline read:
HEALER OR FRAUD
?

“You’ve got some explaining to do, missy,” said Peg. “I’ve been putting two and two and two more together and coming up with half a dozen. Why would you hide all this from me? I’m not happy about looking the fool, not one bit.”

“You were never a fool, Peg,” I said. “Mama …” My voice trailed off.

“Honey?” She patted a salve onto the bump on my forehead. “You know what? You had to get away from that woman. She’s got the devil inside her, right into the bones.”

“She’s my mama, Peg.”

“And maybe she even loves you. But she loves herself first, and she’s been using you something awful. That’s not healthy for a child.”

“I wanted to tell you, really I did, but—”

“But nothing. I know,” she said. “Get your things. We’re going to my house.”

My things weren’t much: a small pile of clothes, a few books, Mama’s silky nightdress, the silver bell that hooked under my séance skirt, and forty twenty-dollar bills.

My little notebook and my gold pen.

One never knows.

Peg’s house smelled of vinegar and lemons, as though she’d been scrubbing just for me. She gave me a tour, which took four minutes. A plate of gingersnaps and raspberry jumbles waited on the kitchen table, and Peg soon made a pot of tea. She had knit the tea cozy herself, in the shape of a rabbit.

“Too chilly now to sit outside,” she said, “but spring and summer, my little porch is like another room, overlooking the street with the whole world going by. I plant vegetables in April. I hope you like to weed, missy.”

“It’s nice here,” I said. “And I’ll get a job after school, Peg. I’ll help pay, I promise.” If I’d told her I had eight hundred dollars tucked in the lining of my bag, she’d have fainted dead away.

“I start next Monday for Mrs. Tibbet,” said Peg. “Laundry and ironing. We’ll do all right.”

“Yes, we will.”

“And I’ve been seeing a fellow. Just like you said I would. That other policeman? The little one, with the manly voice? Well, it turns out he’s quite the dancer and more fun than a circus.” She blushed scarlet. “I’m not sure yet, you know, that he’s the true love you mentioned, but still. He’s a fellow.”

“A lucky fellow,” I said. “And I like your house, Peg. It feels like a home. But …” How to say it? Straight out, I decided. “I don’t think I can sleep in the bed where your father died. What if he came to visit?”

“It would serve you right,” grumbled Peg. “But I suppose we’d best give away that bed. I can hardly bring myself to fluff the pillows. I know you claim now it’s bunkum, but I swear he watches my every move.”

“Anything’s possible,” I said. And I meant it.

Marthe Jocelyn is the author of several award-winning novels and has written and illustrated picture books. She divides her time between New York City and Stratford, Ontario.