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Authors: Betsy Byars

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chapter three

Children!

“C
hildren! Do not make faces behind my back!”

Aunt Pauline said this to the twins. I stood with my mouth open in amazement. How did Aunt Pauline see what they were doing? Our maid, Frances, had said, “That woman has eyes in the back of her head,” but I had never been able to see them.

“Children, that's better.” Aunt Pauline always said
children
as if the word itself was distasteful. Still she had not turned around.

Aunt Pauline was my father's sister who lived with us. She was officially in charge of the children. We had had nurses when we were infants, but as soon as we were considered girls, the kindly nurses disappeared and the unkindly Aunt Pauline took over.

On this day I had followed Aunt Pauline quickly from the dining room. At lunch she had made a comment about Mr. Tominski, and I wanted to ask her what she had said.

I had still never caught sight of the elusive Mr. Tominski, but he was always a dark shadow at the edge of my mind, just as he was at the edge of our lives.

I broke in with, “What did you say about Mr. Tominski, Aunt Pauline?”

“She said he was lurking around Frederick's memorial garden,” a Bella said.

“What's âlurking'?” I asked.

“Like this.” The twins did a sinister turn around the room, hiding behind chairs and peering out.

This caused Aunt Pauline's frown to deepen. When she frowned, her nose got longer. Now it almost touched her lip.

“I also said that your father didn't need to visit the man every day and that Cook didn't need to take him meals.”

She took a deep breath and went back to the original topic. “If you make ugly faces, children, your face will freeze like that.”

With the sudden insight of a four-year-old, I said, “Is that what happened to your face, Aunt Pauline?”

There was a terrible silence, broken only by muffled laughter from the Bellas. I didn't see anything funny.

Now Aunt Pauline looked at me. There was such fury in her face that I stepped back. I would much rather she had looked at me with the eyes in the back of her head than the ones in the front.

“Children should be seen and not heard, Amen.” “Amen,” the twins said in unison, as if they thought it was some sort of pronouncement.

“Children who ask questions will not learn the truth.”

I knew that Aunt Pauline made up some of these things, but she looked as if she meant it, and then she swept from the room.

The twins collapsed on the love seat in laughter, kicking their feet in uncontrolled glee.

I was still awed by the terrible look from Aunt Pauline and wondering how you could learn the truth if you didn't ask questions. “What's so funny?” I asked.

The Bellas were good at imitating people. And as soon as Aunt Pauline was out of earshot one of the Bellas sat up and said, “Children!” It was Aunt Pauline's voice. “Children, if you tell a lie, your nose will grow long and ugly.”

The other Bella said in my voice, “Is that what happened to your nose, Aunt Pauline?”

They fell back again. More laughter, more kicking.

I was a serious child and was always surprised at the things othersâparticularly the Bellasâfound funny.

Finally, their mirth spent, the Bellas went outside, and I followed. I tried to turn the conversation back to Mr. Tominski. “Why did Aunt Pauline say he was lurking in the memorial garden?”

The Bellas were busy making up a new Aunt Pauline insult and didn't answer.

“What does he do anyway?”

No answer.

“He must do something!” I was aware that all the people at The Willows had specific duties. That was how our food got prepared, our clothes laundered, our gardens tended.

“Somebody tell me what he does!” I remembered the Bellas had spotted him at the barn. “Is it something to do with the horses?”

But the Bellas' minds continued, trainlike, on a single track.

“Children, if you frown at a horse, your face will turn into one.”

“Did you frown at a horse, Aunt Pauline?” Again, it was my innocent voice asking the question.

During the rest of the afternoon, in the middle of one of our games, one twin would break off and say, “Children,” in that terrible Aunt Pauline way that made me wish I wasn't one of the group. “Children, if you say the word
witch
, you'll turn into one.”

And my voice would pipe up from the other: “Did you say the word
witch
, Aunt Pauline?”

I still didn't see what was so funny, but by now, I had stopped asking for an explanation and made myself laugh along with them.

chapter four

A Daisy and Other Invisible Flowers

“D
aisy . . . dandelion . . . daffodil . . .”

My sister Augusta knew more words than anyone in the world. I loved to walk in the garden with her. It was like taking a walk with a dictionary.

Scout led the way. He paused and looked back occasionally to make sure we were following.

Augusta always started with aster and buttercup, and as she moved through the garden and the alphabet, she bent gracefully and picked imaginary flowers.

“Elderberry . . . fuchsia . . . gardenia.” She added these to her bouquet.

It was a winter's day. The branches above us were bare. The only flowers were the invisible ones in my sister's arms.

We proceeded through the empty, colorless yard, with my sister going through the alphabet of flowers, gathering them one by one.

“. . . verbena . . . wisteria . . . the rare xantheniaâ” Here she paused to give me a wink of conspiracy. Augusta was my serious sister, so even this sort of mild joke was rare. She ended with “. . . yellow jasmine . . . zinnia.”

Thus, we came to the family cemetery. This was the end of the walk. I was always surprised at how sad this made me, even though I had known it was our destination.

“Open the gate for me, Amie.”

She nodded at her flower-laden arms, and I reached out for the latch.

The gate was black metal, an intricate design with angels holding out harps to one another. Just inside the gate was an ornate metal bench. Augusta had told me on an earlier occasion that Aunt Pauline always sat there before leaving the cemetery so that if a ghost followed her, it would tire of waiting and return to its place.

My sister and I moved through the angels with their harps, past the bench, to the graves. Scout stayed behind with his tail drooping.

Most of the tombstones were old, some of the names too weathered to read. But we moved to a newer one where a tiny lamb looked down in sorrow at what lay beneath.

The inscription read

Anita McBee
A Lamb of God
Born December 25, 1887
Departed this world January 3, 1888

I always counted it on my fingers. “Ten days.”

“Yes.” My sister sighed.

“Do you remember Anita?”

“I will never forget. I got to hold her. She was the tiniest thing.”

“I wish I had held her.”

“You weren't born yet.”

“I know, but still . . .”

“She was perfectâthe tiniest fingers, fingernails. Her fingers curled around one of mine. I stroked the crown of her headâthe softest hair. It was like corn silk. And she never criedânot one single time.”

Augusta sighed. “Everything was perfect except her heart. The doctor listened to it and said she could only live a day or two. She surprised everyone by living for ten.”

“Ten days.” It seemed the saddest length of timeâno time at all really, not enough to learn a single word.

“You know that song that Abigail and I singââJuanita'?” She sang the chorus. “Nita, Juanita, ask thy soul if we should part. Nita, Juanita, lean thou on my heart.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Well when I sing it, in my mind I'm singing, âNita, Anita, lean thou on my heart.' It brings tears to my eyes.”

I knew that from now on it would bring tears to mine.

We stood in silence for a moment, and then Augusta opened her arms and her bouquet of invisible flowers rained down on our sister's tiny grave.

Sounds broke into our sorrow. A dove cooed. In the distance the noon train blew its mournful whistle.

Scout growled at the gate. The only other time I had heard him growl was when Mr. Tominski was near. I looked around quickly but saw nothing.

Augusta and I passed the bench without resting and joined the dog at the gate. The three of us walked in silence to the house.

chapter five

E Flat

“E
! E! E!”

The twins were imitating Abigail and her singing teacher, Miss Printis. Miss Printis would occasionally tug the top of Abigail's hair and say “EâEâE” in order to get Abigail's voice up to the right note. Abigail did not have what Papa called “an ear for music.”

The Bellas were using Scout as the reluctant singing pupil and tugging the top of his head.

“E! E! E!”

From the doorway Augusta said, “It's not nice to make fun of Abigail's singing. Anyway, quit tormenting the dog.”

“He likes it, don't you, Scout. E! E! E!”

It was a rainy afternoon. Mama, Aunt Pauline, and Abigail had gone into town. Papa owned several businessesâMcBee Bank, McBee Feed and Seed. McBee Dry Goods was their destination today to buy material and trimmings for a dress for Abigail. Then they were off to the seamstress, so they would be gone a long time.

The Bellas and I were left at home, and we were hard up for something to do.

Augusta got tired of watching the dog's singing lesson. She said, “I'm going to play the piano. Do you want to come listen?”

“We'd rather teach Scout to sing, wouldn't we? E! E! E!”

“Amie, do you want to come? I'll play whatever you like.”

Later I had reason to wish I had gone, but the attraction of the twins was strong. I shook my head.

Augusta went into the parlor and began to play the piano in a lively way, perhaps hoping to entice me into the room.

One of the Bellas said, “I know what we can play.” Glancing at the doorway, she lowered her voice. “But we have to go upstairs so nobody can hear us.”

The other Bella, reading her twin's mind, jumped up at once. I, not having that ability, was baffled.

“What is the game that we don't want anybody to hear?” I asked. The fact that it was something we didn't want anyone to hear should have warned me.

“Come on. You'll find out.”

The twins moved into the hallway, and I followed.

Augusta stopped playing. “Where are you going?” she called.

“Nowhere,” the Bellas called back.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing!”

“You're wearing what Aunt Pauline would call your up-to-no-good faces,” Augusta sang out from the piano bench.

The three of us hurried upstairs to nowhere to do nothing.