Take Charge (14 page)

“Yeah,” said Morgan. “If the park’s not our business and we’re kids, then whose business is it anyway?”

Chelsea laughed. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I told him.”

“Well, we’re going to have a meeting after school,” said Morgan.

“Today?” asked Chelsea.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Today’s soccer tryouts.”

“That’s right,” said Carlie. “I totally forgot!”

“Oh, why do you guys want to do that?” asked Amy. She’d never been very into sports and didn’t know why her friends would want to go get all sweaty and dirty on purpose.

“Because it’ll be fun,” said Carlie.

“I always do soccer,” said Chelsea.

“You guys should try out too,” said Carlie. “Especially you, Morgan. Besides me, you’re the fastest runner I know.”

Morgan smiled. “Thanks. But I don’t know much about soccer.” She pointed to her glasses. “And it’s kind of hard with these.”

“You can get special sports glasses,” said Chelsea. “My friend back in Minnesota had them. They look kind of dorky, but they do protect your eyes.”

“Come on,” urged Carlie. “You’d probably like it, if you just gave it a chance.”

“I used to play soccer,” said Emily in a quiet voice.

“See,” said Chelsea. “You should try out too, Emily! Come on, everyone, it’ll be fun.”

So it was agreed — or so it seemed — they should all try out for soccer. Still, Amy wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t very athletic, and she didn’t like looking stupid. She’d already
made a fool of herself once this year when she tried out for seventh-grade cheerleading during the first week of school.
What
had she been thinking?
Even though she’d learned the routine and performed it without one single mistake, she just didn’t seem to have that “special something” that won the other girls spots on the small cheerleading team. Still, it had been some consolation when her friends had cheered her on and told her she was brave to try out.

At the end of the day Amy begged out. “I just don’t want to,” she told her friends. “I have music to practice and schoolwork to do and I sometimes help at the restaurant. I don’t see how I’d have time for soccer too.”

But she felt left out when she started for home after school by herself. Part of her wished that she’d gone ahead and tried out. Like Carlie had assured the others, “Don’t worry, no one gets cut from seventh-grade soccer.” Still, Amy felt pretty sure she might’ve been cut. Especially if she fell on her face like she figured she would. Instead of going directly home, she decided to go through town and stop by the restaurant. She knew that Tuesday was almond cookie day, and she figured at least she could get a good snack.

But before going into the restaurant, she stopped to look at what used to be McPhearson Park. It was still cordoned off with yellow police tape. And it looked even more dismal than when she’d seen it before. It seemed that
no one really cared whether or not it was turned into a parking lot.

Determined not to cry, Amy swallowed hard against a lump that was growing in her throat. Maybe this was like so many other things to do with childhood. Maybe it was just time for her to grow up and move on.

“This used to be such a pretty park,” said a voice to her left.

Amy turned to see an older woman standing by a white car. She was looking out over the devastated park and sadly shaking her head.

“Yes,” said Amy. “I was just thinking that exact same thing.” She walked over to the woman. “I used to play here when I was a little girl.”

“So did I,” said the woman. Then she laughed. “Of course that was long, long ago. But I can remember when bands would play over there.” She pointed to an empty spot in the center of the park. “Oh, it’s not there now, but there used to be a lovely white gazebo. And on a warm summer Sunday afternoon, they would have concerts here. Sometimes a brass band would play jazz or swing. And sometimes we would have dances in the evening. It was really grand.”

“That sounds nice,” said Amy. “I’m a musician too. I think it would be fun to have a concert here.”

“Oh, it would be wonderful. Something for young people to do. Like when I was a girl. We had such fun here.”

Suddenly Amy got this crazy wave of hope. Could it be possible that this was old Viola McPhearson standing right here before her? Could Amy have gotten that lucky?

“I don’t remember seeing a gazebo here before,” she told the woman, studying her closely, hoping against hope that this was the mysterious Viola.

“Of course not, dear. It was taken down long ago, back in the fifties, I believe. They thought it was dangerous. And I suppose it was falling apart some — the way old things tend to do. The city refused to pay to have it replaced. And now it’s simply a memory. Although I believe there may be photographs of it somewhere. I may even have some of them myself.”

“I’ve been doing some historical research on the park,” said Amy. “I understand that it belongs to the McPhearson family.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I even spoke to the mayor about it,” she continued.

“Really?” The woman peered curiously at Amy now. “You spoke to the mayor yourself?”

Amy nodded, standing a little taller. “He told me that a letter would be sent to Miss Viola McPhearson, asking her to take care of repairing the park within thirty days.”

“And then what?”

“If she doesn’t, the city will take it over. And most likely it will become a parking lot.” Amy watched for the
woman’s reaction.

But she just made a
tsk-tsk
sound. “Well, I have a feeling that poor old Viola won’t pay much heed to that letter.”

“Do you
know
her?” asked Amy.

“I knew her once … long ago. She’s a few years older than me. But she was a good friend of my oldest sister, Margaret, when they were in school together. Of course, Margaret’s been gone a few years now. Not that she and Viola stayed in touch. Viola is a bit of a recluse.” She looked at Amy. “Do you know what a recluse is, dear?”

“Of course,” said Amy. “That’s a person who keeps to herself.”

The woman smiled. “You sound like a smart young lady.”

Amy smiled back.

Now the woman extended her hand. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Martha Watson.”

“I am Amy Ngo,” she told her, nodding across the street. “My family owns Asian Garden.”

“Oh, yes,” said the woman. “I ate there once when I was passing through town.”

“You don’t live here?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t lived here for years. I just like to come through from time to time. Just for memory’s sake.”

“Oh …”

“But I’m sorry to hear you may be losing the park. It’s a pity.”

Amy nodded. “Yes, it is. My friends and I are going to do everything we can to save it. We’re writing letters to the editor, and we plan to raise money, and we’d like to get people in town to support our cause.”

“Well, it’s a good cause. And if I lived in town, I’d certainly support it.”

“Thanks,” said Amy. “That’s something.”

“But not much,” admitted the woman. Then she opened her purse. “How about if I give you my address,” she said as she opened a little notepad and wrote something down. “And if your campaign to save the park gets off the ground, you can write to me and I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Watson,” said Amy as she slipped the paper into her backpack.

“And now I think I’d like to find a place to get a cup of tea.”

“We have tea,” said Amy. “At the restaurant, I mean.”

Mrs. Watson smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you do.”

“And my mother makes almond cookies on Tuesdays,” continued Amy.

“Almond cookies?” Mrs. Watson looked interested.

“Do you want to join me?” asked Amy.

Mrs. Watson nodded. “I think that I would.”

Soon Amy and her new friend were seated at the restaurant. An had tossed Amy a curious look when they
came in, but Amy had introduced Mrs. Watson as if it wasn’t the least bit strange that she was having tea and cookies with a woman more than seven times older than her. Amy had already done the math.

“These are delicious,” said Mrs. Watson as she picked up another cookie and examined it. “Your mother could probably package these and sell them.”

Amy smiled. “I’ll make sure to tell her that.”

“And now I’m thinking …” Mrs. Watson sighed. “If Viola still lives in the family home, which I’m guessing she must, maybe it would be worthwhile to pay her a little visit.”

Amy’s hopes soared. “Do you think —”

“And if your parents will let you go, I could take you along with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“But we may get the brush-off, Amy.” Mrs. Watson studied Amy’s face.

“That’s okay,” said Amy. “I’ve heard that she’s not very hospitable.”

Mrs. Watson laughed. “I’m afraid that may be putting it mildly.”

So Amy and Mrs. Watson talked to Amy’s mother — with Amy working as translator — and it was agreed that Amy could accompany the older woman to the McPhearson house. Of course, it didn’t hurt matters that
Mrs. Watson wanted to buy two dozen almond cookies to take home with her.

Once again, Amy wished that she knew how to pray as Mrs. Watson drove them up the coast highway. And she was tempted to pull out her cell phone to call Morgan — via Chelsea’s cell phone — and ask her to pray. But she didn’t.

After just a few minutes of driving, Mrs. Watson turned off the main highway onto Amelia Lane. Amy remembered that Cara had mentioned that name only a few days ago. She wondered if she would see Cara there today and whether Cara had given Miss McPhearson her note.

“Do you think Amelia Lane is named after Captain McPhearson’s wife?” asked Amy as Mrs. Watson turned onto a long, graveled driveway with tall hedges growing up both sides. “You know he married Amelia Boscoe before founding the town.”

“I think that’s a very good guess,” said Mrs. Watson as she parked in front of a large dark house that loomed before them like a tall shadow. It was made of charcoal-colored stone and had what Amy imagined might be a Gothic look to it.

“Wow,” said Amy. “That’s one spooky-looking house.”

Mrs. Watson chuckled. “Yes, I remember having that same feeling long ago when I came up here with Margaret for a birthday party. I’d never seen the house up close
before, and with all its turrets and leaded windows and oversized doors, well, I thought that perhaps a giant or a witch lived inside.”

Amy laughed nervously as she remembered what Cara had said about the Dragon Lady. “I can see how you’d think that. Was it any less frightening once you got inside? For the party, I mean?”

“Oh, yes. It was perfectly lovely. All lit up and decorated with balloons and streamers and party things. My, they used to give some wonderful parties up here in those days. You see, Viola was an only child and, as I recall, she had everything a girl could possibly want back then. I even remember feeling slightly jealous of her … especially during the Depression when so many of us were making do with hand-me-downs and resoled shoes and whatnot. But Viola always seemed to have things that looked new and expensive.” Mrs. Watson laughed as she turned off the engine. “It seems rather silly now, but I can remember feeling very disturbed about it when I was a girl. It just didn’t seem fair.”

“I’ve felt like that before,” admitted Amy. In particular she was remembering how jealous she’d been the first time she’d gone to Chelsea’s house. It seemed as if Chelsea had everything too. Still, Amy had tried not to show her envy. And eventually she became pretty good friends with Chelsea. But the truth was she still struggled with the
green-eyed monster sometimes.

Mrs. Watson got out of the car and looked at Amy. “Are you ready for this?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, as you know, we may not get past the front door.”

Amy crossed her fingers as they walked up the paved path to the large and intimidating front door. It did look as if a giant or even a Dragon Lady might live here.

Mrs. Watson rang the doorbell and Amy held her breath as they waited. After a few minutes Cara opened the door, but she looked completely shocked to see them there. “Oh!” She looked from Amy to Mrs. Watson then back at Amy again, holding her hand over her mouth.

“This is Mrs. Watson,” said Amy quickly. “She’s an old friend of Miss McPhearson’s.” Then she turned to Mrs. Watson. “And this is Cara … uh, I don’t know her last name, but she’s a friend of my mother and works at our restaurant sometimes.” She turned back to Cara, who still looked stunned.

“I’ve come to see Viola,” said Mrs. Watson.

“Yes.” Cara still looked cautious as she opened the door wider. “Uh, come in. I will go tell her.” Then she led them into a large foyer with stone floors and a winding staircase that seemed to go on forever. Amy tried not to stare at everything, but she wanted to take it all in.
The ornate furniture looked as if it had come from other countries, including Asia, as had some of her own family’s pieces. Although they had nothing as grand as any of this.

“I assume many of these furnishings were collected by old Captain McPhearson,” said Mrs. Watson as if reading Amy’s thoughts, “as he traveled about the world. Imagine the stories these pieces could tell … ”

“They look very old.”

Mrs. Watson nodded. “And quite valuable, I’m sure.”

They stood for what seemed like a long time, and Amy worried that Mrs. Watson might be getting tired. She pointed to an upholstered bench against the wall. “Do you want to sit down?”

“That’s a good idea.” Mrs. Watson walked over and sat down, putting her purse in her lap. Amy sat beside her. This was so strange. She felt as if she’d just been transported to another place or was living out something in a storybook. Maybe a fairy tale even.

“It’s kind of cold in here,” noticed Amy.

“I don’t imagine they have any kind of central heating,” observed Mrs. Watson. “Old homes like this seldom do.”

Just then Cara returned with a disappointed expression. “I am so sorry,” she told them. “Miss McPhearson does not know a Mrs. Watson.”

Mrs. Watson tapped the side of her head with her forefinger. “Of course not. Goodness, what was I thinking?
Please, dear, tell Viola that Martha O’Hara is here to see her. Tell her that I am Margaret O’Hara’s younger sister.” She peered at Cara. “Can you remember that, dear?”