The Luckiest Girl (3 page)

Shelley was silent. It hurt her to see her mother
look so sad. She wanted to say, But this is not the Depression and I don't want a raincoat, but she could not say it. She could not say to her mother, I am not you. I am me.

The ring of the telephone interrupted Shelley's thoughts. “It's Jack,” she remarked as she picked up the receiver.

“Hi, Shelley,” said the familiar voice. “Has anything exciting happened?”

“Yes!” answered Shelley, for once glad that Jack had asked that question. She was eager to tell her news to someone, to make sure it was really true. The rest, she knew, was going to be easy. All she had to do was say good-bye. And in California, she was sure, she would find the boy she had always wanted to meet.

As the plane began to lose altitude to land at the Vincente Municipal Airport, the landing field nearest San Sebastian, Shelley fastened her seat belt with trembling fingers. It was ridiculous for her fingers to behave that way. She was eager to begin her new life. Of course she was. It was just that everything had happened so fast and the world seen from the air was such a strange place, like a giant relief map. Cars were ants on ribbon highways and farms were old-fashioned crazy quilts. Lakes were puddles, trees on the mountains had toothpick trunks, and finally in California so much of the map was flat and brown with dust-colored hills like miniature circus tents. It did not seem real at all.

The plane landed on the runway with a gentle bounce and as it taxied toward the airport building that a moment ago had looked like a shoe box, all Shelley could think of was that now she could unpin the ten-dollar bill that her mother had insisted she pin to her slip in case she lost her purse when she changed planes. Shelley had not wanted to pin that bill to her slip—at sixteen she was certainly old enough to hang on to her purse—and she had started to protest but had thought better of it. Talking about the ten-dollar bill and what she should do if she lost her money had helped fill those last awkward minutes at the airport this morning, when she was about to leave home for the first time in her life and suddenly discovered she did not know what to say to her mother and father. And what was even more surprising, her mother and father did not seem to know what to say to her. Oh, they said the expected things like Be careful of strangers, and Study hard, and Don't forget to write, but Shelley knew that these remarks were only meant to fill up the long minutes until her plane was announced.

Shelley unfastened the seat belt and remembered how surprised she had been to learn that at sixteen there were so many things a girl could not say to
her mother and father—things like I'm both glad and sorry to be leaving, and I really do feel dreadful about grinding up those roses in the Disposall, and Please don't look so sad behind your smiles—nine months isn't forever and I'll write often.

The heat, as Shelley stepped through the door of the plane, was like the blast of a hair dryer against her face. She walked down the steps and as soon as she stepped onto the concrete, the door was shut behind her, the steps were rolled away, and the plane, her last link with everything she had known, was heading down the runway once more. I'll pretend I'm a stranger in a foreign land, Shelley told herself, and tried to feel a little braver. Somehow her legs carried her through the gate toward a woman with curly hair touched with gray whom she recognized as Mavis.

“Shelley!” cried Mavis Michie. “How wonderful to see you after all these years! We're so glad to have you!”

“I'm glad to be here.” Shelley smiled shakily. “Mother sends her love.”

Mavis led the way to a battered station wagon. As they left the Vincente airport and headed toward San Sebastian, Shelley settled back for her first look at California from the ground. In that
spot California was flat and brown, shimmering in the heat, and not at all what Shelley had expected, although exactly what she had expected she did not know. Something lush and tropical, perhaps.

Mavis pointed to a row of towering trees and identified them as eucalyptus. Shelley noticed that their smooth trunks were shedding their bark in long, ragged strips. She had never seen a tree shed bark before and had, in fact, been told that a tree could not live without bark. Apparently things were different in California. In the distance, against the mountains they were approaching, was a row of palm trees, the first Shelley had ever seen. They looked to her like a row of shabby feather dusters balanced on their handles. Then the station wagon rattled across a bridge and Shelley was shocked at what she saw below.
There was no water in the riverbed
. Never in her whole life had Shelley seen a river without water.

Next the station wagon passed a stretch of orange trees. A grove, thought Shelley, and not an orchard. How tidy it looked. The trees were round, with branches so low they touched the ground. The green oranges looked as if they might have been hung among the leaves for decoration. Even the soil beneath the trees was arranged in neat furrows.

“What are those round metal things between the trees?” asked Shelley.

“Smudge pots,” answered Mavis. “If there is danger of frost, the pots, which are filled with oil, are lighted to keep the oranges from being frostbitten.”

“You mean they heat up the
outdoors
?” Shelley asked incredulously.

Mavis laughed. “Enough to save the crop.”

Then Shelley saw a startling billboard that announced in big red letters, Rain for Rent. Shelley could not believe what she read until a closer view revealed the words, Farm sprinkler systems for rent or sale. The next sign that attracted her attention was painted orange with black letters that proclaimed, Giant Orange 300 yards. Now I know exactly how Alice in Wonderland felt when she fell down the rabbit hole, thought Shelley, as she watched to see what a Giant Orange might be. It was a roadside stand shaped like an orange, which bore the sign, Fresh tree-ripened orange juice. Foot-long hot dogs.

Shelley felt reassured as they entered the town of San Sebastian. She saw much that was familiar—a J.C. Penney store, Shell and Standard service stations just like those at home, a theater advertising
a movie she had seen only last week. It was the setting for the familiar that was strange to her—the dry heat, the palms, the orange trees, and, everywhere, dusty geraniums actually growing outdoors in the ground.

After they passed through the business district, the orange trees became more numerous and the Spanish houses with tile roofs gave way to ranch houses. “Here we are,” said Mavis suddenly, turning into a driveway beside a high privet hedge.

Here I am, Shelley's thought echoed as she stepped out of the station wagon and through the opening in the hedge. To her surprise she found herself facing a very old two-story clapboard house. It was painted gray with green shutters and in the center of the front door, which was beneath a vine covered with magenta blossoms, was an old-fashioned doorbell such as Shelley had not seen since she had visited a great-aunt when she was a little girl. It was a doorbell with a handle to twirl instead of a button to push. And I thought everything in California was modern, Shelley marveled.

“Welcome to our house,” said Mavis. “I know you want to change into something cooler. You must be dreadfully warm in a suit.” She led Shelley
into the house and up a flight of creaky stairs. “And here is your room. The bathroom is at the end of the hall.” Mavis smiled and patted Shelley's shoulder. “It's all so strange the first time away from home, isn't it? Come on down when you have freshened up. Supper will be ready in a little while and you can meet the rest of the family then.”

Grateful for a moment alone, Shelley sat down on the bed, which was covered with an India print spread, and looked around the long, narrow room. Because of the low, sloping ceiling, the sills of the windows were only a few inches from the floor. The windows looked out on a tangle of vines and treetops. Between the windows was a desk, painted black, and on the desk a pair of old flatirons, gilded and obviously intended to be used for bookends. At the end of the room between two closets was an old-fashioned dresser waiting for her lipstick and bobby pins. On the wall over the bed were two unframed Japanese prints. Opposite the windows were two doors that led into the hall (that was odd—two doors into the hall) and between them was her trunk, waiting to be unpacked. Shelley, who all her life had slept in a square room with one door, framed pictures, and
windows a conventional distance from the floor, felt even more strongly that she had fallen down a rabbit hole into a new life.

Quickly she slipped out of her suit and into a cotton dress that she had brought in her overnight bag in case her trunk had not arrived. She ran a comb through her hair before she walked down the hall to the bathroom, which was like no bathroom she had ever seen before. Because of its size, she guessed that it had once been a bedroom. The windows, curtained in red-and-yellow calico, looked out upon a row of eucalyptus trees and, beyond them, an orange grove. Around the bathroom were seven towel racks, each labeled with a name printed on adhesive tape—Mavis, Tom, Katie, Luke, Shelley, Mother, Guests. Whose mother? Shelley wondered as she washed her hands and dried them on a towel from her rack. The rough white towel had the words
Santa Theresa Union High School
printed on a green stripe down the center; and as Shelley examined the bathroom more closely she saw that all the towels were white, with the name of a school printed or stitched on them. This seemed peculiar and she felt a moment of longing for the white
bathroom at home with its fluffy pink towels carefully selected to match the tile. She was relieved, though, to see the names
Mavis
and
Tom
, for that was how she thought of Mr. and Mrs. Michie. Obviously they thought of themselves that way too.

Then, noticing the open lid of the hamper, Shelley closed it without thinking, because she had been brought up always to close drawers and cupboard doors. She was startled when this brought forth an indignant meow from inside the hamper. She lifted the lid and looked in at a small gray cat, the color of the shadow of a cat, blinking at her in annoyance from a heap of bath towels. “Oh—I'm sorry,” apologized Shelley, and left the lid open. Obviously this family cared more for the comfort of the cat than the tidiness of the bathroom. For the first time since she stepped off the plane, Shelley's face relaxed into a smile.

Shelley was about to leave the bathroom when a commotion below led her back to the window. A tall man in a sweatshirt was bending low over the handlebars of a bicycle as he rode along the row of eucalyptus trees and disappeared around
the corner of the house. He was followed by a shouting boy and girl, also on bicycles, and a large, barking police dog. They must be Tom and Katie and Luke, Shelley realized as she listened to their laughter and shouting from the other side of the house. Californians and their outdoor living!

Timidly Shelley left the bathroom and descended the stairs, hesitating a moment to look at the living room. It, too, was an unusually long, narrow room. There was a quaint old fireplace, and on its mantel an old walnut clock with a cupid painted on the glass was ticking. On either side of the fireplace bookshelves reached to the ceiling. The chairs and couches wore bright print slipcovers. At the far end of the living room was a pair of doors, each topped by a glass transom. From the other side of these doors Shelley heard the rattle of dishes. The least she could do was offer to set the table, so she walked the length of the living room and tried one of the doors. It was locked.

“Come around through the dining room, Shelley,” Mavis called through the door.

Shelley walked through the dining room (no one she knew at home had linoleum and painted furniture in the dining room) and into the kitchen, where she found Mavis shredding salad greens
into a wooden bowl. “Shelley, would you mind doing this while I put the fake Stroganoff together?” she asked. “The rice is already cooking.”

“I'd be glad to,” said Shelley, wondering what fake Stroganoff could be. If things were reversed and someone had come to Shelley's home from California, her mother would have had a special dinner with fried chicken, homemade rolls, and angel food cake with orange icing, all of them genuine, none of them fake.

Outside, the trio on bicycles and the barking dog tore past.

“Anything to amuse the dog,” observed Mavis. “They'll all be in shortly and you can meet them.”

Shelley felt a little hurt by the casualness of this family toward herself, a guest who had traveled so far. At her own home she would not have been allowed to ride around the house on a bicycle when a guest had arrived. She must remember she was a stranger in a foreign land, she told herself sternly, and she must accept the customs of the natives. They were probably right—after all, she was to be a member of the family for the winter and there was no reason why she should be treated like company.

“I'd better explain about those doors that don't open,” Mavis said, as she sliced onions into melted butter in an earthenware casserole. “You see, this house was once a boardinghouse in the center of town. When it was to be torn down to make way for a filling station, Tom had a chance to buy it for practically nothing. We had it moved up here and knocked out a lot of partitions—the rooms had been very small—and that is why we have so many long, narrow rooms and why you have two doors in your bedroom. We didn't know what to do about those doors at the end of the living room, so we just left them where they were. We can't open them, because we have the refrigerator against one and some cupboards against the other.”

“It—it's very nice,” said Shelley, aware that
nice
was not the word she wanted to use. She did not know the exact word to describe it—shabby and comfortable and like no house she had ever seen before. No one at home lived in a converted boardinghouse. No one at home left the hamper open for the convenience of the cat.

Mavis took three packages of frozen sirloin tips out of the refrigerator, tore them open, and added their contents to the onion and butter in the casserole, which she put into the oven.
“There,” she said. “Now all I have to do is add sour cream at the last minute.”

The back door opened and the rest of the family burst into the kitchen. “Well, look who's arrived!” Tom exclaimed, and gave Shelley a hearty hug before he held her off to look at her. “Shelley, it's good to have you here!”

“Hello, Shelley,” said Luke, with a smile that was shy but friendly.

“Hi,” said Katie, taking in Shelley's shoes and dress and hair.

So this was the girl for whom she was to be a good experience. Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Shelley managed to smile, uncertain what to say to three strangers at the same time. They all looked tan and healthy and there was a look of the out-of-doors about them. Tom and Luke she liked at once, because she felt they liked her, but Katie she was not so sure about. Perhaps this sturdy thirteen-year-old was not pleased to have another girl in the house being a good experience for her.