The Mask That Sang

dedication

This book is for my daughter Rachel, whose insight and compassion humble me daily; it is also for my new birth aunt, Bev Hazzard, who handed me the gift of my own identity.

chapter one

Faster, faster! Cass kept scrambling past garbage cans and over cracked pavement, although her legs were dead stumps and her lungs screamed. The boys were close behind her, the same four who chased her every day.

“Hey! Food bank! Wait up!”

“Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to run away?”

Something whizzed past her ear and crashed into a parked car. Its alarm burst to life, fuzzy in her ears, already behind her.

Only another block, and she was home.

“Where'd you get those shoes? I want to get me a pair like that!” Their laughter pierced like the skewers they wanted to stab her with.

Keep running!

But suddenly one of them was beside her, and another on the other side. Someone's foot hooked around her own, and she fell, hard. The knees on her pants ripped, and the skin underneath. But Cass refused to cry out.

“Just gonna lie there?”

Again came the laughter that meant to wound.

She got to her knees, not looking them in the eyes.

“You should stop when people are calling you, greasy hair.”

Cass climbed slowly to her feet, facing them.

“Hey, what are you boys doing?”

Someone was leaning out of a car window, but his face was blurred because of the water in Cass's eyes.

“You leave that girl alone. What's wrong with you? Get out of here!”

“We're not doing anything.”

“I watched, you knocked her down. Now you get lost, the four of you. Pack of bullies!”

The car door opened as Cass swiped the weak moisture away. She stood like a dead tree as the boys scattered in the face of someone stronger than themselves.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded dumbly.

“You should tell your teacher, tell your daddy about that. Tell an adult.”

Cass nodded again. She would get right on telling her daddy. Just as soon as she knew who he was.

“Seriously. You gonna be all right? How old are you? You live near here?”

“I'm twelve. I live—just up the street.”

The man scratched his head. He was torn, Cass could tell, between helping and getting on his way.

“Well, I gotta go. I'm late for work. Do you want me to walk you home?”

She shook her head. From her dry throat, she croaked, “Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetheart. Seriously, tell your daddy. He'll put a stop to those jerks.”

Then he was in his car, good deed done, off and away to his own life.

Cass jiggled the key in the lock. There was a trick to it, but she hadn't mastered it yet. When they'd lived here longer, it would be easy—that's what Mom had said, smiling brightly with an arm around Cass. But Cass doubted they'd be here long enough to learn the trick. Mom's new job cooking at the motel restaurant didn't sound any more promising than the last one.

At last the key turned, and she fell into their studio apartment, a little room that had a bed in the corner, a kitchen on the other side, two chairs and a table.

Cass sank into one of the chairs and hugged herself. Tried to make it all go away.

One day, one day, she and Mom wouldn't live here. One day, they'd find the place that Cass imagined in her mind. It was a place of green trees, calm lakes. There weren't any bullies there. When Cass closed her eyes and breathed slowly, sometimes she could make that place appear before her. It made her feel almost homesick, although she had never lived anywhere like that.

She shut her eyes now and tried to make it appear.

There was just the rushing of faraway water at first, but the water came nearer and with it the breeze that whispered of green spaces, air to breathe.

And then Cass imagined that she could rise up on that singing wind. She was floating, soaring, high above the world. Below, the granite city was gone, replaced by a great blue-green lake that stretched out.

Cass directed the wind to lower her till it placed her gently on the water. The water moved her up and down. There was no place for bullies here, or fear—only sweet, undulating water.

™

Mom was fiddling with the key in the lock.

Cass scrambled up. Shadows had seeped across the room, all that was left of the lake and the music. What time was it, anyway?

“My sweetheart!”

Mom burst into the room, all paper bags and smiles and arms outstretched. Banishing everything bad, instantly filling the space with her own sunshine.

“How is my darling?” She swung the bags on the table and shrugged off the thin coat, dropping it on one of the chairs. She turned and cupped Cass's face in her hands, with eyes that saw her and loved her and worried. “Okay today? Not too bad? Not too scary?”

“No,” Cass lied. “Not too bad.”

Mom kept looking in her face. “Hmm.”

“Just some boys, they were laughing at my shoes and stuff.”

Mom hugged her, hard. And she didn't say anything, because there really wasn't anything more to say. Mom had even gone in to see the principal, one of the scariest things she'd ever done, Cass knew, because Mom was just about as afraid of everything official as Cass was. The principal had promised to fix the problem. And it was better, when teachers were around. Trouble was, they couldn't walk her home.

“You are going to have gorgeous shoes one day,” Mom said. “And they are going to be made of—what's good?”

“Leather,” said Cass. She thought of books she'd read. “Or—or kid. Like a baby goat, not a, you know,
kid
.”

“Kid,” said Mom. “With sequins and lights that blink when you walk, and inserts that make you feel like you're walking on air. And they'll play your favorite song when you jump up and down, and bluebirds will come and sit on them and sing along.”

When Mom talked like this, Cass couldn't help but get caught up in it. “And glow-in-the-dark shoelaces.”

“Duh.” Mom started to unpack the food bank bags. “Glow-in-the-dark shoelaces that transport you through time and space. Because, you see, we're going to discover that we are the only living heirs to royalty, and everyone who's royal wears these shoes. It's kind of your ticket into the club.”

She placed tins of spaghetti on the table. “Tonight, I think, pasta à la Mommy?”

“Aren't you home early?”

“Yep, a little bit!” The cheerfulness in Mom's voice was suddenly forced. She had her face inside the large brown bag, getting the stuff at the bottom.

“Mom,” said Cass softly. And she felt like the mom herself.

Her mom let out a big breath. “Oh, honey.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yes,” said Mom. “It did. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I saw the boss yelling at the new little girl for something she didn't do, and he had her backed right up against a wall, right in her face, making her cry.”

Cass waited.

Mom sat down. “I got involved, and he fired me.”

For a minute she wilted, the sunshine cut off. And for that minute you could see right inside, past the smiles and bright words, to the scared Mom beneath, who never seemed to get a break. Who wrecked the break when she got it, by telling the boss to stop bullying.

You couldn't beat a bully. Not at school, not at work, Cass thought.

Then Mom smiled. “So. I know what I'm doing tomorrow. Pounding the pavement. Don't worry, I'll get something else. There's lots around, lots of places willing to pay under the table. I'll have something by the time you get home tomorrow, I promise.”

She cupped Cass's chin in her hands again.

“Don't worry, my baby.”

™

Bzzz!
The doorbell sounded. They both jumped.

“Who could that be?”

“Maybe your boss wants to apologize,” Cass said.

Mom smoothed her clothes with shaking fingers and ran a hand over her hair. “It's dark. We don't know anyone here.”

She fumbled with the door, then put the chain on and opened it a fraction. “Yes?”

“I'm looking for Denise Jane Foster.” The voice was a man's, very official sounding.

“That's me.” Mom stood a little straighter.

“Twenty-seven years old, born July seven?”

“Yes. Did I do something wrong?”

“This is for you,” said the man's voice. A large envelope passed through the door.

“Thank you.” Mom looked at it anxiously. “Is it—is it a legal thing?”

The voice wasn't unkind. “I can't comment on that, just the messenger. Have a good night.”

The man's steps receded down the hall.

Mom closed the door and locked it again. She stared down at the envelope.

“Well, open it!” Cass said.

“I don't know what it could be.” Mom fingered the envelope nervously. At last she ripped it open, and slid out a pile of papers. Her eyes darted back and forth across the pages, wide and worried.

And then her face turned a strange color of putty, and she collapsed right down onto the floor.

chapter two

It was horrible after that. Mom was all shaky and dialing a number, while Cass hugged her knees amid the pillows on the bed. Dinner was forgotten, but Cass didn't care. Her stomach had gone tight, and she couldn't eat anything anyway.

Mom was saying, “I don't understand how you even found me. My mother abandoned me as a baby, she gave me up to Children's Aid and never tried to find me. I've been in over twenty foster homes, and I've lived at about as many addresses since. There is no way you have the right person.”

Later: “Well, if she wanted to meet me so much, she should have made an effort over the last twenty-seven years. I was around the whole time.”

Cass hugged herself tighter, hearing the harsh words coming out of Mom's mouth. She never wanted Mom to talk to her like that.

“I'm not sure I'm interested in coming to your office,” Mom's cold new voice said. “To be honest, it would cost money to get there, and that's money I don't have, as I'm in between jobs. No, I don't have a car.”

More talking at the other end.

“Well, I'm not agreeing to anything if I do come. Just a meeting, that's all. And I can tell you in advance I don't plan to accept anything from her.”

In the end, when everyone was finished talking, Mom hung up. Then she stared at her hands as they quivered. Cass looked at her own. They were doing the same.

“Mommy,” said Cass, and ran to her, nearly bursting into tears. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, my darling.” It was Mom's warm voice again, thank goodness. “Just a lawyer, and just a thing. I have to go into the city tomorrow to see her, and she's sending a car to pick me up. That's all. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal, Cass could tell. And Mom was so shaken by it Cass couldn't imagine her going by herself. Mom was a mess when it came to people she thought were important. She didn't think she counted in comparison.

“Can I come?”

“Oh,” Mom said, her hands fluttering. “No, no, I don't think so. You'd have to miss school.”

“I could help you,” Cass said cajolingly. “You know, you always say two heads are better than one. I'm good at remembering details and taking notes and stuff.”

Mom rubbed her forehead.

“I don't know. Maybe.”

™

Cass made the coffee in the morning before Mom was up. She put out the cereal and milk and laid a place for Mom with a spoon and napkin. When the alarm clock rang, and Mom crawled out of her side of the bed, Cass handed her a mug of coffee with milk and sugar.

“Bless you, my child.”

At eight o'clock, Mom didn't say anything about Cass getting ready to go to school, so Cass didn't bring it up either. Just before eight-thirty, Mom gathered her purse and coat, so Cass got her coat too. Then they headed downstairs to the pavement outside.

At exactly eight-thirty, a black car pulled up, and a man climbed out of the front seat.

“Denise Foster?”

“Yes.” Cass could tell Mom was trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“I'm Dan Jacobs. You can call me Dan. I'm here to drive you into town.”

“Thanks,” said Mom.

He opened the door for them. The inside of the car was all creams and grays and silvers. Cass had never sat on anything so soft. She stretched her legs out, thinking suddenly of Mom's story of being long-lost royalty. Maybe it was really true! Maybe they were going to find out they had a million dollars.

What could you do with a million dollars? Buy a mansion? Go on a 'round-the-world cruise? Buy a private jet? Or maybe they would simply find a little place to live that was near a lake, like the one in her daydream that made music like chimes. Cass spent so much time thinking about all of the options that she scarcely noticed the highway at all, or the downtown streets with glass-filled skyscrapers on all sides.

Then, suddenly, Dan was opening the back door, and she was climbing out after Mom.

“Head up to the sixteenth floor, suite 302,” said Dan. He smiled and shook both their hands. “I'll be waiting for you when you're ready to go.”

Mom nodded, looking a little glassy-eyed.

“Come on.” Cass held the door for her, found the elevator, pushed the buttons. A few minutes later, she turned the knob of suite 302.

A smartly dressed woman sat behind a curving desk.

“Hello! Is this the lawyer's office?” Cass asked. Her voice sounded too loud in this muted, elegant office. She thought suddenly of the bullies, and how they called her “Greasy Hair.”

Mom fumbled with the envelope. “Maracle and Brant?”

The lady smiled. “Are you Denise Foster, by any chance?”

Mom nodded dumbly.

“Welcome! I am so glad to meet you. Ms. Maracle has been waiting for you.”

™

Ms. Maracle stood up when they walked in. She stepped quickly around the desk and shook both their hands. Then she gestured to seats, and they all sat together on the same side of the desk.

“Thank you for coming,” said Ms. Maracle. “Coffee or tea?”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Mom. “Nothing.”

“A nice cup of tea,” Ms. Maracle said cajolingly. “Something warm after your trip.”

Mom sort of nodded and shrugged at the same time, pretty much on the verge of losing it. Cass squeezed her hand hard and didn't let go.

“And maybe some apple juice for this young lady.” Ms. Maracle smiled at her warmly, and Cass had the sudden feeling that things would be okay. She liked the lawyer's gentle face. Ms. Maracle wouldn't, couldn't do anything to hurt Mom.

A little while later, when everyone had something to drink near at hand, Ms. Maracle opened up a file on her lap.

“Well, now,” she said. “Here it is. The last will and testament of Maria Elizabeth Burns.” She leaned forward kindly toward Mom. “As we talked about on the phone, it is proved beyond doubt that she was your biological mother. I have all of the papers here to answer any questions you might have about that.”

Mom crossed her arms.

“And,” said Ms. Maracle, “she left everything to you.”

“I'm not planning to take it,” said Mom in a small, tight voice.

“She left you her house,” said Ms. Maracle.

She let that sink in.

“And the sum of eleven thousand dollars.”

Mom said at last, in the cold voice again, “I waited. I waited for years. On my birthday, Christmas—every time I moved to a new family—I imagined she'd come to get me.” Her voice got colder still. “This house and this money, give them to the poor. I don't need them.”

“That is your choice, of course,” said Ms. Maracle. “And you don't need to decide today. Take some time.”

She reached inside the file again. “One other thing. There is a letter for you. Sealed.”

She handed it to Mom, who held it limply in her hands.

“Where—where is this house?” Cass's voice sounded funny in her ears, like rocks in a landslide, scraping against each other. “Should we at least go and see it?”

Ms. Maracle said quickly, “That's an excellent idea. Dan can run you over. It's very close.”

“I don't need her house.”

“Not to have it, just to see it,” Cass said. She put her hand on Mom's shoulder, suddenly feeling again like she was the older one.

Then Mom was rubbing her forehead, and Ms. Maracle was taking keys out of an envelope. She handed them to Cass.

“I haven't agreed to anything,” Mom reminded them both.