The Trespassers (9 page)

Neely swallowed hard. Gulping down the question that wanted to come out, she asked only, “Monica?”

“Umm.” Grub nodded and started making the tiger jump back and forth through a hoop.

Neely went back to the dollhouse then, but she found it hard to get back into what she’d been doing. Instead she kept watching Grub—and particularly watching the empty space on the other side of the circus game. But no matter how hard she stared, or how quickly she turned to look at it again, the space went on being empty. And Grub went on nodding and smiling and talking to something—or someone—she couldn’t see.

Once when Grub seemed to be having a particularly lively conversation she got to her feet and crossed the room to the far corner and the Monica trunk. Quietly lifting the lid and the tray she pawed through the doll clothes and dishes until she found it—the unfinished sampler. Then with the sampler between her hands she closed her eyes and thought first about the faded words at the bottom of the sampler picture—
Monica, Age 10.
—and then about the girl in the portrait over the library mantel. Then, as vividly as she could, she pictured the same little girl sitting on the floor next to Grub’s circus game.

She waited until she could see Monica as plain as day. A pretty little girl, sitting there cross-legged, her curly blond head bent forward to see what Grub was doing. And then Neely opened her eyes. She opened them quickly and—for just a flicker of a second, while her eyes were still half opened—Monica was there. She was there—and then she was gone.

Neely put the sampler back in the trunk and hurried over to where Grub was sitting. “Come on, Grub,” she said. “Let’s go home. We have to go home right now.”

Grub didn’t argue.

A
FTER NEELY HAD TIME TO THINK IT OVER CAREFULLY SHE
decided there was no reason to worry about Grub’s “playing with Monica” game. Because it was, of course, only a game. Just as she, Neely, imagined being Monica when she was in the nursery, Grub was imagining that Monica was there with him, talking to him and playing his games. And what she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, sitting there across from Grub, had probably been only her imagination.

She was sure that was all there was to it, or almost sure, but once or twice she did ask Grub some questions. Not the “Is it true...?” kind of question, of course, but just an occasional casual one like, “What kind of games does Monica like best?” or “What was Monica wearing today?”

Grub didn’t seem to mind. When Neely asked that kind of question he always looked pleased, thought a moment and then said, “She likes playing with the circus best,” or

“Blue. She was wearing a blue dress with lace, like in the picture in the library.” And that was all. But that was perfectly all right, Neely decided. After all, what other kind of an answer did she want?

It was toward the end of July that Reuben started watering the lawn at Halcyon House. Not all of the acres of weed-choked lawn in front of the house and down the hill on one side, but just the small round section directly in front of the entryway. Neely noticed it first on a Monday and by the next Saturday the grass in the circle around the fountain had become even greener and had recently been mowed. It was on that same day that Grub pointed out that the dead tree in the living room had been taken away and all of its fallen leaves had been swept up.

On their next visit there were other signs that Reuben was taking his job of caretaker more seriously. Other rooms, both upstairs and down, were swept and dusted and some of the dustcovers that protected the upholstered furniture had been taken away.

Neely was worried and it seemed to her that, even though he didn’t say so, Grub was worried too.

“Maybe we should stop coming,” Neely said on the Monday that they first noticed the missing dustcovers. “At least for a little while,” she added hastily when she saw the look on Grub’s face.

Grub shook his head violently. “No,” he said. “It’s okay. I think Reuben is just doing spring cleaning.”

“In July?” Neely said, smiling.

“Well, maybe he’d rather do summer cleaning, or something,” Grub said. “And besides, he won’t go in the nursery. He never did before. You said he never did before. Come on. Let’s get the key.”

On the last Saturday in July Neely was particularly anxious to get to the nursery because she’d thought of a new adventure for her dollhouse family to have. It had to do with some kidnappers who were going to try to steal the doll family’s baby and hold it for ransom. She decided she’d have to use some of Grub’s toy soldiers to be the kidnappers even though they were a little too small—and when she asked Grub if he wanted to be a part of the game he seemed very interested.

“I’ll get the key,” Grub said as soon as they crawled in the window. “I’ll get it. You wait up here.” Then he hurried off downstairs while Neely waited outside the nursery door, thinking about the kidnap game and deciding which member of the family would be the hero who saved the baby. When Grub came back with the key he was frowning.

“There’s a new cupboard in the game room,” he said as he handed Neely the key.

“A new cupboard?”

“Umm. A big one. With glass doors and guns inside. Four of them. There are four guns and two of them look like those army things.”

“Really,” Neely said. “Let’s go see.”

Grub was right. Sitting against the wall beyond the fireplace there was a large cabinet that definitely hadn’t been there before. It was made of dark heavy wood and its padlocked door seemed to be made of the thick unbreakable glass you sometimes see around cashiers’ booths. Inside you could see four guns hanging on racks against a velvet-covered back wall. Four very deadly-looking guns, two long ones and two short. Staring at the guns, Neely had a very uncomfortable feeling.

Grub looked worried too. “Neely?” he said, and it was definitely a question. Grub was asking her to explain the gun cabinet. To explain it—and to make it all right.

Neely bit her lip. “It—it must be Reuben’s,” she told Grub. “He’d probably have to have guns around, since his job is being a watchman. Watchmen usually have dogs and guns too. And you know how small his house is. He probably just decided to keep his gun cabinet in here. Look how big it is. It must have taken up half his living room in that little place.”

Grub looked relieved. “Oh,” he said, smiling happily. “It’s just Reuben’s watchman guns. That’s okay then. Let’s go play about the kidnappers.”

He hurried off and Neely followed more slowly thinking about what she had told Grub—and hoping she was right. Hoping and worrying. But once she was back in the nursery and they’d started the kidnappers game she forgot about the gun cabinet, at least for a while.

It was probably about a half hour later, when Grub was making a toy soldier tiptoe around the outside of the dollhouse looking in all the windows, that he suddenly put the soldier down and turned to stare at the nursery door.

“Shhh!” he said.

Neely caught her breath. “What is it?” she whispered. “What is it? Did you hear something?”

“Sort of,” Grub said. When he turned to look at Neely his face looked tight and stiff and his eyes were huge. “Come on, Neely. We’d better go.”

Then she heard it, too, a faint scuffling sound that seemed very close—like just outside the nursery door.

She was just getting to her feet when the doorknob turned, and the door opened a tiny crack. Something moved outside the crack and then stopped moving. Neely got to her feet and was starting around the dollhouse when a strange, high-pitched voice said, “Who—who are you?”

F
OR WHAT WAS PROBABLY ONLY A FEW SECONDS, BUT
seemed like forever, nothing moved and no one spoke. Hanging on to the back of Grub’s shirt, Neely stared at the door, too shocked even to think. The opening didn’t widen and nothing could be seen through the narrow crack. But finally, after that silent eternity, the high, wobbly voice came again. “I
said
, who are you?” This time it definitely sounded young, like a girl perhaps, or a boy whose voice hadn’t yet changed.

Neely swallowed hard, tried to speak, tried again and managed, “I’m Neely Bradford. Neely, and”—she gestured — “and Grub. Who—who are you?” There was no answer, but after a moment the door began to inch open. A head came through first. A lot of stiff, pale hair, and a round, lumpy face with pale, jittery eyes. And then a body—also lumpy—dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

Definitely not the pretty little girl in an old-fashioned lacy dress that she had been halfway expecting, but very clearly a boy. A boy about Neely’s age, and dressed like an ordinary modern kid. An ordinary kid—who was obviously very nervous.

To her surprise Neely found herself smiling. “Hi,” she said. “Where did you come from?”

The kid’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, where did I come from?” he asked. “I live here. This is my house. My name is Hutchinson. Curtis Hutchinson. This house belongs to me—to my family, anyway.”

“Really.” Neely was amazed—and dismayed. “You live here?”

“Sure. Since yesterday. We came last night in a taxi. My mom and dad are still asleep.” Curtis Hutchinson stared at Neely suspiciously, his pale eyes narrowing. “But they’d hear me if I yelled, and Reuben is here too. He’s the watchman and he has a mean dog. And my dad has guns. A lot of guns.”

“No,” Grub said. “He’s not.”

The kid looked at Grub and then back at Neely. “What? What did he say?”

Neely waited for Grub to repeat his comment but he didn’t, so she did. “He just said, ‘He’s not.’ I guess he meant Reuben isn’t here. We saw him leave.”

“No,” Grub said. “I meant Lion isn’t mean.”

But Curtis Hutchinson ignored him. To Neely he said, “You’re lying. The watchman is too here. He was here last night.”

“Well, he’s gone now. We saw him leave in his truck. He always goes in to town on Saturdays and we saw him go this morning, like always.”

“Aha!” Curtis said, in a “now I’ve got you” tone of voice. “‘Like always’? Like, you always wait for the watchman to leave and then you sneak in here?” He nodded slowly, rolling out his lower lip. “You’re looters, aren’t you? That’s what you are. Looters.”

Neely felt her throat tighten. This was it. This was the beginning of arrests and policemen and judges and juries—just as she’d known there would be. Just as she’d known would happen, and then let herself forget. She took a deep breath and walked toward her accuser, her chin nobly high—Joan of Arc before the judges. As she advanced Curtis Hutchinson moved back warily. “No. We’re not looters,” she said with what she hoped was great dignity. “We haven’t taken anything, or hurt anything. We just used to come here to play in the yard with Lion and then we found out there was an open window so we came inside. But we haven’t taken anything or—”

“Sure you haven’t,” Curtis said in a sarcastic tone of voice. “Of course not.” He screwed his face up into a cutesy, phony smile, and making his voice sugary he said, “We’re innocent, officer. We just came here to play.”

“Yes,” Grub said, nodding and smiling. Really smiling, as if he didn’t realize that Curtis was being sarcastic. “See.” He gestured around the room. “See, this is where all the Hutchinson kids played. But it’s been locked up for years and years and even Reuben didn’t come in here, ever. And Neely and I cleaned it up. Didn’t we, Neely? It was all full of dust and spiderwebs and we cleaned it up. See.”

Curtis stared at Grub and then looked around the nursery—and then looked again as if he were noticing his surroundings for the first time. He walked over to Grub’s circus game and stared down at it and then went on to the toy soldier battlefield below the windows. At the dollhouse he stopped and peered inside. When he had been all the way around the room he came back and stood between Grub and Neely and the door and stared at them, sticking out his round, slightly lopsided chin.

“Okay,” he said. “So maybe you didn’t steal anything. But you were going to, weren’t you? I’m going to have you both arrested for trespassing. I’m going to call the cops and have you both arrested.”

“The phones don’t work,” Neely said coolly. “We’ve tried them lots of times.” Of course, there might be one that worked in Reuben’s place, but she didn’t mention that. To her surprise she was beginning to feel quite calm. “But if you do tell the police, just tell them we’re Bradfords. Everyone around here knows the Bradfords. But right now I think we’d better go home. The key to this room is over there by the door. You can lock it back up if you want to. Come on, Grub, let’s go.”

For a moment it looked like the Hutchinson kid might be going to try to stop them, but then he seemed to think better of it and stepped aside. Neely headed for the stairs. They would not, she decided, go out the window. Not with him watching them, they wouldn’t. Instead they would go right down the stairs and out the front door. They had reached the landing before she noticed the man who was standing at the foot of the stairs looking up at them.

Except for less hair and some wrinkles around his deep-set eyes, the man at the foot of the stairs looked a lot like Curtis. Like Curtis he had lumpy cheeks and a lopsided chin and jumpy light-blue eyes that flickered nervously from place to place. He was wearing a ratty old bathrobe and his feet were bare. He looked up the stairs directly at Neely and then, to her surprise, he turned and walked away. In the door to the living room he stopped and turned back.

“Curtis,” he called. “Come here. Come here right now.”

Curtis brushed past Neely, ran down the stairs and across the hall. The man, who was pretty obviously his father, clutched Curtis’s shoulder and started talking to him in a tense, angry way. Neely couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying or what Curtis said in return, but after a minute the man nodded, glanced at Grub and Neely, and then turned quickly away.

“Fine,” he said to Curtis, but more loudly now. “Good. Making new friends already. What did I tell you.” He patted Curtis’s head in a stiff, awkward way. Then he disappeared into the living room.

Curtis met Grub and Neely at the foot of the stairs. Crossing his arms over his chest, he clutched his elbows and then glanced up at Neely and stretched his lips in a sly, foxy grin. Then he said, “Guess what I told him. I said, ‘Dad, these are my new friends. I met them down on the road when I was going for a walk, and I asked them up here to see the house. Okay?’ And he said it was okay.”