Follow the Stars Home. Luanne Rice

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       Four

      On Saturday morning Dianne was wallpapering the parlor wall of a small Victorian. The blue and white paper was English, a pattern of tiny white peonies. Dianne worked from the interior out. She would do the inside work first, making sure every detail was perfect, then nail the house together.

      “Your grandmother would like this paper,” she said to Julia. “Peonies are her favorite flower.”

      Julia sat close by, propped up in her chair. Every window was open, and a warm wind blew off the marsh. Stella crouched on the sill, inside the screen, watching life in the yard. Julia was very quiet today, enjoying the breeze in her hair. Everyone got spring fever in their own way. Dianne felt April moving toward May.

      A car door closed, and the cat instantly slid out of sight. Born in the wild, Stella was intensely shy. Dianne craned her neck, but she couldn’t see the driveway from the window. Washing wallpaper paste off her hands, she went to the door.

      “Oh, my God,” she said, feeling her stomach lurch as she saw Alan getting out of the car. Dianne thought of Julia’s test results, wondered whether he had come by to break some bad news in person. But then she saw the young girl, and she relaxed a little. He wouldn’t have brought someone with him if that were the case. Dianne’s hands were trembling as she dried them with an old rag, and she watched them come toward the studio.

      Alan shielded his eyes, looking around. The marsh was bathed in sunlight, a hundred shades of green. Cattails rustled, and red-winged blackbirds darted in and out. Long Island Sound sparkled beyond. The Robbinses had the last house on Gull Point, ten blocks and a world away from Amy’s.

      “You know these people?” Amy asked, standing beside him with wide eyes.

      “I do.”

      “They’re witches,” she said. “All the kids say so.”

      “What kids?”

      “In my neighborhood.”

      “What do they say?”

      “That the ladies cast spells and turn kids into monsters and trolls. Then they keep them prisoner.” Amy was staring at the house. It was a tidy Cape, its white cedar shingles weathered to silver. The blue shutters had cut-out sea horses; the white window trim gleamed. Window boxes were filled with purple and yellow pansies.

      “Well …” Alan said.

      “Is it true?” Amy asked, standing so close, her shoulder bumped his jacket.

      “You’re going to have to decide for yourself,” he said, feeling a shiver under his skin as he saw Dianne standing in the doorway.

      Amy had never doubted Dr. McIntosh before, but she couldn’t imagine why he was bringing her to the witch-ladies’ house. She had been so happy about spending the day with him, she had prepared by taking a bath in Rain Magic bath salts, then putting on fresh jeans and the cleanest shirt she could find. But now, standing in the clamshell driveway on Gull Point, she felt afraid.

      Tall privet hedges lined the yard, blocking any view from the street. Although Amy lived just a few blocks away, she had never seen the house before and was surprised that it looked so cute. Would witches live in a Cape with sea horse shutters? Instead of walking up the front path, Dr. McIntosh headed around the side yard. It was a meadow of sea grass, bristly and greenish-brown, but there were gardens of daffodils, pink azaleas, and tiny blue scillas.

      Set back at the edge of the marsh was a small white cottage. Most unwitch-like! Amy thought. And standing in the doorway was the golden-haired lady Amy had seen once before, at Dr. McIntosh’s office.

      “Oh!” Amy said.

      “I should have called,” the doctor said to the lady.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked, sounding scared.

      “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said quickly. “I happened to be in the neighborhood, picking up my friend Amy Brooks, and I wanted to introduce her to you.”

      The lady bowed her head, looking relieved. She wore a white shirt tucked into blue jeans. The sleeves were rolled up; she wore old sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she’d tied the end with a thin piece of marsh grass. Her eye color reminded Amy of periwinkles, just as they had the other time she had seen her.

      “I know who you are,” the lady said, smiling slowly.

      Amy stood slightly behind the doctor.

      “You were in the playhouse,” the lady said.

      “Dr. McIntosh lets me,” Amy blurted out, thinking maybe the lady was going to give her a hard time about it.

      “It makes me happy you like it,” the lady said.

      Amy frowned, unsure of why the lady should care one way or the other. Confused, she looked at the doctor, and he placed his hand on Amy’s shoulder.

      “Miss Robbins made that playhouse,” he said. “I bought it from her to put in my waiting room. And my brother delivered it in his truck. That’s how we all met.”

      “That’s a very old story,” the lady said. “I’d like Amy to call me Dianne. Come on in.”

      Once Dianne got past that first lurch, seeing Alan’s car and thinking bad news, she felt herself relax. Their eyes met and held for a moment. She took in his open expression, the smile lines every mother in Hawthorne loved, and she was so aware of the distance she wanted to keep between them, she forgot to open the screen door.

      “How are you?” СКАЧАТЬ