CHAPTER SIX

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Henry stood with his back against the fence and watched the boys play. His emotions were mixed. In one sense, he was enjoying himself. Since arriving at the barbeque, he had consumed three generic colas. Now he was working on a root beer. He had never before consumed any sort of soda. He had seen commercials occasionally, which his father had told him were crass and capitalistic. Thus far, soda pleased him. But Henry’s happiness was tempered by worry. What he was watching, while nursing his can of root beer, was baseball.

The grown-ups were all inside the yard, standing around grills or setting out casseroles, paper plates, and flimsy plastic utensils designed to snap when used. Henry’s cousins had all disappeared into the front yard, and the boys had run out behind the house into a vacant lot with an old foundation to play baseball. They had enough foresight to bat away from the house toward the raggedy old trees, the street, and, beyond that, an abandoned warehouse squatting in the shadow of a rusty water tower. Not one hit had reached the street in the air, and balls hit on the ground died fast in the grip of the overgrown grass.

Henry was worried about the boys. He wasn’t worried they might exclude him. He wasn’t worried they might be too embarrassed to ask the new kid to play. He was worried that they might want him to. But no one had asked him yet, so he leaned against the fence, trying not to be too noticeable, drinking his root beer, and watching other boys run, pitch, throw, and try to hit.

“Your arm hurtin’ you?” a voice behind him asked. Henry looked up into Frank’s face.

“My arm?” Henry asked.

“Well, you aren’t out there playin’. I thought it might be your wrist or your elbow.”

“No. I’m just not feeling up to it.” Henry sipped his root beer.

“Oh well. I don’t feel up to most things most times,” Frank said. “I’m gonna grab a beverage, and then I’ll come back and watch your game.”

Frank’s head disappeared behind the fence, and Henry turned back toward the field. A tall boy in a sweat-stained baseball hat with a fraying bill stood in front of him.

“Are you Henry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Henry said.

“I’m Zeke Johnson,” he said. “D’you play?”

“Not much,” Henry said.

“D’you wanna play?” Zeke nodded at the field.

Normally, Henry would have lied. Instead, he surprised himself. “I forgot my glove,” he said.

“Borrow mine,” said Zeke. “We’ll play opposite.”

“I’m a lefty.”

“So am I.”

Henry held his breath. “Okay,” he said, and looked around for a place to set his root beer. Zeke took it out of his hand and put it on the fence. Then, with Henry’s blood doing strange things in his veins and his breath catching in his throat, the two of them walked out onto the scraggly grass of the makeshift diamond. The other boys nodded at Henry or said hi. Henry nodded back but couldn’t say anything. Zeke introduced him, then gave Henry his glove and sent him into right field.

Uncle Frank leaned on the fence, watching the boys and sipping his beer. A bigger man leaned up next to him. “Hey, Frank,” he said. “Dotty says you wanted to talk to me about your door trouble.”

Frank glanced at him. The man was tall and looked strong. His fleshy face smiled beneath a yellow cap with a concrete truck above the bill. “Hey, Billy,” Frank said. “Dotty said that?”

“How long’s it been stuck?” Billy asked.

Frank stared out into the field, lifted his beer, and winced at the taste. “Two years,” he finally said. “I tried choppin’ it today. I tried chainsawin’ it and just wrecked the floor. The door won’t budge.”

“Well,” Billy said. “You want me to take a look?”

The two men stood silently, watching a small kid overbalance swinging.

“Needs to choke up on the bat,” Frank said.

Billy nodded and spat. “And his eyes are all over the place. Everywhere but the ball.”

Frank stood up and took a deep breath. “Okay, Billy. I need you to look at it now. And tell Dotty I said no. I don’t know when I could pay you. She handles the money, and it might be months before I could sneak some.”

Billy nodded. Henry’s team was running in to bat as the two men set their drinks on the fence next to Henry’s root beer and left to find Billy’s truck.

 

Henry stood at the plate and watched the fat kid wind up. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. The kid was throwing the ball as hard as he could. He’d almost hit Henry the first time, and Henry wasn’t even wearing a helmet. One of the boys from Henry’s team was on second, and there were two outs. The fat kid threw the ball—it was coming right at him. Henry wanted to duck or squat or something. Instead, he leaned back and brought his hands around. The ball cracked off the handle of the bat, and instantly Henry’s hands burned.

“Run!” somebody yelled. Henry carried the bat with him for a few steps, then remembered to drop it. He didn’t even look to see where the ball had gone. He was sure he would be out if he looked. When he hit the sweatshirt that was first base, he left one foot on the shirt and hopped forward with the other, trying to stop. Then he fell over.

“You can run through the bag,” the first baseman said. Henry looked at the pitcher. The shortstop was throwing him the ball.

“Where did it go?” Henry asked the first baseman. “Where did I hit it?”

“Short left. Did it hurt your hands? You hit it with the handle.”

“Yeah,” Henry said. He stood up, unsure of how to hold himself. He rubbed his throbbing hands together and then crossed his arms. The other runner was on third. But he wasn’t really on it. He was leading off, sliding sideways with bent knees. Henry uncrossed his arms and stepped off the sweatshirt, trying to watch the pitcher, the other runner, and the batter all at once.

The batter popped out, and Zeke threw Henry his glove as he headed in from center field. Henry ran back out into right field, almost hoping someone would hit it to him. But not quite.


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Frank and Billy stood on the landing. Billy was holding his toolbox. Frank wiped sweat off of his forehead before he spoke.

“I got the chain saw stuck in the floor right before we left for the barbeque. Haven’t had time to cut it out yet.”

Billy licked his lips. Wood chips were scattered all over the landing and partway down the stairs. The door looked like it had been attacked by a herd of angry beavers. The chain saw still rested in its tangled carpet nest. Billy knelt beside the door.

“Some job, Frank,” he said. “Should have called me sooner, and maybe you could have skipped the Vietnam approach.”

He fished in his toolbox, pulled out something black and metallic, and began probing the old keyhole. Frank heard a click.

“Was that it?” he asked.

“Almost.” Billy pulled out a second tool, and a moment later, there was another click.

“Now,” Billy said. “Now it will open.” He leaned on the door. He stood up and thumped his shoulder against it. He stepped back and kicked it.

“Goodness,” he said. “Somebody weld a plate on the other side of this? It’s not locked as far as I can tell. Should pop right open.” He kicked it again.

“That’s why I used the ax,” Frank said. “Wish I could just find the key.”

“Key wouldn’t help you. It’s as unlocked as any key would make it. Something else has got it shut.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Frank said. “Might be a different kind of key. It’s sure a different kind of lock.”

“It’s the same kind of lock that’s in all of these old houses,” Billy said. “Nothing special about it.”

They were silent again.

“I would have gone straight to the chain saw,” Billy finally said. “What happened with it?”

“Kicked. Swung down and ate the carpet.”

“Mind if I give it a try?”

“Gotta cut it out first.” Frank pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped it open. He cut the strands of carpet away from the saw while Billy tried to pull it out. After a few wiggles and two big tugs, they got it free of the floor. Billy examined the chain.

“Bit dull,” he said. “And full of carpet.”

“Wasn’t,” Frank said. Billy pulled the starter cord, and the engine muttered. He pulled again, and the engine sounded irritated. A third pull roused it completely, and the landing filled with exhaust.

Billy stepped toward the door.

 

By the time Henry, his cousins, his aunt, and his uncle were all home and unloaded, Henry had consumed a total of six sodas of various types (four of them caffeinated), two sausages, and a hamburger. And he desperately needed to go to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the downstairs bathroom mirror, he reviewed his baseball accomplishments.

He had struck out twice, and hit one single and a double. His double had gone all the way to the trees. He had flubbed a fly ball in right field, but had fielded a grounder and thrown it almost all the way to second base. Zeke Johnson, though much bigger than Henry, wanted him to come over to hit sometime this week. Henry would be in Zeke’s class in the fall.

Henry turned on the faucet and watched the water become brown as it ran over his hands. He could hear his cousins yelling and laughing. He wouldn’t go to school in Kansas if his parents were back. Something knotted in his stomach. He felt horribly guilty. Only a few days in a new house, and he had already forgotten them. They were probably miserable.

But, he thought, it wasn’t completely his fault for forgetting. Strange things had been distracting him. Of course he hoped they would be found and returned. But if that was going to happen, it was going to happen whether or not he worried about it. And he was playing baseball, and Zeke did want him to come to his house, and, most importantly, he needed to figure out what was going on in his bedroom.

Henry wandered into the living room, where his cousins were begging Uncle Frank to let them watch a movie. He thumped past them and up to his bedroom, trying to feel unhappy for his parents. When he got to the bottom of the attic stairs, he took one step up and stopped. Cold air was drifting down around him. He took two more slow steps, smelling and listening. The air smelled like grass and wet earth. He could hear trees.

The entire attic, normally the hottest place in the house, was extremely chilly. His two doors were open, and a quiet wind was crawling out of his bedroom and past him. The lights were off, but it wasn’t completely dark outside, so he could just see the wall of his bedroom from where he stood. The cupboard door was open. He could hear trees gently moaning, creaking like ships, somewhere beyond his bed. When he stood just inside his doors, he looked carefully to both his left and right, then took another step and sogged into a puddle of very cold water. He jumped back, felt his way to his light, and turned it on.

The end of his bed beneath the open cupboard was soaking wet. An enormous puddle covered the floor, reaching almost to his doorway and filling the right side of the room. The cupboard door was swinging slightly, and all the doors beneath it, as well as the plaster, were drenched. Henry knelt on his bed, felt his mattress squelch beneath his knee, and looked in the cupboard. He could see nothing. But he could smell wet earth and thick, contented moss. He could hear leaves tossing in their sleep. He shut the door, slid the latch, and found a dry spot on his bed. Picking at the wet knee of his jeans, he looked at the water on his floor. There were three earthworms, big ones, swollen in the puddle.

“Worms,” Henry said out loud. There were worms in a puddle on the floor in the attic.

 

Dotty and Frank stood in the kitchen sipping sun tea. The girls were watching something or other on television.

“What’d Billy say?” Dotty asked.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked. “I told you I wasn’t going to ask him.”

“But you did.” Dotty smiled, brushed back her hair, and took a drink. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for talking to him, Frank. I know you have your pride.”

“My pride’s why I asked him,” Frank muttered. “He couldn’t open it, either. Proved I didn’t need him.” He set his tea down. “I’m gonna blob with the girls.”

Anastasia and Penelope were on the floor in front of the television. Frank plopped next to them.

“Henrietta went upstairs with Henry,” Anastasia said. “She said we couldn’t come.”

“Did you want to go?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” Anastasia said.

“No,” Penelope said. “Henry’s not very good at playing games. Henrietta is just being nice to him.”

“I think they have a secret,” Anastasia said.

“It’s not nice to try and find out people’s secrets,” Penelope said.

“Secrets are for finding out. Dad, do you think they have a secret?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” Frank said.

Anastasia was excited. “Can I? Do they have to answer?”

“No,” Frank said. “No, they don’t have to answer.”

“Can I ask them now?”

“Sure. Penny and I will keep track of the television for you, won’t we, Pen?”

Penelope just bit her lip as Anastasia ran to the stairs.

Anastasia reached the attic stairs, slowed down, and listened. She knew that the first step to asking about secrets is seeing how much you can find out by sneaking. She had been wanting to sneak for days. She had wanted to follow Henrietta when she got out of bed late the night before. Penelope hadn’t let her. She wanted to spy on Henry in his room and go through his drawers, but Penelope wouldn’t let her. Penelope thought it was more fun when people wanted to tell you things. Anastasia thought it was more fun to find out what they didn’t want to tell you.

She could hear Henrietta’s voice, though she couldn’t tell what she was saying, and she could hear something slopping heavily on the floor. She could also hear tape being unrolled and torn across the teeth of its plastic holder. She spread her feet all the way against the walls on both sides of the stairs, put out her hands a few steps up, and began crawling.

“How do you think the latch came undone?” she heard Henrietta ask. “I saw you latch it. I know you didn’t forget.”

“I don’t know,” Henry said.

“It’s a lot of water. You’ll have to curl up on the dry end of your bed tonight.”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “I don’t know if I’ll sleep, though. I drank a lot of soda.”

“So did I.”

“I’ve never had soda before.”

“What? You haven’t?” Henrietta laughed. “Why not?”

“I think because it’s bad for your teeth.”

“Isn’t everything bad for your teeth?”

“Probably.”

“I think the worms are funny. It’s weird that they came through.”

“Yeah. I don’t think they like my floor.”

“Do you think the worms were Quantummed?”

“I don’t know where they came from, but they’ll probably like the backyard.”

“I’m done with your wall. Should I put some on the ceiling?”

“Sure.”

“What about the other wall?”

“Sure.”

Henry was not thinking about what Henrietta was saying. He was slapping towels on the floor and squeezing them out into a bucket. His bucket needed to be dumped. He picked it up and walked to the top of the stairs.

Anastasia was splayed out on all fours about halfway up. She straightened quickly.

“Hi, Henry,” she said. “I was just coming up.”

“Oh,” Henry said. At the sound of her sister’s voice, Henrietta came scurrying out of Henry’s room.

“Anastasia, you’re awful!” Henrietta said. “You were eavesdropping!”

“No, I wasn’t.” Her eyes went big. “I was just coming to ask you something. Can I come up?”

“No,” Henrietta said. “You were sneaking.”

“It’s okay,” Henry said. “You can come up.” He put the bucket down and moved aside. Anastasia climbed the remaining stairs quickly, trying not to look at her sister. Henrietta was making faces.

Anastasia stepped into Henry’s doorway. Henry and Henrietta stood behind her. “Where’d you get all the posters?” she asked. The wall was completely covered with images of a basketball player, arms crossed, glaring. The posters were all taped together into a single sheet. Most were vertical, some were leaning, and one was upside down. Another one dangled from the ceiling, where Henrietta had not yet finished her taping.

“Dad gave them to me for Henry’s room,” Henrietta said. “He had them in the barn.”

“All the same one?” Anastasia asked.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Henry said. Anastasia looked down at the still-wet floor. “Were you trying to keep a fish?” she asked. “Mom wouldn’t mind a fish.”

“No,” Henry said.

“Frogs?”

“Nope.”

“Salamanders?”

“Uh-uh,” Henry said.

“Then what’s the water from?”

“Nothing,” Henrietta said.

“A rain cloud,” Henry answered.

Anastasia stepped into Henry’s room. Henrietta followed, standing right beside her.

Anastasia felt the bed. Then she saw the worms.

“I wish you would tell me about your secret. I’ve been wanting to spy, but Penny won’t let me. Why won’t you tell? I won’t tell on you. Penny and I can keep a secret.”

“Penny can,” Henrietta said. She crossed her arms and shook back her hair.

Anastasia looked hurt. “I keep secrets!”

“Who told Mom about the rat skulls in the barn?” Henrietta asked.

“Well, I didn’t mean to.”

“Who told Becky Taller about the fort in the chestnut trees?”

“I don’t even like Becky Taller!”

“Well, who told her, then? Who told Dad about the boots we were getting him for his birthday?”

“He forgot! He was still surprised.”

“Who told Mom when I tried to climb the water tower?”

“I did not tell that!”

“You climbed the water tower?” Henry asked. “The tall one on the other side of town?”

“Yeah. Dad came and got me before I could get very high because someone told.” She stared at Anastasia.

“It wasn’t me,” Anastasia said. “It really wasn’t. I promise.”

“Well, you told all the other times.”

“Not on purpose. If you tell about the water and the worms, then I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Penny.”

“If we told you, we would tell Penny,” Henrietta said.

“I already told you,” Henry said. “It came from a rain cloud.”

Anastasia looked at him and curled her lip. “That’s not very nice. Most water probably came from a rain cloud.”

“We might tell you soon,” Henry said. “I have to go dump the bucket.” He scooped the towels up, carried them to the bucket, and started down the stairs. Anastasia followed him down onto the landing.

“Henry?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I can’t keep a secret?”

He stopped and looked at her. “I don’t know, can you?”

“It’s kind of hard, but sometimes I can.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you a secret. Don’t tell anybody.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want to go back to Boston.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “What about your parents?”

“I hope they’re okay, but I don’t want to go back. They would never let me have a knife or ride in the back of the truck or drink soda or play baseball without a helmet.”

“Real baseball players wear helmets,” Anastasia said.

“They made me take a special class when I wet the bed.”

“You wet the bed?”

“I used to.”

“I won’t tell anybody.”

“Okay,” Henry said, and he went into the bathroom. Anastasia went downstairs. She didn’t tell anyone. It would have been harder if Penelope had asked.

“I thought he was keeping a fish,” she whispered to Penelope. “But Henrietta said they weren’t.”

 

That night, Henry read on the dry end of his bed until he was sure his aunt and uncle were asleep. Then he pulled down the sheet of posters and looked at his collection of doors. He got out the chisel Henrietta had brought him and began prying and scraping at the remaining plaster.

Downstairs, Frank told Dotty not to worry about the scratching noise, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Henry worked much faster with a chisel, and he was getting the hang of how the old plaster broke off. He was also still heavily caffeinated from the barbeque and not even slightly tired.

The plaster in the upper corners came off quickly, and he tipped his dresser onto his bed so he could stand on its side to reach the very top of the wall where the ceiling peaked. There were no little doors that high, just a wooden panel crowning the whole wall. He climbed down off his dresser, stood it back up on the floor, and tried to quietly pull his bed away from the wall to get at the bottom.

Henrietta came in just as he finished moving his bed. She had waited a very long time for her sisters to fall asleep.

Most of the plaster behind the bed came off quickly because water had seeped down behind it and loosened it up. But the bottom corners still took the two children a great deal of time to clear off. The plaster was thinner there, cracked easily, and came off in tiny pieces.

When Henry finished and stepped back to look at his wall, the caffeine was gone and he was tired enough to fall asleep standing up. His arms and wrists were sore, and yawns came with almost no break between them. Henrietta, who had been sweeping and cleaning while Henry chipped, stopped as well and stood beside him.

“How many are there?” she asked.

Henry yawned. “I don’t know. A lot. They’re pretty small.”

Henrietta started counting. Henry was too tired to count, so he just waited for her to finish.

“Ninety-nine,” she said finally. “There are ninety-nine. Ninety-nine is a lot.”

“Yeah.” Henry yawned again.

“Should we go dump all the plaster now?” Henrietta asked.

Henry yawned again. He nodded. He couldn’t talk.

The blanket was not piled as high as it had been the last time, but it was still very heavy. An exhausted Henry heaved his makeshift sack, and Henrietta followed him, picking up the pieces that he dropped.

When they arrived outside, the night air roused them a bit, but not much. Every time Henry yawned, Henrietta’s jaw quaked and then opened wide as she fought one of her own.

The two of them finally made it to the irrigation ditch, watched the plaster slide down into the oily-looking night water, and sat down.

“I fell asleep here last time,” Henry said. “It was early, but the sun was up. Your dad found me. He didn’t even ask what I was doing.”

“He never does.”

“I’d like to sleep here again. It’s much nicer than inside.”

“You’d get cold.”

“It’s not that cold out here,” Henry said. “It’s just nice.”

“I’ve done it before,” Henrietta said. “Eventually you still get cold. Have you ever slept outside at night?”

Henry shook his head.

“Not even in a tent?”

Henry shook his head again. “I slept in a sleeping bag once. Mom said I had to keep it on top of my bed, but I slept on the floor. She thought I’d fallen out of bed.” He was staring at the moon’s strange face. Henrietta didn’t say anything. He turned to look at her. She was asleep in the grass. Her mouth was open.

“Henrietta,” he said. He poked her in the shoulder, and she woke. “We should go inside, or we’ll both fall asleep.”

“Okay,” she muttered, and he helped her up. The two of them dragged bare feet through the beautifully damp grass, a wet and dirty blanket dragging behind them.

Henry said goodbye to Henrietta at her door, climbed his stairs, and threw his blanket on his bed. Where it had been wet, it was now filthy with dust that would not shake off. He didn’t care. He didn’t even bother to reattach his sheet of posters. He dropped his clothes and climbed onto his bed, put his head in the corner, remembered something, reached over, turned off his light, and closed his eyes in the darkness.

 

Henry didn’t know if he had been asleep for hours or if he had only just gotten into bed. All he knew was that there was a light on in his room. It was supposed to be dark. What does that matter? his sleeping mind wondered. He didn’t open his eyes. His bare feet squirmed around on the wet part of his sheets.

Suddenly he was wide awake. The light was shining across the end of his bed, lighting his damp feet. It was coming from the post office box.

Henry sat up and slid to the end of his bed, kicking his tangled bedding to the floor. Holding his breath, he looked through the narrow glass panel. Inside the darkness of the box, a single postcard leaned against the left side. Beyond that, the box opened onto a yellow room glowing with light. Henry’s mind, back up to normal speed, remembered the key in his pants pocket.

Henry jumped off his bed and rustled through the sheet-and-blanket pile on the floor, hunting for his pants. When he found them, he reached for the pocket, then he panicked. What if the key had fallen out when he fell down at first base? Or when he fell down at second base? Or in right field? Then his fingers found the string and pulled it out.

The key swung and spun in the dim light. Henry hopped back onto his bed and felt for the keyhole. He pressed the key to the lock. Nope. He flipped the key around and tried again. It slid into place. He turned it, felt the latch release, and pulled open the little door.

Henry was peering through a mailbox into somewhere else. The somewhere else was mostly yellow. Then Henry heard someone whistling, and a pant leg came into view not two feet from Henry’s face.