13 Gifts

  I hold the playbill on my lap. Yup, still looks like Emily. I hold it up to the hundreds of bulbs in the chandelier above me. Still her. I know it can’t be. And the girl in the photo is at least fifteen years older. But it’s really uncanny.

  I open the playbill and see Emily’s face again. Only this time there’s a name underneath the picture: EMILIA MAY ROSE AS TZEITEL.

  The next two pages are filled with black-and-white photos of the other actors and scenes from the set. On one of them Emily/Emilia is sitting on top of the same black trunk I’m leaning against right now! It looks much shinier in the picture and not so dented. In another picture, a man with a white beard is dancing around a barn. AVERY PITTMAN AS TEVYE. I’m about to turn the page when a giant key leaning up against the corner of the barn catches my eye. A giant key! How many giant keys are there in the world? I look at another picture. A scene in a kitchen. And there, on the table, is my basket with the heart-shaped handles! My head is starting to swim. Picture after picture. There’s the knife on the table next to a long roll of bread. There are the pearls around an old woman’s neck. There’s the violin in the Fiddler’s hands! And on and on!

  There is no denying it. Angelina had me collect all the props from Fiddler on the Roof! I sit back on the hard floor, utterly flabbergasted. Why? Why on earth would she do that? Is it her idea of a joke? Deep down, even though she had called them trinkets and bric-a-brac, I had hoped there was some significance to her choices, some greater plan that made it worth separating the items from their owners. But there wasn’t. They were just props in an old play. What are the others going to think? It’s humiliating.

  I thrust everything back in the trunk except for the playbill, which I fold up and tuck in my pocket. What I really want to do is gather all the items so I can dump them on Angelina’s counter and storm out of her shop. But it would take too long to gather them up. I don’t even want to take the time to go upstairs and tell Ray I’m leaving. So I call instead while I get out my bike.

  “You’re seriously calling me from downstairs?” he asks as he picks up.

  “Yes. I have to run back into town for something. Can you ask Connor to bring the trunk to David’s? I’ll deal with it later.”

  “Okey —”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Dokey.”

  Ugh. I hang up and pedal my heart out until I reach the alley. I leave the bike leaning up against the watch-repair shop and run down the street, only half aware of the effort it takes not to twist my ankle on the cobblestones. The store, of course, is dark inside, but that doesn’t fool me. I walk right in and stand in the middle of the room. I wait. I watch the last slant of late-afternoon sun come in from the top of a small side window. It hits a glass figurine of a dancer, lighting her up for a moment like fire, then letting her die out to ice as a cloud passes.

  I wait some more.

  Finally, the door to the back office opens. “Hello, Tara,” she says, placing a small box under the counter. “I thought we agreed I wouldn’t be seeing you here until you have everything on my list.”

  “I do have everything.” I am calmer now, and glad for it. I want to keep my wits about me.

  “All thirteen?” she says. “Wonderful! And so quickly! Where are they?”

  “I have to round them up from a few different places. I wanted to ask you a question first. Why? Why did you do it?”

  “Why did I do what, exactly?”

  “Why did you have me collect thirteen props from Fiddler on the Roof? Was it just a test? To see if I’d actually do it?”

  She bursts out laughing. “Fiddler on the Roof? The old play? What are you talking about?”

  That wasn’t the reaction I had been expecting. I step back a foot or so. “The props … in here.” I unfold the playbill and show it to her. “The objects from your list … they’re all in there.”

  She looks down at the playbill and then hands it back to me. “Didn’t you use the list on the tape recorder I gave you?”

  “Yes, of course I did. And those are the objects on the list.”

  She shakes her head. “Not on my list. You must have listened to the wrong side of the tape.” Then she mutters to herself, “Should probably erase those old tapes one of these days.”

  “But it was your voice I heard, I’m sure of it.”

  “Probably was,” she admits. “I used to help out over at the theatre. Had a little crush on one of the musicians, to tell you the truth. So charming and dapper.”

  A cold dread washes over me. “So what you’re saying is that I — along with people who trusted I was doing something important — just spent the last week convincing strangers to give up their things based on the wrong list?”

  “Sure sounds that way from where I’m standing.”

  “But … but you saw me buy the candlestick holder at the historical society. Why did you let me buy it if it wasn’t on your list?”

  She shrugs. “I figured you liked it. Can’t keep up with young people these days and their trends.”

  I just shake my head in disbelief. “But my debt is still paid off, right?”

  She shakes her head. “Not until you finish the job.”

  “But there’s no time. I can’t possibly find thirteen more things!”

  She taps her chin in thought, then scratches behind her ear. She’s simply got to let me off the hook. She’s got to! Finally, she says, “Seems to me there’s only one choice … you must put on the play!”

  My heart drops. “Put on the play? Are you serious?”

  “Why not? You have all the props. Now all you need are actors, a director, a choreographer, an orchestra, a propmaster, hair and makeup people, costumes, and let’s see, what am I missing … oh, yes, a fiddler!”

  My voice flat, I say, “You want me to put on a production of Fiddler on the Roof.”

  “Yes.”

  “Here, in Willow Falls.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why? Why should I do this crazy thing?”

  “Well, to pay off your debt of course, but more importantly, because if you do this, you will understand why you’re here in Willow Falls.”

  That makes no sense. “I know why I’m here.”

  “Do you?” she asks.

  Something in her tone tells me not to bother trying to explain about the punishment. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but obviously the people in Willow Falls already did this play, like, decades ago.”

  She shakes her head. “No. They didn’t.”

  In response I wave the playbill in my hand.

  “I was there,” Angelina says. “The show never happened. The star pulled out at the last minute, the big Broadway producer coming to see it changed his mind, and it all fell apart. Dashed many people’s dreams that day.”

  “And me somehow getting this play to finally go on, that will magically fix things?”

  “I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying only one thing … if you put on this play, you will understand why you’re here. And if you don’t figure that out, well, you risk reaching your thirteenth birthday without a complete understanding of who you are. And we all know what happens then.”

  “Let me guess. My immortal soul gets trapped outside my body? Doomed to wander the earth without me?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “And when am I supposed to do this impossible thing? I’m only here for the summer.”

  “Oh, you won’t need that long.” She reaches over and pries the playbill from my clenched hand. Holding it up she says, “Got a perfectly good date right here.”

  “My birthday?”

  “That’s right!” she says. “What a perfect coincidence!”

  Rory’s words come floating back to me. There are no coincidences in Willow Falls. I grit my teeth. “Fine.” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.

  “Wonderful,” she says. “I’ll be the first in line to buy a ticket.”

  “I have to sell tickets?”
br />   “Of course!”

  “And where am I supposed to have it? My aunt’s backyard has a pool hole in it!”

  “Now, Tara, you didn’t have any problem getting all these people to help you with my little project, I’m sure you can get them to pitch in again and help you with all these pesky details.”

  “But I didn’t get them to do anything. They wanted to help.”

  “Either way, I’ll see you Friday the thirteenth at four P.M. I’ll be in the front row singing along.” Then she starts twirling around the room singing:

  “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,

  make me a match,

  find me a find,

  catch me a catch.

  Matchmaker, Matchmaker,

  look through your book,

  and make me a perfect match.”

  Well, it is catchy, gotta say that for it. “Angelina?”

  “You still here?” She stops singing, but keeps humming the tune.

  “Does Amanda and Leo not talking have anything to do with me?”

  She stops humming. “Everyone is on their own journey in this life. You have yours and they have theirs.”

  “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  “Any time.”

  As I trudge toward the door, she serenades me with another song from the play:

  “If I were a rich man,

  Daidle deedle daidle

  Digguh digguh deedle daidle dum

  All day long I’d biddy biddy bum.

  If I were a wealthy man!”

  I can’t get out of the store fast enough. I’m only three steps away when the feeling of being watched washes over me. I look back at the store, thinking maybe Angelina followed me out and is planning on launching into another song. But the store is dark again.

  I turn back around and find myself face-to-face with David. I’m so surprised to see him there — to see anyone at all in the alley — that I instinctively back up and lose my balance on an uneven stone. He catches me right before I hit the ground.

  “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You just surprised me,” I say, catching my breath. “What are you doing here?”

  “Connor brought the trunk to my house and you weren’t with him. He said you told Ray you had to run off downtown somewhere. I’d been so curious to hear about how it went with the trunk, but you just left without even texting me.”

  “I’m sorry, it all … it all happened so fast. What made you look here?” I ask, wondering what he sees when he looks at the store behind me.

  “I saw your bike on the corner. Why were you inside that empty store? I’m surprised the door was even open.” He steps forward and reaches for the knob. I want to stop him, but an even bigger part of me is curious to see what’s about to happen.

  “It’s locked,” he says, jiggling it a few times. “But weren’t you just inside?”

  When I don’t offer up any explanation he says, “Look, I’ve been friends with Amanda and Leo and Rory for a while now. I know there are things going on in Willow Falls that I’m not a part of. After all, everyone’s on their own journey.”

  Now that sounds familiar. When I don’t comment, he continues. “But if you’re going to involve me, it’s not nice to just leave me hanging.”

  “You’re right,” I say, edging away from the store. Being this close to Angelina and David at the same time is making me anxious. “I should have texted you before I left. I don’t really have much practice at it. Is it okay if we talk about this on the way home? This alley is giving me the creeps.”

  While we make our way to Main Street, I sneak a peek at his face. His mouth is still set in a firm line. I guess I don’t blame him for being upset. The truth is, it’s not just texting that I’m not in the habit of. It’s thinking of other people at all. I should tell him that. Then I won’t have to worry about disappointing him. Or any of the others.

  Then he reaches out for my hand, and that idea goes right out the window.

  Chapter Twenty

  “They were props? For a play?” Amanda and Rory cry out, halting their forks in midair. Leo stops chomping on his chocolate-chip pancake, but only for a second. David said if you want something from someone, make sure they have a full belly. So I’m treating everyone to a post-final-exams pancake and telling them the news that I told David yesterday. I haven’t told anyone about using the wrong list, though. I plan to take that info to the grave.

  I nod. “Fiddler on the Roof, to be exact.”

  Amanda and Rory stare at me like I’ve just announced that aliens have landed at the diner. “You gonna eat that?” Leo asks, spearing my chocolate-chip pancake before waiting for a reply.

  “So what does that mean?” Amanda asks. “Why would … the person who hired you make you find all the props to a play?”

  “Maybe she really likes Fiddler on the Roof?”

  “Oh, no!” Rory says, looking from me to David and back again. “You’re not going to say we’re putting on the play are you?”

  “We’re putting on a play?” Leo asks, coming up for air. “Can I write it?”

  “It’s Fiddler on the Roof,” David says. “Someone wrote it, like, fifty years ago.”

  “Oh, right.”

  I pull out the playbill and lay it on the table.

  Rory gasps. “That’s Emily! How is that possible?”

  “Actually, it’s our grandmother, Emilia. Emily was named after her.”

  “I’ve seen people in town stop her and say how much she looks like her grandmother,” Rory says, peering closely at the photo. “Now I see why!”

  “Might as well tell them the kicker,” David says.

  I take a deep breath and say, “And we have to do it kind of fast.”

  “How fast?” Amanda asks.

  I point to the date on the front of the brochure.

  “Of this year?”

  I nod.

  “But there’s no time,” Rory says. “That’s less than three weeks away. And it’s the day before David’s bar mitzvah.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been practicing long enough,” David says. “If I don’t have it by now, I’m never gonna get it.”

  “What about the beach?” Rory asks. “You’re supposed to be going for ten of those days.”

  “I know. I’m hoping if Emily agrees to star in the play, then Aunt Bethany will let us put off the trip.”

  Rory shakes her head. “Emily would never agree to it. She’s never performed in public before, and I don’t think her mom wants her to.”

  “I know. But look” — I slide the playbill across the table — “she was born to play this part.” I’m sort of surprised that Rory is the one throwing up roadblocks. She almost seems angry. Usually she’s so quick to want to help everyone.

  Rory looks at the playbill and sighs. “Maybe you’re right. Can I talk to you alone for a second?”

  “Um, okay.” I start sliding off the bench.

  “Girl stuff,” Rory explains to David and Leo as she climbs out.

  “Hey, I know all about girl stuff,” Leo says. “My best friend has been a girl for thirteen years. Well, twelve, if you count the year she hated me. Either way, I know more about girl stuff than I ever wanted to.”

  Amanda elbows him in the ribs.

  “Maybe you can teach me some,” David says.

  This seems like a good place to exit the conversation. Rory leads me to the other side of the diner, next to the old jukebox. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s not you I’m mad at, it’s Angelina. Did she tell you something would happen if you don’t put on the play? Or that something will happen if you do?”

  “Something like that,” I admit, hoping she doesn’t ask for specifics.

  “I don’t want to know what it is,” Rory says, to my relief. “It’s just that I thought you’d be done with all this once you finished with the list. I was hoping, for your sake, that it was over.”

  “I know. I think it will be, after this.”


  Rory sighs. “Well, then, I guess we have a play to put on.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her, “for everything. For even caring in the first place.”

  She grins. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “I’m learning that,” I say, not really intending to say it out loud. Maybe she didn’t hear me over the clattering of dishes as a busboy clears a table nearby.

  But she must have, because she says, “Before last year, I really only had two friends — Annabelle and Sari. Definitely not any friends who were boys. So I’m still learning, too.”

  “Girl talk over?” Leo says when we return to the table.

  “Just beginning,” Rory says, and we share a smile.

  David says, “If we’re going to do this, we have to start right away. I think the first thing we need to do is get a script and find a crew. Costumes, sets, music, all that stuff. And actors, of course.”

  “What happened to the playhouse anyway?” I ask. “I think this was the last play they tried to put on.”

  “It was?” Amanda asks.

  I tell them what Emily said about my grandmother and the Broadway producer and then I add how the play never went on, although I don’t tell them it was Angelina who told me that part.

  “I bet I know who could tell us what really happened,” David says.

  We all turn to him expectantly.

  “Any of the people who had the props.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “I hadn’t thought of that. They must have been involved in the play somehow. Where do we start?”

  “How about the lady who did your makeup?” Rory suggests. “She lives right around the corner from here.”

  We shovel in the last bits of pancake, and then I take the check up to the front counter to pay. “How’s that cane working out for you?” Mr. Milazo asks, taking the bill.

  I reach down to my sock to get the money. “Haven’t used it yet,” I tell him. “Soon, though.”

  “They have this newfangled device called a wallet,” he says as he hands me my change. “You should try one.”

  When Bettie with an i-e sees that it’s us again, she opens the door wide. Rubbing her hands together excitedly, she says, “Oohh, you brought me two more models!”