"I guess you've written to her."
Embarrassed, I doodled little spirals on the pad by the phone. "I haven't yet. I guess I felt too bad." I hesitated, then asked, "Are Michelle and Sherry mad at me?"
"No, I don't think so. In fact, Michelle said to tell you she was sorry she upset you. She didn't mean to make you cry." Tracy popped her gum again and added, "Don't let her bother you, Jess. Michelle doesn't mean half the dumb stuff she says."
"I'll try to remember that." I grabbed a Kleenex and blew my nose. "Well, thanks for telling me what's going on at school, Tracy. I think I'm going back to bed. I still feel kind of crummy."
"I'll see you Thursday, okay?"
"Okay." After I hung up, I felt a little better about everything. At least Tracy was still friendly, and, if she were telling the truth, Michelle and Sherry weren't going to say or do anything too horrible to me.
Rescuing Raven from the corner Snuff had backed him into, I carried him up to my room and crawled into bed. I turned out the light and lay in the dark listening to Raven's wonderful rumbling purr. In the corner of my room, the moonlight dimly illuminated my dollhouse. I thought of Princess Heatherfern standing at her window and Cragstar poring over his books in the tower. They were still waiting for Sir Benjamin to come home, but I knew he wasn't going to return. Like Daphne's father, he was gone for good.
"You might as well be brave and face the truth," I whispered to the mice. "Daphne was right about happy endings. They just don't happen in real life."
Sixteen
WHEN I WENT back to school, nobody said anything about Daphne except Mr. O'Brien. He caught me in the hall after school and started asking me questions.
"I'm so worried about Daphne," he began. "Have you talked to her since she went to Roseland?"
Avoiding his eyes, I shook my head. "It's a long-distance call." Even to me that sounded like a feeble excuse.
He frowned. "I didn't think of that. Well, have you written to her?"
Again I shook my head. "I've been really sick," I mumbled.
He sighed. "I'm sure she'd enjoy hearing from you, Jessica. You were the only real friend Daphne had here." He sounded puzzled.
"It's all my fault she's in Roseland, don't you know that?" Angrily I felt tears fill my eyes. I didn't want to cry in front of Mr. O'Brien, especially not here in the hall where anyone might walk by and see me. "Daphne doesn't want to hear from me. She hates me for telling my mother, I know she does!"
Mr. O'Brien shook his head. "I don't think Daphne could possibly hate you. Please write to her, let her know she has a friend."
After promising Mr. O'Brien that I would write to her, I edged away from him toward my locker. All the way home I composed letters in my head, but when I sat down at my desk, a blank sheet of stationery in front of me, all I could write was "Dear Daphne." Nothing more.
Days went by. Every night I promised myself I'd write the letter in the morning, but I never did. The more I delayed, the guiltier I felt. To make myself feel better, I told myself that Daphne despised me, that I was the last person she wanted to hear from, that she would probably tear a letter from me to pieces without even reading it.
Then, about three weeks later, Mr. O'Brien told our English class that he had an announcement to make.
"I'm proud to tell you that Daphne's and Jessica's book won first prize in the county Write-a-Book contest."
Everybody clapped and smiled at me. When the room was quiet, Mr. O'Brien added that "The Mysterious Disappearance of Sir Benjamin Mouse" was now on display in the exhibit hall at the Board of Education building.
"In June, the winners are invited to attend a special awards banquet. I'll have more information on that later, Jessica."
After class, Mr. O'Brien stopped me. "Would it be possible for your mother to drive you out to Roseland so you could give Daphne the good news in person?"
"I guess so," I said.
He tipped my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "I'm sure she doesn't hate you, Jessica."
"But I let her down. I broke my promise."
"Go see her, take her the good news about the book." He smiled. "I'd go myself, but I'm sure she'd rather see you."
That Sunday Mom drove me out to Roseland. It was a long ride through the rolling farmland of western Maryland. Mom had no problem as long as we stayed on Interstate 70, but as soon as she found herself trying to navigate the winding country roads that led to Roseland, she got lost. We had to stop at three gas stations and a funny little store to ask directions.
Finally we drove over the crest of a hill and saw an official-looking green sign pointing the way to Roseland. Following the arrow, Mom turned into a narrow driveway, winding uphill through trees tipped now with green.
"What happens if someone comes in the other direction?" I looked ahead at the narrow road. It wasn't wide enough for two cars, and I couldn't see a shoulder, just trees crowding right up to the rutted asphalt.
Mom grinned. "Just hope no one leaves before we get there."
At last we left the woods behind. Ahead of us, at the end of a circular drive, was Roseland. It was a huge stone house sitting on the top of a hill. Behind it the mountains loomed, almost as blue as the sky.
"What a beautiful place," Mom sighed. "It must have been someone's home once a long time ago."
I stared at the building, but all I saw was its grimness. Bristling with fire escapes, it looked like a prison to me. I was sure Hope and Daphne didn't think it was beautiful.
"Do you want me to come in with you?" Mom nosed the cat smoothly into a packing place marked VISITORS ONLY.
I shook my head. "I think I'd rather see her alone, if you don't mind."
Mom smiled. "I'll just walk around the grounds, then. It's a beautiful day, and I brought a book." She waved a copy of Your Second Marriage: Make It Work at me.
"Okay. I'll see you later, then." As I started to open the car door, Mom leaned toward me and gave me a kiss. "Do you think Daphne'll still be mad?" I asked her.
"I'm sure she'll be happy to see you, Jessica. She knows you wanted to help her."
I nodded, but I wasn't absolutely positive that Mom was right. Waving to her, I walked slowly across the parking lot and followed a sidewalk to the front door. Big beds of daffodils and tulips did their best to brighten the approach to the house, but even their cheerful colors couldn't mask its institutional appearance.
Nervously I stopped in front of the closed door. Was I supposed to ring a bell or knock or just walk in?
While I hesitated, the door opened and a woman carrying a briefcase stepped out. She noticed me and smiled. "Can I help you?"
"I came to visit a friend of mine," I whispered.
Stepping aside, she held the door open. "Just cross the lobby and tell the woman at the desk whom you want to see."
"Thank you." I crossed the threshold, the door thunked shut behind me, and I found myself in Roseland.
The lobby was large and high-ceilinged. I suppose it had once been a lovely room, but now its walls were painted an ugly shade of pale green and the floors were covered with scuffed, dingy linoleum. A Coca-Cola vending machine stood against one wall, and an exit sign glowed dimly in a dark hallway.
Sprawled in one corner was a group of kids watching television. They glanced at me and then turned back to the cartoon. Other kids, in groups and alone, lounged on ugly green couches and chairs. Some were talking, a few were reading, but most of them were just sitting there, looking bored and unhappy. I didn't see Daphne or Hope.
Self-consciously, I crossed the room and stopped in front of the desk. The woman sitting there was reading a magazine, and I had to clear my throat twice to get her attention.
"Yes?" She looked annoyed at being interrupted.
"I'm here to see somebody, a friend of mine." I tried to keep my voice from shaking. I don't know what scared me most—talking to this frowning woman or the prospect of seeing Daphne.
"Name?"
"Mine or hers?" My voice def
eated me and quavered like a child's.
"Hers, of course." The woman looked at me as if she were dealing with a new low in human intelligence.
"Daphne Woodleigh," I whispered, and then I had to repeat it twice and spell it before she understood whom I wanted to see.
With a sigh heavy enough to steam my glasses, she flipped through a file. "Room 205-A. Shall I buzz her?"
I stared at her. "I guess so."
The woman buzzed twice, but nobody answered. "Well, she's not there." She looked at me, waiting for me to tell her what I wanted to do next.
"Do you know where she is?"
She shrugged, causing her large bosom to ripple under her blouse. "Sunday's a free day. She could be anywhere. You want me to page her?"
Embarrassed at all the trouble I was obviously causing this person, I nodded. "If you don't mind."
The woman sighed again, indicating she minded very much, and picked up the phone. "Daphne Woodleigh," she said, her voice seeming to come from the ceiling, "please come to the lobby. Daphne Woodleigh."
I glanced down the hall, but there was no sign of Daphne.
"If she doesn't answer, she's outside somewhere," the woman said. Then she picked up her magazine and bent her head over the article she was reading.
I waited for what seemed like a very long time, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, conscious of the woman's annoyance. I was sure she wanted me to thank her and leave, but I stood by the desk, thinking that Daphne would appear at any moment.
Finally I heard a familiar voice piping shrilly over the din of the television set. "Jessica, Jessica!" A skinny little body barreled into me and two small arms circled my waist.
"Hope, how are you?" I hugged her as tightly as I could. She felt tiny and fragile, like a baby bird. "What's the matter?"
Her small body shook with sobs. She was crying too hard to talk, so I led her over to one of the couches and sat down. Climbing onto my lap, she buried her face in my shoulder and continued to weep.
"What's wrong, Hope?" I whispered. "Is it awful here?"
"I miss my grandmother, I want to go home," Hope sobbed. "And Daphne won't talk to me, she won't talk to anybody."
I held her tighter and let her cry herself out. When she finally calmed down, I stroked her hair and gave her a Kleenex. "There. Do you feel better now?"
She looked up at me and tried to smile, but her chin was still wobbly from crying and her lips quivered. "I'm glad you came. I missed you."
"I should have come sooner." I felt very remorseful.
"If you'd waited till next week, we wouldn't be here any more."
"Where are you going?"
"To Maine. They found some of Mommy's relatives, and they came to see us last week. They went back to get things ready for Daphne and me, but they're coming again next Friday."
"Are they nice? Do you like them?"
Hope nodded and gave me a better smile. "Alice is pretty, and Dave has a big beard that tickles me and he's funny. He makes me laugh."
"You'll be happier when you go to Maine, won't you?"
Hope nodded. "But I'll still miss Grandmother. And you, Jessica."
I hugged her. "I'll miss you too, Hope." Gently I slid her off my lap and got up. "Do you know where Daphne is?"
"She has a secret place she goes to. She won't let me come with her, but I followed her once, so I know where it is."
"Do you think she'd talk to me?"
"I don't know."
"Is she mad at me? Does she hate me for telling my mother?"
"I don't know." Hope reached into her pocket and pulled something out. It was Baby Mouse, looking a little shabby. Hope walked him up and down my arm and said, "Squeak, squeak."
"Has Daphne said anything about me at all?"
Hope shook her head. "She never talks, Jessica. Not to anybody. Not even to Alice and Dave."
"She must hate me." Sadly I watched Hope playing with Baby Mouse. I wondered if I should go find Mom and leave without even trying to find Daphne. But instead I asked Hope if she would show me Daphne's secret place. If she wouldn't talk to me, I'd talk to her. Maybe she would at least listen.
Seventeen
HOPE LED ME outside, past the daffodils and tulips, to a nicely mulched path that wound off into the trees. Away from the big stone house, it was very quiet. The new leaves made lacy shadows on the ground, and the sunlight gleamed on Hope's hair. The air had a fresh, damp smell, filled with the odors of leaf mold and earth and growing things.
Being in the woods reminded me of the times that Daphne and I had climbed the trail leading to our rocks above the Patapsco River Valley, and I found myself walking quietly, hoping the three deer would slip out from among the silent trees.
"How is Raven?" Hope asked, pulling me back from my daydream about the deer.
"Oh, he's fine, he really is." I smiled at Hope. "He's the best kitten in the whole world. You should see him. He's getting so big, and he sleeps on my bed every night and purrs whenever I pick him up. I'm so glad you remembered to give him to Mom."
Hope looked pleased. "I knew he'd be a good cat. Does Snuff like him?"
I shook my head. "But she ignores him. She isn't mean to him unless he bothers her. Like when he jumps on her tail or tries to eat her food." I laughed. "But he has enough sense to run when she starts hissing."
"Alice and Dave have two cats and a dog," Hope said. "They're very nice, but I'll still miss Grandmother's cats. They took them all to the pound, did you know that?" Hope's eyes filled with tears and her chin wobbled. "They're probably all dead now."
I gave her a hug. "Maybe not. They could have been adopted or they could have run away. Try not to think about it, Hope."
We walked on silently. Birds sang all around us, and not too far from the path, a creek ran noisily over stones. Finally Hope stopped and pointed ahead. In a clearing was a bench, placed to overlook a view of rolling hills and mountains. Sitting on the bench was Daphne, her back to us.
"You go tell her I'm here," I whispered to Hope.
She nodded and ran toward her sister. At the sound of her footsteps, Daphne looked up, then turned and stared at me.
Before I could say a word Daphne jumped up and ran away from me, leaving Hope calling after her, "Wait, Daphne, wait!"
Dodging around Hope, I followed Daphne. Instead of staying on the path, she dashed into the woods, taking a zigzag course downhill through the trees.
Wordlessly I pursued her, tripping, stumbling, but keeping her in sight. Each breath I took stabbed my chest with pain, but I didn't stop to rest. I was determined to catch her.
Finally I saw her leap a creek, catch her foot on some thing, and sprawl face down in the dead leaves carpeting the ground. Expending the last of my energy, / jumped the creek and tumbled to the ground beside her.
We were both too out-of-breath to speak, but she glared fiercely at me, as a fox run to ground must glower at the hounds surrounding it. My sides heaving, I returned her stare. Now that I had caught her, I didn't know what to say.
"What are you doing here?" she gasped at last.
"I wanted to see you, I wanted to talk to you," I whispered.
She started to stand up, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. We crouched in the dead leaves, staring at each other. Suddenly Daphne collapsed. Face down on the damp ground, she began to sob.
Cautiously, I reached out and touched her shoulder. When she didn't pull away from me, I patted her gently, but I didn't say anything. I let her cry, just as Hope had cried.
Finally she grew quiet, but she didn't look at me. Or speak.
"Daphne," I said softly. "I know you must hate me. I'm sorry about what happened in the store. I know I should have helped you, but I couldn't. I didn't know what to do."
When she didn't respond, I went on. "I had to tell my mother, I had to. I was scared that something awful was going to happen."
She still didn't say anything. She just lay there, her head cradled in her arms.
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Then I thought about what I'd said. "Something awful happened anyway, didn't it?" I sighed. "I'm sorry, Daphne, I'm really sorry. Please don't hate me."
My words hung between us like balloons over the heads of comic strip characters. Somewhere in the trees a bird sang. All around us green shoots thrust up through the dead leaves. Looking closely at one, I realized that it was a baby fern curled into a tight spiral, waiting for a little more warmth before it dared to open itself to the world around it.
"Hope says you're going to Maine to live with some of your relatives," I said softly.
Still no response. Gently I lifted the hair hiding her face. "I've missed you a whole lot, Daphne," I whispered.
Daphne sat up then, but she turned her face away, and her hair tumbled down between us once more.
I stared at her silently. The bird sang again, but this time another bird answered. They called back and forth, their voices as clear and beautiful as drops of water falling into a still pool.
"Do you want me to go away?" I asked.
With one hand, she cleared some leaves from a baby fern and poked gently at its coiled stalk.
"I'll leave if you want me to." I stood up slowly, hoping she'd ask me to stay.
Daphne looked up at me then, her face paler and thinner than it had been before. Her eyes were bright with tears. "Did Hope tell you that Grandmother died?"
Shocked, I shook my head. "No. She just said she missed her."
Returning her attention to the fern, Daphne said in a low, expressionless voice, "She died a couple of weeks ago. They'd put her in a hospital. She had pneumonia, but she got worse because she hated it there. She wouldn't eat anything and she wouldn't cooperate with the doctors or nurses."
Daphne glanced at me, then looked back down at the ground. "They let me go see her," she went on, "but most of the time she didn't even know who I was. The day she died, though, she looked me straight in the eye and said that everything was my fault. She said that if Hope and I hadn't come to live with her, she'd still be at the farm and Daddy would be there with her. She said I'd kept him away."
Daphne bent her head and began to cry. Kneeling beside her, I patted her back again. "She didn't mean that, Daphne. She was old and sick. She wasn't in her right mind. You did everything you could."