Home Is the Place

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also By Ann M. Martin:

  Copyright

  “Happy birthday, Georgie Girl!”

  Georgia Noble rolled over in bed and smiled at her mother, who had cracked open the door to her room and poked her head inside.

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t already awake,” said her mother. She opened the door wider. “Last night you were so excited you couldn’t fall asleep.”

  “I was awake,” Georgia admitted, then yawned. “A little bit, anyway.” She stretched her arms above her head and tried to decide if being six felt any different than being five. She wasn’t sure yet.

  Her mother sat on the end of the bed and tweaked Georgia’s toes through the covers.

  Georgia stuffed her pillow behind her back and sat up. She glanced at the window that faced onto Vandeventer Avenue in downtown Princeton, and next to it at the coatrack shaped like a giant crayon, from which hung a fraying bunny suit and her collection of princess dresses. She wondered if these were five-year-old things (baby things) or whether they were okay for six-year-olds, too.

  “Mommy?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you were little this was your room, too, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Did you still play dress-up when you were six?”

  “Absolutely,” her mother replied.

  Georgia considered this. “I like waking up in your room.”

  Georgia’s mother smiled. “Remember last summer when we visited the beach house in Maine and you slept in the upstairs room? That was Great-Grandma Abby’s room when she was a girl. Nana Dana has woken up in that room, and I have, and so have you. Four generations of women in our family, all waking up in the same room, looking at the same view out the window.”

  Georgia found this confusing so she changed the subject. “What color did you frost the cupcakes for my school party?” she asked. “The boys won’t want pink, you know. Even if today is Valentine’s Day. Red frosting would be okay, but not pink.”

  Her mother laughed. “Half are pink and half are red, so I think you’re safe. Now — look out the window if you want a surprise.”

  Georgia sat up, raised the shade, and peered outside. “It’s snowing!” she exclaimed. “Oh no! Mommy, this isn’t a good surprise. What if school is closed? What about my party?”

  “School’s open. Don’t worry. This is just a little snow.”

  It was actually a little snow on top of a lot of snow. The winter had been very stormy, and the schools in Princeton, New Jersey, had closed six times so far.

  “Are you sure?” asked Georgia nervously. She watched a snowplow grind along in front of her house.

  “Positive. Now get up and get dressed. It’s Valentine’s Day and your birthday.”

  “The same as for my great-great-aunt Adele?”

  Georgia had never met Adele, who had died long before Georgia had been born, but she had heard many, many stories about her.

  “The same as for your great-great-aunt Adele. Now get dressed.”

  Georgia waited until her mother had left the room before she got out of bed. Then she checked her door to make sure it was closed tightly, to keep out her brother Richard, who was seven. Satisfied, she stood before her closet and chose a pair of jeans, a red shirt, and a red sweater. She put them on quickly, shivering in the chilly room, then peered into her mirror and considered her hair, which was dark blond and very thick. “Hard to manage,” her mother often said. “You can barely get a comb through it.” So Georgia didn’t bother with the comb. She simply pulled her hair out of her face and tied a red ribbon around it.

  She was ready to be six years old.

  * * *

  The Nobles gathered for breakfast in the kitchen of their big Victorian house. Georgia, Richard, and their parents sat at the table, and Henry, who was just two, was seated in his high chair, legs kicking the air vigorously while he sang a made-up song about a snowplow.

  Georgia’s father kissed her on the top of her head and placed a small wrapped box next to her plate. “Happy birthday, Georgie Girl,” he said.

  Before Georgia knew it, her family was singing the birthday song. Her mother sang softly, unsure of her own voice. Her father sang loudly and off-key, not caring. Henry sang, “Happy birthday, dear snowplow.” And above them all, Georgia could hear Richard’s voice: “Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo. You look like a monkey and smell like one, too!”

  “You know, that’s rude to monkeys,” Georgia said to her brother when the song was over. “Besides, maybe monkeys like the way they smell. Maybe when they make fun of each other they say, ‘You smell like a boy!’ ”

  Richard jumped up from the table. “I do not smell!”

  “Ahem,” said Mr. Noble, and Richard sat down again.

  “Mommy, can we walk to school in the snow?” asked Georgia, thinking of her new green rubber boots, the ones that weren’t warm, but that looked like frogs, complete with hooded eyes and wide mouths.

  Her mother shook her head. “Not with two boxes of cupcakes for your party. We have to drive.”

  Georgia glanced sideways at Mrs. Noble. “If we didn’t have to carry the cupcakes could we walk in the snow?”

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  “You never let us walk!” exclaimed Georgia.

  “Yes, she does. We always walk,” said Richard.

  “Not alone.”

  “You’re too young to walk without an adult,” said her mother in the clipped way that Georgia knew meant she didn’t want to have this discussion.

  But Georgia couldn’t help herself. “Leslie walks without an adult,” she replied. Leslie Jordan, Georgia’s next-door neighbor, was her Vandeventer Avenue best friend, although not her school best friend.

  “Leslie walks with her big brother. And before you say another word, let me remind you that Leslie’s big brother is eleven, not seven.”

  “But —”

  “Why don’t you open the present?” interrupted her father. “This is just a little something for now. You can open the rest of your presents tonight.”

  It was to be a two-party birthday — the Valentine birthday party at school and a family party that night when all the grandparents arrived. Georgia sighed. She liked presents, of course. But what she really wanted was a bit more independence. From her mother anyway. It seemed that Mrs. Noble, who wrote books for grown-ups in her home office, was always hovering somewhere nearby, following Georgia the short distance across the yard to Leslie’s house, watching her and her brothers through the kitchen window as they played in the backyard, even checking on them in the middle of the night. And she was always setting limits and making restrictions. Richard didn’t seem to mind the restrictions so much — often he just went ahead and did whatever he wanted, paying for it later — and Henry was too little to care. But Georgia felt like a teensy, little person trapped in a snow-globe world, and she wanted out.

  Feeling almost reluctant, Georgia opened the box, which contained a silver necklace with a heart pendant. “Thank you,” she said. She had asked for a silver nec
klace with G-E-O-R-G-I-A spelled out on it, but her mother had reminded her how dangerous it was to wear anything that told a stranger your name. “What if someone saw you on the street wearing that necklace,” she had said, “and he called, ‘Hi, Georgia! Your mom told me to pick you up from school.’ What would you do?”

  “I wouldn’t go with him because he would be a stranger,” Georgia had replied.

  But her mother had shaken her head and Georgia had known that the name necklace would have to wait until she was older and could earn enough money to buy it herself.

  * * *

  The drive to school — the very same school that Georgia’s mother, Francie, had attended when she was a girl — was slow and slippery, and Georgia watched a car glide gracefully off the street ahead of them and into a snow bank, where it remained stuck, tires spinning noisily. Georgia’s mother set her mouth in a firm line and drove on wordlessly. “I’m glad that’s over,” she said when they finally reached the school parking lot.

  Mrs. Noble lifted Henry out of the car, and Georgia and Richard each reached for a platter of cupcakes. They walked into school, their boots dripping slush behind them, Georgia smelling wet wool and damp jackets as they made their way to her kindergarten room.

  “I’m here!” she announced to Mrs. Frederickson.

  “Wonderful,” replied her teacher, laughing. “Why don’t you put the cupcakes on the table in the back?”

  Richard set down his platter in a great big hurry and ran for his first-grade classroom. “See you, baby!” he called to Georgia as he fled.

  She ignored him. “Mommy, you’ll come back in time for the party, won’t you? You’ll be done writing by then?”

  “Absolutely. Henry and I will be back at two.”

  Georgia looked fondly at the pink and red cupcakes. She looked out the windows at the snow falling lightly on the playground. She forgot about the G-E-O-R-G-I-A necklace and limits and restrictions and began to feel excited. Two parties, and a visit from her grandparents, all five of them. It was good to be six.

  * * *

  At her school party, Georgia ate a pink cupcake and showed Henry off to her classmates. He sang the snowplow song and demonstrated how he could stick out his tongue and touch his nose with it. Having him there was almost as good as having a dog. The only thing that could have made the party better would have been Georgia’s father, but he taught fourth grade at Littlebrook, the elementary school across town, and couldn’t leave his students.

  By the time Georgia and Richard and Henry were riding home with their mother, the sun had come out and the new snow was melting in the street.

  “Can I build a snowman?” Georgia asked as her mother parked the car in the garage.

  “If you stay in the backyard with Richard,” Mrs. Noble replied.

  “But I want to build it in the frontyard so everyone can see it.”

  “And I don’t want to build a snowman at all,” added Richard.

  “Then can I go to Leslie’s?” asked Georgia.

  “Sure. Call her to make sure it’s okay. I’ll walk you over.”

  Georgia let out an enormously loud sigh. “Can’t you just watch me from the front steps?”

  Mrs. Noble unfastened her seat belt and turned around to look at her daughter. “Georgia.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’m not going then.”

  Georgia pouted in her room. She slid the offensive heart necklace to the back of the top desk drawer. The desk, which Georgia was proud of, was white with vines and leaves and fairies painted on it. She knew that her grandfather had painted it for her mother when Francie had been Georgia’s age. Georgia ran her hand across the top and tried to imagine Papa Matthew at work in the third-floor room that had been his studio, before he and Nana Dana had gotten divorced and sold the house.

  At six o’clock Georgia heard a knock on her door. “Almost party time, Georgie Girl!” called her father.

  Georgia felt her heart soar. It was amazing how quickly her mood could change. She ran downstairs and proceeded to open the door each time the bell rang — when her father’s parents arrived from northern New Jersey, when Papa Matthew and his wife, Maura, arrived from their house near the Princeton University campus, and when Nana Dana arrived from New York City. Georgia gathered the presents they brought and set them on the table in the living room.

  Each time she added another gift to the pile, Henry asked hopefully, “Is that for me?” And each time Georgia answered patiently, “No, it’s for me, but we can share,” and Henry seemed satisfied.

  The menu for dinner had been chosen entirely by Georgia. Her mother had not changed a single thing. Spaghetti with meatballs, artichokes, and chocolate cake. Everyone, even Richard, agreed that it was the perfect menu. After dinner, Georgia longed to be allowed to flick the switch that would operate the garbage disposal, sending the artichoke leaves into a glorious, ground-up fury, but Mrs. Noble didn’t like the children anywhere near the sink when the disposal was on.

  Georgia decided not to spoil the evening by asking about something she knew was not allowed. Instead she opened her gifts. The only thing of interest to Henry was an intricate-looking toy called a Spirograph, which Nana Dana claimed Georgia’s mother had loved when she was six years old. At nine o’clock, as everyone was yawning and the guests were standing and stretching, Georgia’s sixth birthday came to an end. She carried her pile of presents upstairs to her room, put on the new nightgown from Papa Matthew and Maura, and wondered what the rest of the year would bring.

  Georgia, halfway through her breakfast, set down her cereal spoon and gazed through the open kitchen window at the backyard.

  “What’s the matter, Georgie Girl?” asked her mother. “Not hungry?”

  Georgia smiled. “I’m hungry. I’m just thinking about today. It still feels like summer, even though school started. It’s warm out, and we’re eating cantaloupe.” She glanced under the table at her feet. “And I’m wearing sandals.” She spooned Cheerios into her mouth and said, “Today is my fifth day of first grade.”

  “And yesterday was your fourth. Are you going to say that every day?” asked Richard from across the table.

  “Am I going to say that every day is my fifth day of first grade?”

  Richard scowled at her. “No. Are you going to announce —”

  “Kids,” said their father. “Please.”

  Georgia fell silent. She didn’t care what her brother said. It was a beautiful day out, and she and Leslie Jordan had plans to write a play about princesses after school. Georgia was going to put on her Snow White costume and Leslie was going to put on her Ariel costume, and they were going to sit under the elm tree in Georgia’s backyard and write a play to perform for their families. They might charge admission.

  Georgia and Leslie had been in different kindergarten classrooms, but this year they were both in Mr. Brice’s first-grade class, so now Leslie was Georgia’s school best friend in addition to her Vandeventer Avenue best friend. Every day they walked to school with Richard and either Mrs. Jordan or Georgia’s mother and Henry. (Leslie’s big brother went to the middle school now. Georgia, Leslie, and Richard had all lobbied to walk to and from school without an adult, but the idea had been turned down by both of Georgia’s parents and the Jordans, so at least Georgia’s mom wasn’t the only unreasonable parent on the street.)

  “What a lovely blue sky,” said Mrs. Noble that morning as she pushed Henry’s stroller along the sidewalk.

  Georgia, who was walking ahead with Leslie and Richard, proudly clutched her first-grade reader to her chest. She tipped her head back and said, “Not a single cloud. Not one. See? It still feels like summer. Like summer vacation.”

  Mrs. Noble stopped at the front door of the elementary school and let Georgia, Leslie, and Richard run inside to their classrooms on their own. “See you this afternoon!” she called.

  Georgia and Leslie ran to Mr. Brice’s room and found that he had opene
d all the windows. Written on the chalkboard in large cheery letters were the words:

  HAPPY TUESDAY!

  DAY #5 OF FIRST GRADE

  “The perfect day for a nature walk,” Mr. Brice said after the morning business had been attended to. “We’ll go before lunch. But first, time for reading and math.”

  Georgia, who liked reading, read a story about a dog and a cat who were best friends, and then wrote a story about her own best friend, Leslie. Math began and Georgia was working her way down a page of addition problems, when a brief knock sounded on the door to the classroom and Mrs. Cierniak, another first-grade teacher, stuck her head inside and signaled to Mr. Brice. He leaned out into the hallway, whispered to Mrs. Cierniak, then sat down at his desk a few seconds later with an expression on his face that Georgia couldn’t quite figure out.

  This was the moment when Georgia’s perfect summer day began to slide sideways.

  Next the principal stopped in to speak with Mr. Brice.

  Mr. Brice left his class alone for several minutes, which he had not done at all on the previous four days of first grade. When he returned, he was slipping his cell phone into his pocket.

  Other teachers stopped in. Two of them were crying.

  Georgia craned her neck forward until she could see into the hallway. Then she leaned across the aisle and whispered to Leslie, “There are a lot of teachers out there. They’re talking on their cell phones.” She took another look. “I think I see Maddy’s mother.” She glanced over her shoulder at Madeleine Trego. “Maddy doesn’t look sick.”

  “Class,” said Mr. Brice, and Georgia thought his voice was shaking, but she wasn’t sure. “Please continue with your work sheets.”

  He said this even as Mrs. Trego let herself into the room, walked to Maddy’s desk, and said quietly, “We’re going home now.”

  Georgia raised her hand. “Mr. Brice? Did something happen?”

  Mr. Brice looked as though he didn’t want to answer the question. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Well,” he said, “there’s been a … a tragedy in New York City. And in Washington, DC.”

  Georgia frowned. New York City was fifty miles away. Washington, DC, was even farther. “Are we still going to go on our walk?” she wanted to know.