“Well, try to be more careful.”
In the next few moments Ellie found herself back in the halls of Washington Irving Elementary, felt herself being slammed from behind so hard that her breath was taken away, heard laughter, heard the sound of cloth ripping as Holly was slammed against the locker, heard Holly say, “I’m going to be in trouble for that.”
Ellie breathed in, then let the air out slowly. Her heart began to pound. She felt as shaky as when she’d had to recite a poem in front of her whole class. “Doris?” said Ellie.
“Yeah?”
Ellie paused. “Nothing.”
Sunday passed in much the same way as Saturday. And there was to be no school on Monday.
“Why?” asked Marie.
“Because tomorrow is President Kennedy’s funeral. And burial,” said Doris. “Everyone in the country wants to pay their respects.”
On Monday the Dingmans once again gathered around their TV. They sat in silence as they watched the funeral procession pass through the streets of Washington, D.C. At the first sight of Jackie, Doris put her hand to her mouth and began to sob.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh. Just look at her, her future changed forevermore.”
“What about Caroline and John-John?” Marie said in a small voice.
Ellie looked at the Kennedy children in their tidy winter coats, standing solemnly beside their mother. They looked so strong, all three of them. How could that be so? How could they be strong when their lives were falling apart?
Ellie felt tears prick at her eyes. She glanced at her father, saw him swipe the back of his hand across one cheek; looked at her brother and sister sitting motionless on the floor, eyes locked on the television. When John-John stepped forward and saluted his father’s casket, Ellie had to turn away. Later, when the funeral was over, she said, “Will we have school tomorrow?”
“Yup,” her father replied in a husky voice. “Back to school and back to work.”
Back to normal, thought Ellie. Good. It was all she wanted.
At the bus stop on Tuesday morning, Ellie and Holly stood apart from the rest of the Witch Tree Lane kids.
“I’m in trouble for ripping my dress,” said Holly. “Mom noticed it last night. She said if I want any new clothes before Christmas I’ll have to buy them myself. And all I have is seventy-eight cents.”
“Did she want to know how you ripped your dress?” asked Ellie.
“Yeah. I just told her I fell.”
“Which is sort of true. You did fall.”
“I guess.” Holly looked thoughtful. “You know, all this—the slamming and my dress and everything—it’s bad, but somehow it doesn’t seem so bad after everything else that’s happened.”
“I know,” said Ellie. “And, well, doesn’t it make Tammy and the others seem kind of small? Compared to what happened to the Kennedys?”
Holly nodded. And the school bus appeared down Route 27, a yellow speck blooming into a great unwanted weed.
Later, Ellie and Holly hesitated outside the door to Washington Irving Elementary.
“Well?” said Holly.
Ellie looked at her watch. “We have to go in. If we don’t go in soon, we’ll be late.”
“We never figured out what to do. I mean, if they keep slamming us.”
“I know. I almost told Doris, but then I couldn’t.”
“That’s okay.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Ellie opened the door, and she and Holly stepped inside. The hallway was crowded and busy. And noisier than it had been on Friday afternoon when the students and teachers had left school feeling dazed. Still, something had changed. Ellie felt as if she were watching a movie with the volume lowered and the speed slowed down.
She glanced once at Holly, then began the walk to Room 12. When she saw Maggie Paxton approaching, she stopped and stiffened. Maybe, she thought, if running into Ellie or Holly were like running into a phone pole, the slamming would cease. But Maggie walked by as if she hadn’t seen her.
“Huh,” said Holly.
A few moments later, Anita Bryman hurried by them from behind. As Ellie and Holly watched her disappear into their classroom, Holly said, “Huh,” again.
“Is it over?” whispered Ellie.
“Maybe they just want us to think it’s over,” said Holly.
Once inside Room 12, Ellie and Holly walked quickly to their seats. The sparrows didn’t so much as look at them.
“Maggie, will you please take attendance?” said Mr. Pierce, handing Maggie his record book.
Maggie stood importantly in front of the blackboard, looking from the book to the students to the book again, making a column of check marks. Then she returned the book to Mr. Pierce.
Mr. Pierce glanced at it, then at Maggie. “I think you made a mistake,” he said, frowning. “You marked Ellie and Holly absent.”
“Yes,” said Maggie.
“But they’re here.”
“Oh. I didn’t see them.”
Mr. Pierce shook his head and looked for an eraser.
During Language Arts, Mr. Pierce gave Richard Sutton a stack of composition paper and asked him to pass it out. Richard walked up and down the rows depositing one on every desk except Ellie’s and Holly’s.
Ellie raised her hand tentatively. “Excuse me, Mr. Pierce? Holly and I need paper.”
“Richard?” said Mr. Pierce.
“Oh, sorry,” said Richard. And when he reached the back of the room with two more sheets of paper, he whispered to the girls, “I didn’t see you.”
“We were right in front of you!” exclaimed Holly.
“What? Did someone say something?” Richard made a great show of looking around, as if he had heard a strange noise and couldn’t find its source.
“I said—”
Ellie touched Holly’s arm. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“But—”
“It’s not worth it,” said Ellie.
At lunchtime, the students in Room 12 put their books and papers in their desks and lined up at the door. As usual, Ellie and Holly hung back to stand at the end of the line. No sooner had they taken their places than Donna Smith ran back to her desk, rummaged around in it, and returned to the line. When she headed for the end, Ellie winced. And Holly whispered, “She’s going to slam us as soon as we’re in the hall.”
But Donna didn’t join the end of the line. Instead, she pushed her way between Ellie and Holly, stepping on Ellie’s toes.
“Ow!” Ellie couldn’t help crying.
“Oh. Didn’t see you,” said Donna.
In the cafeteria, Nancy and Tammy also didn’t see Ellie and Holly, who were sitting in a back corner near the door. Carrying full trays, the sparrows walked to the table, and Nancy flumped down in Holly’s lap while Tammy sat in Ellie’s.
“Hey!” exclaimed Holly.
“Hmm. There must be something wrong with this seat,” said Nancy. “Is anything wrong with yours, Tammy?”
“It does feel a little strange,” agreed Tammy.
“Get. Off,” Ellie said quietly.
Tammy looked at Nancy with raised eyebrows. “Did you hear something? I almost thought I heard something. Like a voice. Or … I don’t know. I guess it was nothing.”
“Definitely nothing,” said Nancy. “Ooh, look! Apple crisp.” She picked up her fork.
Ellie, squashed beneath Tammy, Tammy’s tray resting on Ellie’s lunch bag, struggled briefly, then stopped, feeling rage gather somewhere deep inside. In the next moment she surprised herself by shoving Tammy to the floor and leaping to her feet, shaking. She might, she thought, even have taken a swing at Tammy.
But Tammy simply straightened her dress, stood up, looked across the table at Nancy, and said, “Gosh, these are weird seats. I think something’s wrong with them. Let’s move to another table.”
When the girls had left, Holly, her eyes bright with tears, said, “Everyone’s pretending they don’t see us. It’s like we’re gho
sts.”
Ellie poked at her lunch bag with trembling hands. She realized that, in the practical sense, being humiliated was better than being slammed, and for that reason, she ought to feel relieved. Instead, she felt only the rage gathering again, and she fought hard to keep it at bay, to look at Holly, shrug her shoulders, and reach for her carton of milk.
Washington Irving Elementary closed at 1:00 on Wednesday for the start of Thanksgiving vacation. Four and a half entire days, Ellie thought, of being at home, where people could see her. So what if home was Witch Tree Lane, where Bad Things happened and the ladies were thinking of moving and no one knew who had poisoned Pumpkin. It was still home, and Ellie felt a little rush of hope as the bus reached the corner of her street.
When she hopped down the steps that afternoon with the rest of the Witch Tree Lane kids, Ellie was relieved to see Doris’s car in the Dingmans’ driveway. Good. That meant she and Doris could get right to work on Thanksgiving dinner. Doris had been so quiet and moody since Friday that Ellie hadn’t dared ask her about cooking. Earlier, before last Friday, which, Ellie realized, seemed like years and years ago, she had thought of asking if maybe Nan and Poppy could come for Thanksgiving. But no one had so much as spoken about the holiday since the weekend. Maybe next year, Ellie had thought. Next year Nan and Poppy could come. For now, her hopes rose for at least a nice meal for the five Dingmans.
Ellie and Albert and Marie ran up their porch steps and inside their house, Marie calling, “Doris! Doris!”
No answer.
“Doris?” Marie called again.
“She must be upstairs,” said Albert, and the Dingman children ran to their parents’ bedroom to check.
No Doris.
“Well, the car’s here,” said Ellie. “Let’s go back downstairs.”
They found Doris in the kitchen, sitting at the table, the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder, writing furiously on a small pad of paper.
“Doris! We didn’t know where you were!” exclaimed Marie.
“Shh-SHHHH!” was Doris’s reply. “I’m on the phone here.”
“Excuse us for living,” Albert said, and walked out of the kitchen, followed by Marie.
Ellie, now feeling crabby, dropped her book bag on the floor and stood by the table, arms crossed, facing Doris.
Doris continued writing. “Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm,” she muttered. Scribble, scribble, scribble. “Mm-hmm…. When? … Okay.” She glanced up and saw Ellie, then returned to her pad of paper. “Mm-hmm…. Just a moment, please.” Doris cupped her hand over the receiver. “Eleanor, what?” she said.
Ellie looked pointedly from Doris to the John’s Auto Parts calendar on the wall and back to Doris.
“What is it?” said Doris.
“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” Ellie said in a loud whisper, although she didn’t know why the person on the other end of the phone shouldn’t hear her say this.
“Eleanor, please. I’ll be off the phone in a minute.”
Doris returned to her conversation, and Ellie opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. Suddenly she felt slightly sick. She saw a package of bologna and another of cheese. She saw an open container of milk and a slice of meat loaf in Saran Wrap. There were a few other things, too—ketchup and mayonnaise and grape jelly and half an apple. But where was the turkey? Where was the apple pie Doris always bought at the A&P? Where were the potatoes?
Ellie closed the refrigerator and opened a cupboard. No cans of corn or peas or aspic. No jars of olives or pickles. Quietly she closed the cupboard and turned around to face Doris again, just as Doris said, “Okay, thank you. ’Bye,” and hung up the phone.
“Um,” Ellie said, not sure what to be more nervous about—the fact that she had interrupted Doris’s phone conversation, or the fact that Doris was completely unprepared for Thanksgiving. “I thought you might have gone to the grocery store today.” And then a thought struck Ellie. Maybe Doris was waiting for the Dingman children to come home so they could all go to the store together.
“I know,” Doris said vaguely, looking at her notes. “I meant to.” She slipped the pad in her pocket.
“Well?” said Ellie.
“Well, what?”
“Thanks. Giv. Ing. You know, getting a turkey? Cooking?”
“Oh, Eleanor, I’m just not up to all that this year.” Doris paused, then put on a broad smile. “I had a great idea this afternoon. We’re going to have Thanksgiving dinner at the Starlight Diner. Won’t that be fun?”
“The Starlight Diner?!” cried Ellie. “Will they even be open?”
“Yes. I checked. Won’t that be fun?” Doris said again.
“Who goes to a diner for Thanksgiving?”
“Lots of people.”
“Have you told Dad yet?”
“I’m going to tell him tonight.”
Mr. Dingman, after a moment of tense silence, said he didn’t mind Thanksgiving dinner in a diner, but Ellie could tell he was as disappointed as she was.
“I know!” Ellie said brightly that evening. “If it’s because you don’t want to do all the work, Doris, then the rest of us can do it. I understand. It’s a big job. Why should you have to do it every year? This year you can be on vacation, and we’ll cook the meal.” She turned to her father. “We could do it, couldn’t we? Couldn’t we, Dad? I can cook.”
“That’s a nice idea, Ellie, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that now.” Mr. Dingman looked stiffly at Doris over his reading glasses. “The stores are closed. Anyway, I’m sure dinner at the Starlight will be fun.”
Ellie turned miserably to Doris. “Is it because you need a vacation?” she asked. “Is it because Albert and Marie and I don’t do enough around here? We can do more. I’ll talk to Albert and Marie.”
“No,” said Doris. “It’s not that. I just wasn’t up to it this year, what with the parade being cancelled and President Kennedy and poor Jackie and her half-orphan children and all.” She paused. “Well, maybe I could use a vacation. But not because of you kids. You’re great, the best. Now why don’t you go on upstairs and figure out what you and Marie are going to wear tomorrow.”
Ellie didn’t think it mattered what they wore to the Starlight, but she went upstairs, anyway.
The streets of downtown Spectacle were quiet on Thanksgiving afternoon.
“Wow, where is everybody?” Marie said as Mr. Dingman steered the Buick toward the diner.
“They’re at home,” said Albert, “watching TV and smelling the turkey cooking.”
“Albert,” said Mr. Dingman. “No more of that, please.”
Albert slumped even lower in his seat, then edged to his right until he was pressed against Marie’s side.
“Quit it!” said Marie.
“What’d I do?”
“You touched me.”
“Albert,” said Mr. Dingman again. “What did I just say?”
“Well, what are you going to do to me? Take me home? I don’t want to go to the stupid diner.”
Mr. Dingman glared at Doris, but she was staring out the window.
“There’s a parking place!” she exclaimed. “And look. It’s right in front of the diner.”
“What a surprise,” muttered Albert.
Ellie reached across Marie and swatted Albert’s knee. “Be quiet,” she hissed.
“You’re not the boss of me,” said Albert, but he got out of the car without further comment.
The Dingmans were dressed in their holiday clothes. Albert and Mr. Dingman were wearing suits and ties, and Ellie had polished their shoes that morning. Marie and Ellie were wearing matching dresses that Doris had found at Korvette’s—sleek, satiny blue fabric with wide lace collars and large sashes tied in bows in the back. Ellie felt she was much too old to be wearing this type of dress, but figured no one from her class would be in the Starlight, so she didn’t care. Doris was wearing a very tight emerald green suit that she’d been offered at a reduced price after modeling at Harwell’s, a white bl
ouse with an enormous bow at the neck, and many, many bangle bracelets. Her piled-up hair was adorned with green combs, and she had done something with curlers that created loose ringlets around her ears.
“My, my,” said Doris as the Dingmans reached the door to the Starlight. “Just look at us. All gussied up. Hon, this is such a treat,” she added, turning to Mr. Dingman as if Thanksgiving at the diner had been his idea.
Mr. Dingman didn’t answer her. He opened the door, to which was taped a cardboard turkey with brilliantly colored tail feathers, and held it impassively as Doris, Ellie, Albert, and Marie passed inside ahead of him.
“Gosh, what a crowd,” muttered Albert, looking around.
The diner wasn’t deserted, but Ellie had never seen so few people in it. And she had hardly ever been so conscious of herself and her family as she was at that moment. When Mr. Dingman opened the door, a bell above it rang. And every single person in the diner turned to see who had entered.
Ellie scanned the faces as they studied her. She counted twelve people. One was the cook, two were waitresses with sparkly turkey pins fastened to their uniforms, and nine were other diners. Three of the diners were seated at the counter, each alone, separated from the next person by at least one empty stool. Three elderly couples were sitting in small booths, which were decorated with cardboard pilgrims and cornucopias and droopy orange crepe paper. Nobody was saying much. And nobody was nearly as dressed up as the Dingmans were.
“This is depressing,” Albert whispered to Ellie.
“I know,” she whispered back. “But let’s not make it worse than it is.”
One of the waitresses stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing a stack of menus on her way.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” she said gaily as she approached the Dingmans. Ellie read the waitress’s nametag. LORNA.
Marie’s face lit up. “Happy Thanksgiving!” she replied.
“Where would you like to sit? Take your pick. You can have any of the big booths,” said Lorna.
The Dingmans chose a booth at the back of the Starlight. When they were seated, Lorna handed out the menus. “We’re featuring our regular lunch selections,” she said. “Plus, we also have the Thanksgiving Special. A meal with all the trimmings for one low price. It includes a full turkey dinner, consommé to get you started, a side salad, pumpkin pie for dessert, coffee for the adults, and milk for the kids.”