Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
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 mostâtalking to this frowning woman or the prospect of seeing Daphne.
"Name?"
"Mine or hers?" My voice defeated 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.
H
OPE 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.
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."
Daphne shook her head. "No, she was right. I'm a horrible person." She stretched the fern out and watched it roll back up, as tightly curled as ever. "You'd hate me if you knew what I was really like."
"No, I wouldn't, Daphne." I pushed my glasses up onto the bridge of my nose and waited for her to go on.
When she continued to sit there silently, coiling and uncoiling the fern, I added, "You're one of the nicest people I know. Do you think most sisters would take care of Hope the way you did? Josh would have run away and left me if we'd had to live with somebody like your grandmother."
"Sometimes I did want to run away." Daphne looked at me, her eyes full of worry. "But it's not Hope I feel bad about. It's Grandmother. Sometimes I hated her, Jessica. Sometimes I used to lie awake in that cold house and wish she were dead. I'd listen to her breathing in the dark and I'd wish she'd stop!"
Her eyes dared me to tell her how nice she was now that I knew the truth about her. "What kind of person has thoughts like that, Jessica?" Her voice was shrill, her face fearful.
"Maybe everybody," I whispered.
Shuddering, I remembered something I'd done when I was seven, something I was ashamed of still. "When my father told me he was getting a divorce, I told him I hated him and wished he was dead. I screamed it at him, Daphne, and then I ran upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I wouldn't come out till he was gone."
I pulled my jacket closer about me. "After he went to California, I used to tell people he was dead. I thought that sounded better than admitting he had left my mother and gone all the way across the country. And I used to wish it were true, Daphne."
"But he didn't die," Daphne said, "and Grandmother did, that's the difference. When they told me she was dead, I was glad, Jessica! I knew I'd never have to see her again, I'd never have to go back to that house, I'd never have to hear her talk about Daddy like he was still alive."
She clenched her fists. "Then, while they were standing there, waiting to see what I was going to do, I started to cry. And I cried and cried and cried. I cried harder than I did when Mommy died, but it wasn't because I was sad. It was because I felt so guilty and bad and horrible."