Escape to Witch Mountain (7 page)

Tony groaned. Suddenly he said, “But your bag—you must have left something behind.”

“I left that horrid old dress behind. Mrs. Grindley wouldn't let us wear slacks, you know. Just dresses. The one I was wearing came out of donations. I hated it.”

“Well, you sure look better now,” he conceded. “Especially for going places. And before I forget it, you'd better give me some of that money so I can buy tickets.”

As they entered the crowded bus station, Tony felt the sudden rise of an excitement he had never known before. They were about to continue a journey that had really started long ago. A journey that had been strangely interrupted, that even now someone was trying to prevent. There was no imagining what lay behind it all, but Stony Creek should furnish some answers…

Standing in line for tickets, he was momentarily dismayed to find himself under the watchful scrutiny of a policeman. On the chance
that he might be remembered, he bought tickets for Washington instead of Red Bank. They were going through Washington anyway, and he could get tickets for the rest of the journey there.

They had nearly an hour to wait, a matter that worried him and kept him constantly on watch, though it gave them time to clean up and have something to eat in the adjoining restaurant. In the continual rush about them no one seemed to notice the small black cat on the floor between Tia's feet, quietly nibbling a hamburger she had given him.

Tony was vastly relieved when they were finally aboard their bus and headed out of the city. The bus was packed and he was unable to sit with Tia, but at the moment it didn't matter. The excitement had come back. They were on their way, and no one was going to stop them.

By the time they reached Washington Tony had decided they'd better cover their trail a little more carefully. For anyone as fastmoving and resourceful as Mr. Deranian, it would be foolish to leave any clue to their destination. After a quick study of the map, he bought tickets for Fairview, the first town east of Red Bank. When they got there tomorrow, he could phone Augie Kozak to come and get them.

Again there was a long wait, but on the new bus he was able to sit with Tia. He had been wanting to talk things over with her for hours; now, though, he hardly knew where to begin, and he could feel weariness finally catching up with him.

For a while he dozed. When they were well on their way to Richmond, he shook himself awake and frowned down at Tia's bag. Winkie was still curled in it asleep.

“I told you not to worry about him,” Tia reminded him. “He'll be all right till we change buses again.”

They would change buses, he remembered, late that night at a place called Winston-Salem.

“We've a lot to figure out,” he began. “Have you been able to remember anything else?”

“Not yet. But, Tony, I believe we can figure
some
things out if we just start at the right place.”

“Where's that?”

“With us.”

“Huh?” He frowned at her.

“That's right, with
us.
Tony, what
are
we? Have you any idea at all?”

He shook his head. “I was wondering the same thing last night.”

“Well, I've been thinking…”

“Let's have it.”

“Tony, it's only half an idea, mainly something I
feel.
It's hard to put it into
words.
But it's something I've always felt a little—because of our being so different, I mean—only I didn't like to face it. I suppose for a long time I hated to
admit
we were different.”

“I know what you mean. When you're the way we are, people make you afraid to be yourself. And most people want to be like everybody else. If we could only live in a place where everyone expects you to be different…”

“We will, Tony. I'm
sure
that's the sort of place we're going to.”

“We'll have to find it first,” he muttered. “And that's no answer to what we are.”

“It
is
in a way!” she insisted. “Don't you see? If there are more people as different as we are, then, well—maybe we're members of a different
race
of people. Sort of like the Gypsies.”

“Could be,” he admitted. “Only I wish we had a little more to go on.”

“Oh, we have! Don't you remember what Sister Amelia said was in the letter she got?”

“How do you mean?”

“She said the man who wrote it wanted information about certain
unusual aptitudes
in her pupils. And that it was for some kind of research he was doing.”

“Certain unusual aptitudes?” He blinked at her. “I'd almost forgotten that.”

He considered it a while, and suddenly exclaimed, “Say, that sounds as if he was really searching for people like us. Only he was being careful about it, so it wouldn't cause too much attention.”

“Tony,” she replied slowly, “I believe he was searching for
us.
If he was, then it proves that we didn't just
happen.
I mean, like being born with red hair in a family where everyone's hair was dark. You see, we were so little when we were brought to Granny's, and no one could even have
guessed
what we'd be like later—unless we came from people where everyone is
expected
to be different in all sorts of ways.”

She paused, then added, “So I say we came from a different
race
of people, like the Gypsies, and that we got lost from them, and that man who wrote Sister Amelia was looking for us.”

Maybe it was sort of far out, but it did make sense. He looked at her with a new respect. Most of the time she was only a timid and much-too-sensitive kid sister who had to be protected. But at other times, like now, she was miles ahead of him.

Gypsies, he thought. Maybe so. The double star on the letter and the box proved something, as did the map with the money in it, and the marked bus route—the route that ended at Stony Creek, which surely must be near the Blue Ridge area where the letter had come from.

Tony squirmed in the bus seat, then closed his eyes and concentrated on Stony Creek. This time it came clear. It wasn't much to look at—a row of shops and a filling station, and a bridge over a rushing stream. Abruptly he changed his mind and decided it was something to look at, because the stream was so clear you could see the pebbles in the bottom, and it was wonderful to watch it coming down over the rocks, making a series of white cascades under the crowding trees. The few cars in sight looked expensive, and he decided that their owners must have summer homes somewhere near.

It was the sort of place you could dream about—but, what were Tia's Gypsies doing there?

“Tia,” he said, “let's go back to the ship again. Before Mr. Deranian came. There
must
be something…”

“But, Tony, I've told you everything I can.”

“You only think you have,” he insisted. “If I keep asking questions, something's bound to come back.”

“I'm so tired. We didn't get much sleep last night, and I can hardly keep my eyes open now. If we have to change buses tonight, we may not get any sleep at all.”

“Well, O.K. Maybe we'd better get some rest.”

They adjusted their seats and lay back with their eyes closed. Tony drifted off; he must have slept for a while, because when he opened his eyes again, the scene outside had changed. Instead of the continual works of man, he was glimpsing the first real rural country he had ever seen. Heron Lake hadn't prepared him for anything like this.

Reluctantly he turned his attention to Tia when he heard her sudden whisper.

“Tony, I've just remembered something.”

“Huh? What?”

“Tony, we spoke another language when we first came to live with Granny.”

He looked at her incredulously. “You're kidding!”

“It's true,” she insisted. “I didn't realize it before; that may be why it's been so hard to remember about the ship.”

“Any idea what the language was?”

“No, except it was
very
different from English. We seem to have known a little English too, but we didn't
think
in English like we do now.”

“What language did the people on the ship speak?”

“I—I'm not sure. It may have been Spanish part of the time, though I'm just guessing. I believe the captain spoke English—at least to us.”

“No one spoke the other language?”

“Someone did. I—I—” She faltered, and her face twisted as if she were in pain. Then she whispered, “Uncle Bené spoke it.”

Tony held his breath. Quietly he asked, “Who was Uncle Bené?”

“I—I—” Tears sprang to Tia's eyes, and she began to tremble. Suddenly she put her hands over her face. “I—I think he died,” she whispered. “Please—please don't ask me any more. Not now.”

“O.K.”

Uncle Bené. He began repeating the name over and over in his mind. It was like a tiny glow far away in the darkness of yesterday. When he was little there'd been someone he'd called Uncle Bené; someone who, for a short time, had been very important to him. The name had meant comfort and safety in a time of terror.

He was still trying to recall the person who went with the name when they rolled into another station for a dinner stop that evening.
Tia said little while they ate. Her small face was pinched, and in her eyes was the shadowed fear that always came when memory groped too far.

Later, on the bus, he said, “Stop worrying about Uncle Bené. He'll come back to us both if we don't try too hard.”

“I can't help it,” she told him. “The things that happened to us are beginning to seem so close—so close I can almost see them. Only, I—I can't make myself look at them.”

“Forget about it till tomorrow. Let's think about us again.” He frowned. “I've been wondering where Mr. Deranian could have learned anything about us. Whatever he knows, he must have picked it up recently. But who from?”

“I think he got it from someone abroad,” said Tia. “And I'll bet he's being paid to take us back.”

“Well, he'll never catch us.”

“I'd feel better if we knew what he was doing now. Tony, can't you
see
him?”

“You know I can't see people the way I can places. Anyhow, it's dark.”

“You can
try.
Tony, if we just practiced more and really
tried,
I'm sure we could do all
sorts
of things we never thought of.”

“Yeah, I think you're right.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated on Mr. Deranian. “I see a city,” he said presently. “A city street with a lot of traffic. It could be Washington, but I'm not sure. If Mr. Deranian's there, I can't see him. There are so many people…”

While the bus sped on through the night, he tried again and again. But the pictures became dimmer, and all he learned was that the city was Washington, for once he had a vague glimpse of the Capitol.

Had Lucas Deranian actually traced them as far as Washington?

He fell into a troubled sleep finally. When he awakened it was nearly three in the morning, and they were entering Winston-Salem, where they were to change buses for Fairview.

Their next bus did not leave until long after daylight. Winkie accounted for part of the wait by scampering off in an alley after they fed him a hamburger outside. Later, in the nearly empty station with Winkie back in Tia's bag, they curled on a bench to get what rest they could. Unfortunately they were seen entering the station by a policeman who had not been around when they arrived.

The officer was pleasant, but he insisted upon knowing where they had come from.

“Washington,” said Tony, figuring that half the truth was all that safety would permit. “We got here on the last bus.”

“Oh? And where are you going?”

“Fairview.”

“I see. You live in Fairview?”

“No, sir. We're just going to visit some of our people.” Tony was wide awake and worried by now, though he was pretending to be half asleep. The policeman jotted something in his notebook. “What's your name, young fellow?”

“Castaway.” Why he said it, Tony didn't know. It just slid off his lips in place of Malone, which wasn't his real name after all. He saw Tia give him a startled and almost frightened look.

“Castaway,” the officer repeated. “I never heard that one before. If you are going to Fairview, you must have tickets. May I see them, please?”

At the sight of their tickets the officer was satisfied.

“O.K., son. Sorry to bother you, but there are lots of young people on the loose these days, getting into trouble. When things get too hot, they think they can cool off in a bus station without being noticed.” He saw Winkie peering at him from Tia's bag, and suddenly grinned. “What d'you know! Traveling with a black cat! Better not let the bus driver see it.”

This brush with authority was unsettling, and there was no sleep for them until they at last went aboard their bus. It was old, and the seats were uncomfortable, but by this time they were too weary to care.

Late in the morning Tony was awakened by Winkie crawling into his lap. He sat up abruptly and looked at Tia, whose eyes were worried.

“He won't stay in the bag,” she told him. “Fairview's the next stop. I—I'm afraid something's wrong. I wish we'd gotten off before…”

He glanced quickly out of the window and saw that they were entering a town. It was a squalid and almost treeless little place, with a few old stores, a scattering of run-down houses, and an auto junkyard. Slowing, the bus turned off the highway and braked before one of the stores, which apparently served as a station. Several people stood waiting out front.

“Fairview,” called the driver, opening the door.

Uneasy, Tony got their bags and followed a woman and a child outside. Behind him came Tia, clinging tightly to Winkie.

In front of the store he paused uncertainly, suddenly conscious of the silence about him, of the people watching them curiously. Then someone touched him on the shoulder, and he turned to see a short, red-faced man with a badge pinned to the pocket of his sweaty shirt.

“You looking for anyone, son?”

“I only wanted to find a telephone,” said Tony.

“Well, if you'll come along quiet, an' don't give me no trouble, I might let you use the one at the police station.”

“Police station!” Tony exclaimed.