Filter House (8 page)

She came to the end of the wall without discovering anything. Maybe higher up…but she couldn’t reach all the way unless she had a stool. She would have to see about that later.

The bathroom next. Black and yellow, like her shirt. The tile gleamed royally. The shiny black toilet was just a little bit scary.

“Did you find it yet?” The boy leaned against the sink’s butter-yellow pedestal.

“No,” she answered. “I just started. Is it in here?”

“I’m going to teach you a song.”

“Okay.” She had learned from past experience, it was best to let them take the lead. Some questions they just ignored.

“It’s a very bad song. Promise you won’t tell anybody that I taught it to you, or I’ll get in trouble.”

She felt a thrill of guilt as she hunkered down next to him, shoes scuffing damp echoes from the floor. “Promise.”

“It goes like this:

Well, it’s wine, wine, wine

that makes you feel so fine

in the corps (in the corps), in the corps (in the corps);

Well, it’s wine, wine, wine

that makes you feel so fine

in the good old actor’s co-o-orps!”

Anniette loved it. The boy’s voice went down real low when he sang in the core, in the core. Then it swooped all around like a circus band on the last word. Very satisfying. Too bad it was bad. It would be a wonderful song to sing real loud while marching around. She learned all the verses.

In the library she pulled all the books from the shelves one by one, then put them back. Nothing moved or turned or revolved. Nothing lurked behind the red leather couch except dust and old chew toys left from Turk’s last sojourn. The Raineses didn’t bring him up much anymore. She asked Gransie why as she ate her bologna sandwich in the kitchen.

“Gettin old,” Gransie said. “Same as me, he just doesn’t want to move around much anymore. Eat your salad; it’s good for you.”

Anniette pulled a pickled bean from the crystal bowl next to her plate. One was enough, she decided, as the vinegar bit its way up through her sinuses, bringing tears to her eyes. A sip of Kool-Aid, a bite of bologna and mayonnaise, and she was all better.

“Gransie, can I have a stool?”

“A stool? What you want a stool for?”

How much to explain? “I want to reach up on the walls, in the morning room. Up where that pledge sticks out.”

“The pledge? You mean the
ledge,
don’t you? Where they keep the keys?” She nodded. “What on earth do you want up there?”

Anniette paused. Should she tell? There was no other way to get what she wanted. “I want to find a secret passageway,” she said.

Gransie snorted, pushed herself away from the table, and rose ponderously. “Child, however do you manage to fill your head with such nonsense? Must be all those books you read.”

Anniette lowered her eyes in shame. It was a silly idea. She was a silly girl to have had it.

Metal legs scraped lightly on the linoleum. She looked up. Gransie was pulling the white enameled step-stool from its place next to the fridge. “That room could use some dustin anyway, I guess.” She reached into a drawer for an apron. “Now don’t you go touchin any Miz Raines’s things, Anniette. She forgave you over that leopard, but if you ever break a real expensive piece, I don’t know what’ll happen. Some of those things are real nice. Worth more than I make in a month.” She tied the apron on Anniette, folding it up at the middle so it wasn’t too long.

“Now.” Anniette stood still for inspection. “Go get me a head-scarf,” said Gransie.

She shot up the stairs and almost collided with Miss Margaret, talking and laughing on the telephone. “Sorry,” said Anniette. Miss Margaret patted her on the head to show that it was all right and went on talking.

“Honestly, Roger,” she said to the receiver. “You really should come up. What does it take to convince you? It’s the most frightful old place—you’d love it. It was actually a stop on the Underground Railroad. Just a moment, dear. Anniette, is there something you wanted?”

Anniette realized she had no reason to be standing there besides her utter amazement. She shook her head and continued slowly down the hall to her room.

“Oh, that was just our maid’s little granddaughter. The cutest thing. Yes, Nancy’s been with us practically forever, like family really….” Anniette heard Margaret’s voice trailing off behind her as she walked away. But there was nothing more about the Underground Railroad. She tried to remember all about it, what she knew from school. It was how they got colored people out of the South, away from Slavery. White people helped the colored. They had to; it must have been a lot of work to build so many tunnels and lay all that track.

She rummaged in her drawer for several minutes before she remembered what she was supposed to be looking for. A scarf. Here was one, white with yellow flowers. She carried it downstairs, deep in thought.

Gransie tied the scarf over her pigtails to keep off the dust. She grumbled that the scarf was so light and would surely show the dirt, but she didn’t send Anniette back for another. She gave her two cloths and a bottle of lemon oil and showed her what to do.

The panels did look much nicer after they’d been polished. She liked the candy shop smell she spread around herself. And best of all she had a perfect excuse to press and finger every inch of wood on the walls. Only, there was no response.

She had to leave the stool behind when she went into the yellow room. It just wouldn’t fit. All that glass. It made Anniette nervous, since the leopard broke. She was very careful, really she was, but still she dropped the goblet.

Not because she got startled. Nothing was sudden like that; first there was a dry, sweet, scent, like burning flowers, and then a golden flame. The dark lady showed up slowly, like a shadow growing from the light of the candle that she held. There was nothing sudden or scary about the way she came or how she looked. But looking, Anniette forgot to hold onto the glass. It fell and rolled along the white lace table cloth, turning over and over till it came to the other end, to where the lady stood.

The candle wavered and sank, so Anniette could see the lady’s smooth, dark face. Not one that she had ever seen before. Her chin was sharp and pointy, like Anniette’s.

“You the maid?” Her voice was sharp and pointy, too.

“No.”

“You live here, though, don’t you?”

“No, I’m on a visit.

“How long?”

“All summer, if I want. Mommy says—”

The lady interrupted. “How long?”

“The end of August, when school’s gonna—”

“How
long? How long? HOW
—” The lady stopped herself from shouting and looked down at the table. “Rufus gave his word. It ain’t broke. It ain’t. Yet.” She raised her candle and looked at Anniette again. “You come on along. I can show you.”

When Anniette got to that end of the table, the lady and the light were gone. But she could still see by the windows. Like the lady said, it was all right. The only marks on the goblet were ones that were supposed to be there: flowers, carved twisting up the curving sides.

Gransie grumbled, but Anniette was able to go over the kitchen without getting too much in the way of dinner. Miss Margaret had a tray in her room. After they ate, Anniette had to bring it down.

Then she tried the archery range. There weren’t many possibilities there, so she finished quickly and went to bed. As she knelt to pray she remembered what Gransie was saying as she left Anniette to her task that afternoon. Grown-ups always said strange things, especially as they got older and closer to being one of them. Like Grandfather. But this stuck in her head and went along with the prayers. She had said something like in church: “Not mine, but Thine, oh Lord.” Then: “But still, it’s such a shame. For the sake of the child alone, it’s a sin, and a cryin shame.”

A cryin shame. Not mine, but thine. Oh, lord.

It rained again next morning. Miss Margaret ate in the kitchen with Anniette and Gransiwe. She had cornflakes. She was up early so Uncle Troy could take her to the station to meet her friend.

So Anniette could explore upstairs.

The Red Room. It was so pretty. She always wanted to sleep in here. Once, she did. It was in winter, and this room had a fireplace that still worked. She checked there first, running her hands over the cool, rough stone. No. And the closet was nothing but a closet. Disappointed, she solaced herself with the feel of the silky red curtains hanging down over the bed. They rustled, whispering of beauty. She rubbed her face in them, wished she could wear them, nothing but red silk, like a lady, a queen.

“So. This is what comes of recklessness.”

It was a man. One of them? Another new one? Or was Uncle Troy back already with Miss Margaret and her friend? Couldn’t be.

The man smiled under his curly moustache. He walked away from her, toward the fireplace, then turned and looked back. He wore funny old clothes, like an ad for an ice-cream parlor. Them. “Well,” he said, “at least you are a fairly good-looking pickaninny. If I do say so myself. Rachel was true unto me, and I was true unto my word.”

“What’s a pickaninny?”

“That you can see me at all is proof, I suppose.” The man frowned. “You haven’t seen
her,
have you? Rachel? Rachel?” His voice faded and he was gone.

How come they were around so much right now? She searched the other rooms listlessly, strangely disturbed. The one with the green wallpaper, called the Nursery. The Rose Room, where Miss Margaret’s bags still waited to be unpacked. The Study. The Master Bedroom, white and untouchable. All were void of mystery. She gave up and retreated to her room. As she put her hand on the doorknob she suddenly thought, “It might be in here.”

She went straight to the window seat. With growing sureness she searched along the woodwork, pressing, pressing.… Ah. A small section of trim moved under her touch. She looked around the room. No dim, dusty openings, no magically appearing stairways. The change was much smaller and closer. Below the seat’s blue-green cushion a wide crack showed in the enameled wood. Anniette put the cushion on the floor and jammed her fingers into the crack. She pulled. A board flipped up. Two boards.

She was looking in someone’s hidey-hole. Nice, though not as exciting as a secret passage. She reached into the darkness and pulled out a wooden box, tied around with pale blue ribbon. Underneath the box was a fan like ladies used in church. Only this fan was made of cloth. Silk, deep red silk, like the curtains in the Red Room.