Interrupted (11 page)

Ravel’s “Pavane for a Dead Princess” was the only song I could play by memory. As my fingers slid over the keys, all my years of practicing swept back over me. I smiled slowly—it felt so good to be playing again.

I could hear the audience murmuring, but I didn’t look up. Closing my eyes, I let the music take over me.

As the song swelled, my eyes opened. A horrid memory flashed across my mind — the day of Mama’s funeral.

It took all I had to finish the song without breaking down. As soon as the last note died down, I stood and briefly bowed before running off the stage and out of the room, leaving the thundering applause behind me.

I burst into the Wilkinson’s library and hid as I tried to control my tears. Everything was blurry behind my veil of tears. I buried my face in a bookshelf and sobbed, grabbing a chair for support.

“Allie?” The door creaked open and Beatrice stuck her head in. At the sight of my tear-streaked face, she shut the door behind her and rushed toward me. “Allie, what are you crying for?” She seemed tender as she reached out to smooth back my hair. “That was beautiful! I had no idea …”

“Stop it!” I jerked my head back and bored my eyes into hers. She winced, and I lowered my voice. “Just stop it.” My shoulders shook as I tried to regain my composure. “Please, just leave me alone.”

Beatrice puckered her brow. “Allie, I don’t understand.”

Of course she doesn’t
. I ducked my head so she couldn’t see my tears. A wet drop splashed onto a book beneath me before I could furiously wipe the moisture from my face. “I haven’t played,” I whispered, “since my mother died. That … that was the song I played after my mother died … on the day I had to leave for Maine.” I pressed my toe against the ground, concentrating on the waves of pain it sent up my leg.

“Oh, Allie …” Beatrice’s voice softened.

I turned away from her. “I just … I want to go home.”

“Okay.” Beatrice nodded. “I can take you home.”

I turned my head and stared at her. Her face was illuminated
by the candles in the library and the lights from the party behind her.

I shook my head, my stomach dropping. “You can’t take me home.” I buried my head in a pile of books.
You’ll never be able to take me home
.

H
ere, try this one.” Charlie handed me a fresh blueberry and watched my face. I popped the berry into my mouth, and the juice washed over my tongue.

“Delicious.”

“I thought so.” Charlie smoothed out her dress. “I have a talent for finding fresh berries. I always know
exactly
when they’re ripe.”

“Then I’m glad to have you around.” I bumped her shoulder, nearly causing her to drop her basket.

The warm afternoon sun was beating down on us. Little sweat drops trickled down my back, tickling my skin.

“Do you think Beatrice will make us a pie?” Charlie licked her lips as if she could already taste the sticky sweetness.

The little blueberry patch tucked into the corner of the countryside was bursting with berries. I smiled. “We certainly have enough.”

“And I think we’ve picked plenty.” Charlie rocked back on her heels and popped a blueberry into her mouth. I watched as her eyes surveyed the empty countryside, her squinting eyes finally landing on a little red barn at the bottom of the hill. “Have you ever been in there?”

“No.” I stood and shaded my eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything in there.”

“You mean it’s abandoned?” Charlie practically shivered with excitement. “Come on, Allie, let’s act like little girls and go exploring. It’ll be fun.” She wrapped her fingers around my arm. “Follow me.”

I dropped my basket and ran through the tall grass behind Charlie, trailing my fingers through the golden waves surrounding me. For the first time in many days I felt alive and happy and full.

She skidded to a stop in front of the barn. It was covered in cobwebs and dust, the cracked windows letting in only slits of sunlight and fresh air.

I glanced over my shoulder, to where the car was parked at the top of the hill. “Do you think it’s okay up there?”

Charlie shrugged. “There’s no one around for miles. Come on, let’s go inside.” She pushed open the barn door with a
creak
and giggled.

A cloud of dust rained down on our heads as the heavy doors swung open. I squealed and jumped back as a spider slowly spun down from its elevated web.

I leaped again when Charlie squeezed my arm. “Allie, it’s so creepy.”

Steeling myself, I stepped inside the barn and looked around. A musty smell hung in the air. Dust fell from the rafters, and old piles of hay were clustered around the ground. But the sun shone through the peeling beams in the most peculiar way, casting an eerie light over the large room.

“I like it,” I decided. “It’s a bit spooky, but also very charming.”

I settled down on a bale of ancient hay and propped my chin in my hands. Charlie sat in front of me and smiled slowly. “Tell me a secret,” she said.

My mouth twitched. “Hmmm … a secret.” I traced my lips with my finger, thinking. “I never knew how to swim until this summer.”

Charlie frowned. “That’s not a secret. I’ve known that for years, and I already figured out that Sam boy taught you how to swim.” She straightened. “Tell me a secret about Sam.”

I gulped. “What do you want to know?”

“Something about him you’ve never told anyone before.” Charlie shifted on the hay. “Something good.”

“Um, okay.” I looked up at the sunlight peeking through the rafters, illuminating the dust that danced through the air. The room seemed to sit still—the silence stretching on. As I searched my memory for a secret about Sam, a piece of hair fell over my eye. I blew it off and squirmed.

“One year for my birthday, Sam gave me a set of chalks.” I bit my lip, holding back a smile. My voice softened. “It was the best gift I ever got.” I remembered how I received the gift, and
all at once I wished I could go back in time and change how I’d treated him.

“That’s not much of a secret,” Charlie said, annoyed. “I was hoping for something a little more … exciting.” She wiggled her blonde eyebrows at me.

I lifted my chin and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a boring boy, anyway. Never did anything worth sharing.” I shoved away the voice inside my head that argued otherwise. “Tell me a secret of your own.”

A shy smile crept across Charlie’s face. “Well, I do have a
little
secret.”

“What about?”

Charlie giggled and wrapped her arms around herself. “I heard Russell talking to his mother the other night.” She sighed. “He complimented her on her shoes …”

I snorted, then coughed to cover it up.

“Then he told her he thought I was pretty and smart and wonderful.” Charlie glanced at me pointedly. “Those were his exact words: ‘pretty, smart, and wonderful.’ Mrs. Wilkinson said she couldn’t disagree.” She fiddled with a piece of hay. “Do you think he likes me?”

I resituated myself so I lay on my stomach. “Of course he does.”

“Then why doesn’t he tell me?”

I laughed. “He does — with everything but words. Don’t worry, Charlie, I think he’ll be around for a good while longer.” I wrapped a dark piece of hair around my finger.

Charlie smiled, looking down at her hands. She rubbed her ring finger and grew quiet, her bright face dimming. “Annie
Merimont still wears her engagement ring. I saw her at the grocery store the other day and there it was, plain as the nose on my face.”

My mouth twitched. “Well, it’s only been a few months.”

“Still.” Charlie rolled onto her stomach and looked at me. “Annie thought Gerry would be around for a long time too. And he died eight weeks before the wedding.”

I shifted, uncomfortable. “Charlie, it’s a time of war. That kind of thing happens. Russell’s not going anywhere. He’ll be fine. We all will.”

Charlie let out a little sigh and sat up again. Shafts of light peeked through the rafters, illuminating the dust floating in the air. “I know, I know. It’s just …” She trailed off and turned toward me. “I don’t know how things are going to turn out. No one really does. Not us, not Germany, not Japan, not England …” She began chewing a fingernail, then caught herself. “I’m just starting to think stuff matters. Like Russell matters now. He’s not just some boy who I want to date for a while and then hurt and throw away. I’ve dated every boy in town. And Russell’s never even thought about any other girl.”

I snorted. Charlie shook her head. “I mean, other than you or me.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s just … I’m thinking about tomorrow. And the next day. And all the days after that.” She shrugged, still looking as cute and innocent as the day I met her. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Charlie Cooper being philosophical?
I lowered my brow. “Why would you be alone, Charlie? You’re beautiful and sweet and lovable. You don’t have to worry about that.”

A tiny pucker appeared on her forehead. “What if … What
if it’s not enough? Maybe being pretty and sweet and good isn’t good enough in the end.” Her blue eyes clouded over in thought. “The Japanese could come and kill us all any day. They could drop a bomb on us right this very instant! And then …” She shook her head slowly. “Then what would we do? Would being pretty and nice be enough?” She looked ready to cry. “What would happen next?”

I pulled myself upright and pushed the thought away. “There is no God. It doesn’t really matter.”

Charlie shrugged her small shoulders, causing hair to tumble off her back. “Can’t be sure. Not completely.” She blew the hay off her finger and watched it fall to the ground. “I guess we’ll never be sure until it’s over.”

I stared at the fallen hay until my eyes went out of focus.
I guess we’ll never be sure until it’s over …

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling cold.
Could I be sure?
What if even I was wrong about God and heaven? What could I be sure of then?

Charlie shook her hair and giggled. “Maybe I’m being silly. I sure feel silly. Sitting here thinking all wisely with hay in my hair.”

I rolled my eyes. “It isn’t the best place in the world to be philosophical. Rats could get us at any moment.”

“Let’s go.” Charlie grabbed my hand in her slender, pale one and pulled me toward the door.

I turned the light on in Beatrice’s library and looked around. I hadn’t been in the room for four years — shunning it ever since the day of my arrival.

The design seemed practically untouched since I’d been in there last. A few added shelves here and there and a small reading desk, but nothing outrageously new.

I settled behind the little desk and ran my fingers over the smooth mahogany wood. It was lovely. My skin crawled as I fought down the urge to jump up and run, my mind replaying the thought,
This is Beatrice’s desk, not yours
.

Beatrice once said it could be mine, didn’t she? She said it could be “our house.”

I pulled out my notebook and opened to a new page, smoothing it down as I reached for a writing instrument. Pressing the cold pen to my lips, my hand paused over the paper.
How did that poem start off?

The pen seemed to fly of its own accord over the paper, swirling and looping as it crafted line after line. I closed my eyes and remembered how it felt to be spinning across the dance floor “cheek to cheek.”

Where is Sam right now?
I bit my lip and glanced out the window. Maybe he was outside, standing on the beach and watching the waves.

I paused only a second before pushing away from the desk and heading out the side door.
I’d like to ask him if—

I halted mid-step. The beach was empty, with the exception of a few laughing children and their parents. I sighed and stuck my notebook under my arm, shuffling back toward the house.
I didn’t really want to see him anyway
.

A whistle pierced the air, sounding off a familiar tune. I whirled around; the sound was coming from Rachel Piper’s backyard.

I ran down the beach and up the hill, my thoughts flying as fast as my feet. I skidded to a stop in the middle of Rachel’s yard. Sam was sitting under an apple tree, whistling to himself while he whittled away at a piece of wood.

He looked up in surprise. “Hi.”

“Hi.” My lungs were screaming. I crumpled onto the ground in front of Sam and placed a hand on my heaving chest. A smile twitched on my mouth as he frowned at me in bewilderment. “Daydreaming?” I asked.

His eyes warmed and he shook his head, holding up the wood. “Whittling.”

“What is it? A boat?” I reached out for the lumpy project, puzzling as I turned it over in my hands. I looked up to see Sam smiling wryly.

“No, it’s a pencil.”

A snort escaped my nose. I clamped a hand over my face to hide my giggles. “A pencil?” I finally managed. I bit my lip, suppressing more laughter. “How long —”I coughed and forced a serious expression. “How long have you been carving?”

Sam snatched the wood out of my hand and glared at me. “Long enough to know how to make a pencil.” He held his project with an air of wounded pride.

My stomach hurt from holding back my amusement. “It’s … it’s …”
It’s horrendous, that’s what it is
.

Sam was watching me with a frown on his face. He held up his pencil and studied it. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

I nodded. “Yes,” I gasped. “I don’t mean to hurt you, but it is.”

Sam rolled his eyes and threw the hunk of wood over his
shoulder. “Oh well.” He glanced at me and smirked. “I guess it was kind of ugly.”

My laughter stopped, and I looked over to where the pencil had landed. “Can I keep it?”

“What?”

“Would you give it to me?”

Sam pushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess.” He stood and dusted off his pants before picking up the pencil and laying it on my lap. “A pencil, my lady.”

“Thank you.” I turned the ugly carving over in my hands. “It’s beautiful.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head, settling back on the ground. “Glad you think something you professed hideous is nice to look at.”

I smiled at him before looking back down at the gift.
It really is a rather nice pencil, I suppose. It might work for writing and sketching, if I can get the lead put in it somehow
. I bit back a grin.
I wonder if Sam even thought that far ahead
.

Sam leaned back against the apple tree and folded his arms behind his head. “So what are you doing here?”

“I live with Beatrice Lovell. Her house is right over there.” I pointed across the water.

Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. He rolled his eyes. “Not Maine. My yard.”

“Don’t know. You’re always so
surprising
.” My mouth twitched. “Guess I just wanted to see what you were up to, that’s all.” I moved over to Sam so I could better see the large, elegant house in front of us. “Nice place you have here.” I crossed my arms across my chest and squinted at noonday sun reflecting off
the many windows. “You know I’ve been living within a stone’s throw from your aunt Rachel for three years now, and I’ve still never set foot inside her house.” I frowned at Sam. “Is she just snobby or does she genuinely not like me?”

Sam shrugged. “She hasn’t had anyone over as long as I’ve been here. Well, other than the ladies’ knitting circle that meets on Tuesdays. But even then I’m sent outside or to my room. I think she considers me like a dog or something. Nice to look at, but a bother to clean up after.” His eyes suddenly fell on my journal. “What are you working on?”

“A poem.” I reddened.

“Mind if I see?” He reached over and snatched it up before I could fight him off.

My stomach grew hot as I watched his eyes scan the poem.
It’s just a load of silliness, that’s all. He won’t think I’m serious … will he?

The seconds ticked by slowly. I looked down at the grass — then back at Sam. He was still reading the poem, his lips parted in concentration. Finally, he looked up and placed the notebook back on my lap. My stomach flipped.

Sam shifted and picked at one of the buds on the branch above us. “That was beautiful, Allie.”

“Really?” I looked at him carefully and shut the notebook. “It was nothing.”