Keeping Holiday (15 page)

The wind had actually subsided, though, so this little speech was followed by an expectant silence. After several minutes of it, Dylan ventured to say, “Excuse me—uh,” (
what
do
you call
a talking bell?
he wondered), “Mr.—Conductor?”

This seemed to suit the talking bell just fine, because he immediately responded. “Yes?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your rehearsal or anything—” Dylan began.

“Don’t worry,” the bell interrupted, matter-of-factly. “I won’t let you. When the wind picks up, no matter what we’re talking about, I will ignore you and we will rehearse. There’s so much left to practice, and we must take advantage of every minute.”

Dylan hesitated. “But go on,” the bell said. “The wind’s not blowing hard enough right now, so talk away. Just don’t be offended when I cut you off.”

“Well,” Dylan said quickly, “it was the candlemaker who sent us up here. He said you could tell us more about the Founder of Holiday. See, I’ve been looking for the Founder so I could get authorized to go into Holiday and to come back whenever I want, and I would still like to do that. But the more I learn about the Founder, the more I think I’d like to get to know him—just to get to know him. So—
are
you able to tell us about the Founder?”

“My dear young man,” the bell replied, “that’s what we do. That’s why we ring. We are the Holiday music and all our music is about the Founder. Have you not noticed the music when you take your Holiday vacations?”

Dylan remembered attending church with his parents when they vacationed in what he had thought was the real Holiday. He remembered how heartily everyone sang then, not like normal times at home. He remembered how he had thought that there must be something special about Holiday music.

“Yes,” Dylan said, out loud. “I
have
noticed, and I’ve wondered why it doesn’t last when the vacation’s over.”

“Because, of course,” the bell replied, “most of the people are just that—they’re vacationers. They’re not authorized and they haven’t met the Founder. Since true Holiday music is all about the Founder, how can they keep on singing it with any kind of feeling if they don’t know him?”

Dylan would have said something in reply, but, suddenly, the bell said, “Excuse me, young man,” and called out, “All right, everyone, on three!” It was then that Dylan noticed that the wind had picked up. If he had not been engaged in the unusual activity of speaking with a bell, he would certainly have noticed the wind, because it blew so hard that he had to brace himself to keep from being pushed backward by it. The bells began to ring. They rang in concert, each ringing its own individual part, but all together creating a true melody, like a choir. They rang gently at first, and over the top of their song the children could hear the voice of the conductor bell. “Right
here
sopranos, stronger, stronger, now smoothly—laaa-tum-tum- tum-dum-de-daaa-dum-de-da.” As the wind blew more and more forcefully, the voices of the bells rose in crescendo. Then the wind gradually subsided, and the song grew softer, softer, and whispered to a close.

All was still. Dylan and Clare felt the need to show their appreciation, but applause did not seem quite appropriate. “That was beautiful,” Clare said softly, her eyes shining, just as Dylan said, “Wow! Very nice.”

“Hm. Yes, well,” the conductor bell began, sounding unconvinced, “it was better. But we still have work to do. Altos, what did I tell you about staying
with
the basses? You can’t go running ahead like that or it just won’t work!”

Suddenly, a tiny little jingle bell, dislodged by one of the great gusts of wind, fell onto the floor from the window ledge. It hit with a small bounce, then rolled across the floor, jingling all the way. The middle bell sighed an exasperated, “Oh!” and Clare was certain that a suppressed giggle ran through the rows of other bells. “Young man,” the middle bell said to Dylan, “would you please pick up that disgusting thing and throw it out the window? I don’t know why Holiday visitors insist on bringing those silly, tinny-sounding things up here. They are just
not
music!” Dylan had stopped to pick up the jingle bell. He held it in his hand, looking down at it. “Young man, please,” the conductor bell said firmly, “out the window.” Dylan shrugged and obeyed. He tossed the jingle bell out the window.

“Thank you,” said the middle bell, and his voice sounded friendlier than it had up until now. “What were we saying? Oh, yes, music and the Founder—it’s all about him, you know. That’s why there’s so much of it in Holiday, and that’s why it doesn’t last when vacationers leave. If they don’t really know him, what reason would they have for making music?”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Dylan began cautiously, “but—you wouldn’t know where I could find the Founder, would you?”

The bell’s only answer was to hum for pitch. The wind, back up again although not as forcefully, caught the bells and they sang together softly, “You don’t find the Founder, he finds you; he’s not just the Founder, he’s the Finder too.” When the short song had ended, the bell added, “But here’s what you
can
do. Spend the night up here on the mountaintop. The grass outside is very soft and comfortable, and you’ll find some provisions and some blankets in the closet downstairs, left by the Founder, of course.” (
Of course
, Dylan thought.) “The stars come down so much closer to this mountaintop than they do anywhere else. They know about the Founder. I don’t know that they’d be willing to speak with you. But if they would, you’d be able to hear them here better than anywhere else. Oops, got to go. Here comes the wind again. Everyone, from the top of the page.”

What page?
Dylan wondered. Then Clare tugged at his sleeve, and he saw that she was moving down into a sitting position on the floor, so the walls would protect her from the wind. He sat down with her, their backs against the wall, and they listened to the wonderful music of the bells.

Dylan and Clare remained in the bell tower listening to the snatches of song that came and went as the wind rose and fell. Occasionally, when the wind subsided, they would stand up and move around the wooden platform to stretch their legs. Finally, as the shadows lengthened and the wind blew more chill, they went back down the bell tower stairs.

“I’m really hungry!” Dylan observed. “It seems like ages since we last ate—when was that, anyway?”

Clare thought. So much had happened. “It must have been in the alley, on the way to the candlemaker’s shop,” she answered. “That was a while ago! I’m hungry too. I wonder what’s in that closet the bell mentioned.”

They hurried to the back of the church and opened the closet door. The fragrance of fresh baked bread floated out. A basket of golden crusted rolls, their tops shiny with a thin coating of butter, sat on a small table. “Those
look
good,” Dylan said, “but they’ve got to be hard as rocks. Who knows how long they’ve been there. And they’re not even wrapped in anything.”

“Don’t be silly,” Clare replied. “Smell that! Stale bread doesn’t smell like that.” And she reached out and took a roll. “It’s still warm!” she announced. “These rolls are fresh out of the oven!”

“Well, then that means . . . ” Dylan began, and stopped, looking all around as if he expected to see the provider of the bread nearby. No one could possibly
hide in the church, tiny as it was, and the cousins could see the entire mountaintop from the window. With no explanation, Dylan bolted to the door and dashed across the grass on the top of the mountain and over to the place where they had come up on the trail. He leaned over the edge, searching the mountainside with his eyes. Clare could see that he did not find what he wanted because, after a moment, he straightened and walked slowly back to the church. He kept looking all around as he walked. Dylan reentered the church. “The bell said the food is provided by the Founder,” he explained. “Which doesn’t necessarily mean he brought it himself, but
someone
had to bring it. And it must have been in the last few minutes, if the bread’s still warm. How can that be? Wouldn’t we have seen someone?”

Clare swallowed the piece of bread she was chewing. While waiting for Dylan, she had eaten half the roll she held. “Seems like it,” she agreed. “But there’s nowhere to hide up here. The more we learn about the Founder, the more amazing he sounds. But I thought you were so hungry—have a roll while they’re still hot.”

Dylan took a roll and absentmindedly bit it. The roll’s flavor startled him, and for a moment he forgot the puzzle of where the bread had come from and studied the roll itself. “That
is
good,” he agreed. “That may be the best bread I’ve ever tasted,” and he took another bite. “The Founder obviously knows we’re here and he obviously knows we’re trying to find him. It’s almost like he’s following us!”

Clare shook her head firmly. “No, it’s not like he’s following us. He’s going
ahead
of us. We’re following him. Think about it,” she continued. “You said his voice called you out of the cave, and it was actually
your
name he called. Then, when we got to the park where Missy Mistletoe lives, and you’d lost your visitor’s pass, he had left one for you. It had
your
name on it; it wasn’t for just anybody. Plus he’d paid the fine you owed for losing the first one. He’s going ahead of us.”

Dylan nodded slowly. He took another bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “But these rolls were put here in the last few minutes. If he had been here and put them in the closet
before
we got here, they wouldn’t still be warm—we were up in that bell tower a long time.”

“That’s true,” Clare agreed. “Well, then, sometimes he goes ahead of us, sometimes he follows us.”

“But why?” Dylan asked. “He must know all about us. He must know we want to be authorized so we can come and go in Holiday whenever we like. Why doesn’t he just stop and let us catch up to him? Or why didn’t he stay when he brought this bread?” A shadow passed over Dylan’s face. “You don’t think he’s just playing with us, do you?” he asked, and as soon as he said it, he knew the answer to his own question. He shook his head firmly. “No, he’s not like that. I don’t know why, but I’m sure he isn’t.” Clare felt the same certainty. “I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I feel sure that whatever he does, it’s got to be right. Or he wouldn’t do it.”

“Right,” Clare agreed. “Now how about if we go sit down and actually eat a meal, instead of just standing here gulping down bread? Look, here are some of the most perfect peaches I’ve ever seen.” Clare held them up. “And chunks of two different kinds of cheese to go with the bread. And some hard-boiled eggs—he even remembered the salt. And,” Clare held up this final crowning touch, “two chocolates for each of us, and do they ever look good!”

The cousins carried the food out to the front lawn and sat on the grass, in the last rays of the setting sun. Just before Dylan began to eat, he paused and spoke very earnestly. “I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t know why he’s doing it,” he repeated. “But Clare, I think the most horrible thing in the whole world would be to get to the end of this four-day visit and never have met the Founder.”