Paperquake (10 page)

Violet leaned forward to read the sign: "
AN INTERRUPTION." SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE,
1906.

Too neat,
thought Violet.
Wouldn't there befallen plaster? Wouldn't the gaslight have gone out? What about the sounds of screams from the street?
There had been fire after that earthquake, Mr. Koch had said—a horrible fire that raced through the city and destroyed much of San Francisco.

To Violet the past had meant nothing. The people were black-and-white images from old photographs. Just thin paper impressions. But now, aftershe'd read Hal's letters and found the diary entry in the old ledger, the past was taking shape in a less nebulous way. Real people had lived then—had worked in the shop. Had received letters full of promises. Had written in a diary. Had killed someone?

An Interruption,
she thought, and leaned forward to see if she could read the letter displayed on the desk.

She caught her breath.

My sweet Baby V,
it began.

She glanced wildly over her shoulder. Her classmates were still shrieking on the earthquake simulator. The docent was speaking to Mr. Koch. No one was watching. Lifting the red twisted rope, she slipped beneath and reached for the letter on the desk. She
had
to read it,
had
to know. Stepping back behind the rope, she scanned the page quickly, hunching over with her back to the class.

 

 

There was no signature, but Violet knew.

"Violet, come on!" Beth's loud whisper summoned her back to the tour. "We're going to the Fish Roundabout now."

Violet stood, still holding the letter from Hal, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Of course she must put it back. It was part of the museum exhibit.

But wasn't she Baby V?

She took a deep breath and smiled at Beth, hoping her face would not betray her. She waved her hand casually. "Be right there." Then she knelt down and fumbled with the zipper on her backpack. She slid the sheet of paper neatly into her history notebook, then followed the class without a backward look.

On the bus ride back to school and again on the walk home to Beth's apartment, Violet was silent. She knew she needed to talk to Beth about Hal's mysterious letters and the diary page—but she was afraid. She couldn't believe she had really stolen the ink-stained letter from the exhibit, and her guilty secret chafed like a hidden sore. So she waited, silent and tense, until Beth unlocked her apartment door with the key she always wore on a ribbon around her neck. The giddy barking of Beth's small schnauzer, Romps, greeted them.

"We'll have the place to ourselves till Tom gets home from soccer practice at five," Beth said as she tossed her schoolbag down in the small hallway and knelt to scratch the excited dog's ears. "So let's get started."

It took a moment for Violet to remember why they were here. Having the same hair color as her sisters seemed less important now than it had before she'd found the letters from Hal. But she rummaged in her backpack and brought out the packet of Medium Honey Ash. Beth took it from her and headed down the hall to the bathroom. She started reading the instructions.

"Better take off your shirt. Sounds like this could be messy."

Violet removed her sweater and T-shirt. She was wearing the bra her mother had bought after Violet insisted that if Jasmine and Rose wore bras, she would, too. So what if she didn't really need one yet? The bra helped to hide the thin pink scar that ran from her breastbone all around the left side of her ribs to her back. That was where the doctors had cut her open for the operation. The scar had faded from red to pink over the years and the doctors promised it would one day be white and barely visible. Sometimes she thought of her scar as a sort of badge—proof that she was perfectly healthy now. But other times she hated her scar. It was a symbol of what kept her parents hovering over her and why Lily insisted she be excused from gym classes. The scar was another way she looked different from her sisters.

Normally Violet was self-conscious about having other people—even Beth—see her scar. But now when she looked down at her chest she didn't even notice it. Instead she thought she could see her heart thumping extra hard.
Stress,
she told herself.
Guilt.

Romps edged his way into the room and sat watching, tongue lolling, as Beth motioned Violet over to the side of the bathtub. "First we have to wash your hair," Beth said. "Let's use my mom's shampoo—it's another Rich Woman's Special."

Beth's mother worked hard to support Beth and her brother. They didn't have money for a lot of luxuries, but Mrs. Madigan didn't skimp on luxurious bath oils, fragrant hair products, and little designer soaps shaped like stars and hearts. Violet shut her eyes and enjoyed the scrubbing as Beth lathered her hair with scented shampoo and rinsed it with warm water. She thought about the claw-footed bathtub upstairs in the Chance Street shop. Had Hal's beloved V washed her hair in that tub? Had she used scented soap?

"That was great," she sighed after Beth rinsed away the suds. "You should open a spa."

"No way. I'm going to be a famous artist."

Beth was the only kid Violet knew who already had decided what she'd be. Violet flicked some suds out of her eyes. "I guess I'll have to wait and see what Jazzy and Rosy want to be."

"What—you mean you'll just become whatever they do?" Beth snorted. "I don't know what's wrong with you these days, Vi. You never used to care so much about being like your sisters. They aren't
so
special, you know. They just think they are."

Violet bit her lip. Beth didn't understand. Violet wasn't sure
she
understood, either.

Beth wrapped a blue towel around Violet's head. "Blot excess moisture," she read from the package insert. "Okay? Are you blotted?"

"
Mmm.
" Violet pictured the blot of ink across the stolen letter. She looked at the two bottles on the ledge by the sink. "Are you sure that's the right color? It's so red."

"The box says Medium Honey Ash," said Beth. "So here goes."

"What am I supposed to do, just pour it on?"

Beth consulted the directions. "Well, first I need to put on these plastic gloves." Violet bent over the bathtub again while Beth worked the thick solution into a lather on her hair. "Oh no," Beth exclaimed suddenly. "I forgot I was supposed to mix the two bottles of stuff together first. Well, it shouldn't matter." She reached for the second bottle and unscrewed the top. "Yuck."

"Shouldn't matter?" squealed Violet as a terrible smell filled the bathroom. It was enough to banish all thoughts of the mysterious letters and her crime. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Keep your head down, you're dripping everywhere. Look, I'll just pour this clear stuff on now and mix it together right on your hair. What's the difference?" Beth pressed Violet back over the tub and poured the other liquid onto her head. "You get used to the smell after a while."

Violet felt the cold oozing right down her back. "This better work."

"You'll be gorgeous," Beth said cheerfully.

Violet kept the image of her sisters' long, shining hair in her mind.
Please,
she thought.

When the mixtures had been thoroughly worked into Violet's hair, Beth wrapped her head in the plastic turban provided in the box and clipped the plastic in place with a bobby pin. Slowly Violet raised her head and glanced into the mirror.

"I look like a monster from the deep!" she wailed.

"True, but not for long." Beth consulted the instructions again. "You just have to wait twenty minutes before we can rinse it out. Then you'll look like a princess."

"Forget princesses. I want to look like—"

"Like Rosy and Jazzy, as you've said about a million times! And you will, you will." Beth's voice was confident, but her expression betrayed some nervousness. "Hold still—there's goop running down your cheek." She dabbed at Violet's face with the towel. "Don't let it drip on the dog."

Violet wondered what she'd do if there was another quake while she had the dye on her head. What if it were a big one and she had to leave the building wearing the plastic bag over her hair? What if she had to leave the goo on longer than the prescribed twenty minutes? Would her hair fall out?

They went across the hall to Beth's tiny bedroom, followed by the dog. The room was the same size as Violet's alcove at home, but at least Beth could have privacy when she wanted it. Her door closed and locked.

Romps lay down by the door and seemed to fall asleep. Beth flopped across the bed. "You don't have to look so scared. It'll be fine. Come on, get your mind off it. Tell me the big deal about what you found in San Francisco."

How could Beth know about the stolen letter? Violet stared at her with wide, guilty eyes, then remembered she had promised only that morning to tell Beth about the other letters from Hal and the diary entry. The morning already seemed an eternity ago.

Violet sat stiffly on the edge of Beth's bed, holding her neck straight so the dye wouldn't run, and tried to think where to start. She described the shop on Chance Street, how hard she and her sisters had worked to clean it up, and how she'd found the first envelope in the back of the cupboard. She sent Beth to fetch her backpack by the front door, then pulled the wad of letters out and handed the first one to Beth. She watched while her friend read Hal's letter.

Beth looked gratifyingly intrigued. "It almost sounds like he's talking to
you,
did you notice that?"

"Exactly. I thought so, too. And then I found this second one."

Beth grabbed the second envelope and read the letter. "How weird. Look—did you see what it says about the family—the twin sisters? And about V's weakness? It sounds like her family hovered over her the way yours does over you."

"Isn't it amazing?"

"You can tell these letters are really old, though." Beth looked delighted. "It's just like mysteries in books. You never think anything can happen that way in real life. But then it does."

"And there's more. Yesterday when I went back to the shop with my parents, I found something else." Violet explained about the cellar, about the suitcase. Sharing the strange story with Beth made the letters even more special. She felt more certain than ever that she had been singled out to receive them. She reached up with her towel and dabbed a trickle of hair dye from her forehead. "I found this one at the back of an old account book." She handed the ledger page to Beth. "It's spooky—and different from the others."

"This is a diary entry!" Beth exclaimed.

"I know." Beth's excitement pleased Violet. Maybe Beth would understand, after all, why she'd had to take the letter from the museum.

"Is it Hal's?"

"No—but whoever wrote it knew Hal. It's kind of creepy."

Beth read it through, looking shocked. "This sounds like she killed somebody!"

"That's what I think, too."

"But who wrote it? It says she and Hal got together. Could that be V?"

"We don't know for sure that a woman wrote it at all," Violet pointed out hastily. She identified too strongly with Hal's V to want her to be a murderer. "Maybe a man wrote it."

"It sounds like a woman to me," said Beth.

It sounded like a woman to Violet, too, but how could some woman's diary fit with the letters from Hal? And who had been a prophet of doom? "I know it sounds impossible," she said quietly, "but I keep wondering if the letters could be meant for me. Somehow."

"What are you talking about? These letters are almost a hundred years old!"

Violet scanned Hal's letters, frowning. "I know, I know. But look how V has something wrong with her heart."

"That's just a coincidence," said Beth.

"Maybe," said Violet slowly, "but maybe not. Mr. Koch says scientists don't believe in coincidence—and I don't think I do, either." An elusive thought tickled. What was it about the letters that bothered her?

"You're giving me the creeps, Vi. Come on. I mean, look at the date! My grandparents weren't even born when Hal wrote those letters."

Violet was silent. Just as she couldn't fully explain—even to herself—why she'd stolen part of a museum exhibit, she couldn't explain her strange certainty that the letters were meant for her. She shuffled through the pages, rereading.

Long ago V had argued with her sisters in a restaurant. And then Violet argued with Jazzy and Rosy at the café on Chance Street. V had been lost in San Francisco. Hadn't Violet herself been separated from her sisters at the street fair?

"Beth," she whispered. "Look at this ..."

Beth leaned toward her. "What?"

"The letters. I just realized—I can't imagine why I didn't see this before."

"What? What do you mean?"

"It isn't that the letters were written
to
me—they're
about
me. Somehow what happened in the past—" The letters trembled in Violet's hand—"What happened to Hal's poor V in the past is happening to me in my life
now!
"