Seven Stories Up (11 page)

I turned my head so fast my braid whipped me in the face.

Standing in the doorway, staring at us, was Nora.

Before I had a chance to say a word, Molly’s back went rigid. Her chin lifted. Mistress Mary opened her mouth to speak, but then—

She saw the kitten, and her anger melted. Her face softened. Friend was curled happily in Nora’s hand, nibbling some tidbit. Molly looked at the ball of fur.

“Oh,” Molly said. “You’re taking care of Friend.”

She stroked the cat’s tiny head. “He’s a sweet little man,” she said.

“I found him,” Molly said. “In a garbage pail.”

Nora paused. Then she gave a pert nod and said, “Lucky for both of you, I’d say. Every child deserves a pet, and every pet deserves a child.”

“I can explain,” said Molly.

Nora shook her head. She handed over Friend. “Isn’t my business, miss.”

“But aren’t you supposed to report things like this to Papa?” Molly asked.

Nora sighed. “Maybe I am, but I won’t. I just won’t. It isn’t right. No child should be so alone. From now on I’ll be minding my own business, I think.”

“Really?”

“All I ask is that you be careful. Can you do that?”

Molly nodded, still looking stunned.

Nora turned to me. “As for
you
, I don’t know who you are, or quite what you’re doing here. But I’ll trust that you mean well, and that you won’t put Miss Molly in danger. That you’ll help her.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“Lastly,” said Nora as she turned to leave, “I left some newspapers in the bathroom for you. They might come in handy for your little man. I don’t want to be cleaning
up any more messes like the one I found in the closet just now, hey? Put those maid uniforms to good use.”

“Oops,” said Molly.

Nora nodded. “Oops is right.”

After dinner, Molly and I played a game of chess. Or we started to, until it became clear I would never, ever win a game. “Molly?” I said, giving up and lying down on the floor. “I wonder, if you could do anything tomorrow, absolutely anything, what would you do?”

“Well,” said Molly, “I suppose to begin with I’d go back to that store, to pay for the lamps. So I could stop feeling so guilty.”

“Okay,” I said. “But besides
that
, where would you go? For fun?”

“I know!” said Molly. “Let’s make a list. Of all the places we mean to go, all the things we want to do. First thing, Woolworth’s! Second, I want to go to that fair, with the Ferris wheel.”

“Sure,” I said. “But also, I want to see the water. Put that on the list too.”

Molly got up and found a box of stationery and a nubby pencil. Underneath the words
FROM THE DESK OF MARY MORAN
and a spray of lilacs, Molly wrote:

“
Then
what?” she asked.

“I want to go to Egypt,” I said. “To see the pyramids! Don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” she said, “that would be marvelous. But we probably can’t do that tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” I admitted. “But I didn’t think I’d get to see 1937 either, so let’s write
everything
down. Who knows what crazy thing might happen!”

“In that case,” she said, “I’d like to fly.”

“How are you planning to manage that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but three days ago, it seemed impossible I’d ever see the backyard again, so if you get Egypt, I get flying. Make sense?”

“Sure.” I laughed. “Why not? We’re dreaming, after all. In which case, I want to be rich someday, super rich. Write that one down.”

Molly scribbled, then looked up. “I want to get married and have a family. And I want to do good things too.
I want to help people. But I don’t know how just yet. Maybe I’ll be a nurse.” She scribbled something down. “Also, I want to meet Fred Astaire.”

“Write down about the pizza,” I said. “That’s P-I-Z-Z-A.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said.

“And I want to be in a movie,” I said. “And I want to stop biting my nails.”

“And I want,” said Molly, “to save someone’s life.…”

“Wow,” I said, sitting up. “That’s a big one.”

“Yes, it is,” said Molly, looking down at her list. “Perhaps that’s enough for now. Perhaps it’s time to go to bed. We can think of more things to add tomorrow, can’t we? We can just keep adding to the list forever.”

That night, as we lay in bed with Friend curled between us, Molly drifted into her drugged sleep. I watched her and listened to the kitten purr. When at last I reached down to tug the sleeping mask from under the mattress, I found I was sad. Now I didn’t
want
to leave again. I wanted to do the list of things with Molly. Funny, when I thought I was stuck, I felt desperate to go home; but now that I’d figured out my return, I wished I could stay.
I thought about
The Lion
,
the Witch and the Wardrobe
kids, those Pevensies. Had they felt this way, when they became queens and kings in Narnia? Had they missed their mom and dad? I didn’t remember the books talking about that.

Of course I would leave. I had a life of my own to live, and Mom. Still, the idea of trading in this Molly for that old lady Molly—ugh.

I looked over at Molly and wished there was some way to say goodbye. Then I had a thought. I
could
say goodbye. I could leave something, some shred of me, for Molly to find once I was gone. I climbed out of bed and looked around for the box of stationery. I didn’t see it, but my eyes fell on her copy of
The Secret Garden
. So I took up Molly’s fountain pen and turned to the last page, to the very back of the book. There I wrote:

Feeling better, I got back into bed, pulled the covers up, and reached for the sleeping mask. I fingered the jet beads and the smooth fabric, then noticed something. The elastic wasn’t stretched out anymore, and the beads weren’t coming loose. The mask looked like new. How had
that
happened? Was the mask repairing itself? Was there more magic at work? What did the transformation mean?

I was calm as I pulled it over my head, ready. “I’ll see you soon, Mom,” I whispered into the quiet room as I settled the mask on my eyes.

Then everything went dark …

But not dark enough. Not quite.

There was no static, no beat, no strange silence.

I was still in the past. Molly was breathing heavily beside me and Friend was snuffling in his sleep. I hadn’t disappeared. I lay in the bed, still wearing the mask, and
I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t think what to do next. Did this mean I couldn’t go home? I didn’t understand what was going on. It felt very wrong.

I swallowed hard. Now what?

It was 1937. It was still 1937.

How would I get home? Would I
ever
get home?

I ripped off the mask and looked around the room but found nothing to help me. Beside me, Molly stirred, shifting onto her side. Still there, breathing over my thoughts. I tried to ignore her. It wasn’t time to think about Molly. It was time to think about
me
, about
Mom
.

I took a deep breath and tried again to backtrack, to remember all the details. What was I still missing?

Maybe I had to actually sleep in the mask. Maybe that was it! Mom would say it does no good to freak out. “When one thing doesn’t work,” she always said, “chill out and try something else.”

It was the only thing I could think to do. I could try again. I could keep trying. I could sleep. In and out, deep and slow, in and out, push and pull, calming me, settling me. Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. Each heavy breath like a wave lapping at the shore. In and out, in and out. Each breath calm and regular.

Sleep would come. It had to.

A banging woke me. A thumping, knocking sound. Then a voice. “Hello?” the voice called. “Hello? Miss Moran?”

Miss Moran?

I rolled over, tangled in sheets and dreams. The fog seeped back in, and I drifted backward, into sleep.

“Miss Moran! Molly! Are you decent?”

I opened my eyes again, sat up, and tugged off the sleeping mask. Instantly I was swamped with a wave of dizziness. The room swirled and I fell back. “Molly?” I
mouthed as the ceiling swam. I knew that name, even in my fog. “Molly.”

“Shhh!” Beside me, a girl was awake, a tiny kitten curled in her hair.

I stared at her. She had a finger to her lips.

Inside my head everything was still blurry and shifting. But I knew her. Molly? I closed my eyes and memories washed over me. My face streaming with rain, a cramped dark place. But who was at the door now? What came next?

Molly sat up, and the kitten rolled away from her and stretched. “Dr. Irwin!” she choked.

I whispered, “Who? What should I—”

She pointed below the bed. “There,” she whispered. She shoved the kitten at me, and I took it. I stared at her, baffled. I still didn’t know anything! So much I couldn’t remember. What was happening now?

Molly called toward the door, “Yes, Dr. Irwin, just—one second, please. Let me—ahem, finish with these buttons!” Molly gestured wildly. She pointed beneath the bed again. “Go, Annie,” she said softly, and I went.

As Molly reached for a dressing gown and pulled it on, I half fell over the side, onto the floor with a thump. Still foggy, now bruised.

“One more minute,” called Molly, eyeing me on the floor. “I’m nearly ready.”

I scrambled beneath the bed, the kitten tucked beneath my arm.

“Come in!” Molly shouted.

I heard the door open and saw the bottom of it swing wide. Two brown shoes approached. I felt the creaking of wood and springs above me as the doctor—not a small man, I guessed—sat down with a groan.

I squeezed my eyes and crossed my fingers. There was no question about what would happen to me if the bed collapsed. The kitten curled up against my neck and began to purr. It sounded like a motorcycle in the distance. I could feel the rumble in my jawbone. I only hoped nobody could hear it on the bed above. My nose tickled. I knew that I should not sneeze.

“It took you so long to answer the door,” boomed the voice above me, startling me from my thoughts. “I began to think that maybe you weren’t in. Har. Har.” The doctor had one of those unfunny joking voices grown-ups sometimes use.

“Oh,” said Molly with a nervous giggle. “I’m always here. I just sleep very deeply. Because of … my medicine. Where else would I be?”

The doctor ignored her question. “Now, say
ahhhh
!”

Molly opened her mouth. “
Ahhhh!
”

While Molly breathed and coughed and answered questions, I lay beneath the massive bed and tried to piece things together. I backtracked through the day before and the day before that. The laundry chute, the ballroom, and the liver. Nora’s smile.

I pushed past that, to an old lady in a bed. I felt a dazzle of memory there, a spark, and then a flame caught—and I remembered! I was Annie Jaffin, and my mother was Ruby Jaffin, and she was back there, in the memory, in—the future? While I was huddled in the dusty underneath of the past.

I lay among the dust bunnies, pulling the memory out of the murk, like I was dragging a fish slowly from a river. I tried to keep the line steady. I didn’t want to lose what I’d caught. In a rush, my life came tumbling back to me—
Cosby Show
Susie Ice Capades science fair project. Home.

How had I lost all of that? How had I forgotten? And how could I keep it from slipping again? The mask hadn’t worked. Maybe nothing would. I closed my eyes and buried my face in the warm purring side of the tiny kitten.

I heard a shuffling sound and looked over at the door, where I could see Nora’s black chunky heels and the hem of her dark skirt.

“Well, you’re still on the mend!” the doctor said cheerily at last. “Though I must say, you are a little more constricted than last time. I suppose it could be dust, or smoke from outside.”

“I’ll close the window,” offered Molly.

“Yes, do. And please don’t overexert yourself. I know it can be hard for a girl your age to sit still, but don’t let your improving health fool you. This is still serious.”

“I understand,” said Molly in a docile tone.

“You must take care of yourself as you begin to feel better,” the doctor said. “You could have an attack at any time.” Then he called out, as if to someone standing in the next room, “Looks good, James! She’s doing fine.”

James?
I saw there was a new pair of shoes in the doorway beside Nora’s: men’s shoes, black and shiny.