Shadowland (48 page)

 
   'Maybe he shouldn't ever want to come back. May I sit down?'

 
   'Uh, yeah, sorry.' He watched her go to the chair and neatly sit, looking at him all the while: she was relieved, he saw — or was that just her face again, meaninglessly recording the expectation of rejection? Having this girl in his room made him nervous; she seemed far more poised than he. And she had spoken the idea which should have been his, which he had been too anchored in Shadowland to have — the simple idea of escape.

 
   'I thought you said you owed Collins everything,' he said. He sat on the floor because there was nowhere else to sit but the bed.

 
   'That's true, but he's changing too much. Everything's different this year. Because you're here, I think.'

 
   'How is it different?'

 
   She looked at her small hands. 'It used to be fun before. He wasn't drunk so often. He wasn't so angry and so . . . worked up. Now it's sort of like he lost control. He scares me. This summer, everything is so wild. It feels like a machine that's spinning around faster and faster, shooting off sparks, smoking away — ready to blow up. At least that's how I feel.'

 
   'What could I have to do with that?' He looked up at her as if she were an oracle: her shining knees, her glowing hair falling back from her high forehead. Even the way she spoke was full of little shocks for him, the clipped, slightly twangy Vermont accent. Suddenly his own voice seemed odd in his mouth, too slow and somehow dusty.

 
   'I think he's jealous of you. He sees something in, you — something he says you're too young to see yourself. You could be better than he is. He wants to own you. He wants you to stay here forever. From the time Del first mentioned you, he started talking about you. I heard him talking about you lots of times last winter and spring. He was going on about you and Del all the time.'

 
   She gave him a flat, unmeasured look that slid deeply within him, and he saw himself lifting a log with his mind alone, making it spin crazily, sickly, in midair. 'Really, I think you should get out of here. I'm not saying that just because I want you to help me.'

 
   'Why do you need help?'

 
   'Oh, because . . . ' She looked into his heart again,then tucked her hair back behind her ears. 'Do you think you could get off that ridiculous floor and sit here?' She looked toward the bed; back at him.

 
   He moved as if ordered.

 
   When he sat on the edge of the bed, her startling face was only a foot from him. Her eyes, permanently wide and flecked with pale blue and gold and green, drew him in. 'I need help because I'm scared. It's those men — you mentioned them that first time, in Del's room.'

 
   'Are they bothering you?'

 
   'They might. They could. They wouldn't mind a bit. You know what they're like. They're animals. Mr. Collins used to watch them, but this summer they sort of run free. They have work to do — for him, you know — but I'm afraid that when they have a couple of days free . . . ' She nervously tucked back her hair again. 'They know where I'm staying. They drink a lot, too, and Mr. Collins didn't used to let them do that. I never liked them. But before, I was little. I was a little girl.' She let the implication state itself.

 
   'Why don't you just go?'

 
   'I think someone always knows where I am. I can just sneak out sometimes and swim across the lake. They don't mind if I swim. Today I had to buy some things in town, so they let me go. They know I talk to Del sometimes. They don't mind that either. They laugh about it.' Her face went smooth and hard and inward for a moment. 'I hate them. I really do hate them. If Mr. Collins was the way he usually is, it would be okay, but . . . ' The sentence died. 'And I wanted to tell you what I was thinking. Do you want to leave here?'

 
   'I'd have to trust you,' Tom said.

 
   'Why? Oh. You mean, maybe it's a trick?'

 
   Tom nodded. 'Everything's a trick, here.'

 
   'Well, do you trust me? What can I say to make you feel that . . . ?' She blushed. 'Tom, I'm all alone. I like you. I want to know you better. I'm happy you came this summer. I just think that we can help each other.'

 
   'I guess I can trust you,' Tom said. In truth, it was not possible for him not to trust her.

 
   She smiled. 'It would be terrible if you didn't. I want to help, Tom. I want to help
us.'

 
   Us.The word seemed to fall toward his heart, along with the darting half-bold, half-sly glances into his eyes.

 
   'Del thinks a lot of you,' he said.

 
   'I think a lot of Del.' The sentence put Del at a cliche's distance from her.

 
   'I mean, he cares about you.'

 
   'Del is really a little boy,' Rose said, looking straight at him, and Tom felt the moral universe shift about him, expanding too quickly for him to keep track of it. 'Physically he is a little boy. Mentally he has a lot of sophistication because of the way he was brought up, but actually you are a lot older than Del is. That was the first thing. I noticed when I met you. Besides that, you were so grumpy.'

 
   'Grumpy? I was nervous as a puppy!'

 
   She laughed; then, with her face turned fully toward him, she took his hand and leaned forward. She was blushing. 'Tom, my life has been so funny. . . . I'm asking you to rescue me, I guess — and that sounds so dumb, like a princess in a story. I hardly even know you, but I feel like we're close already. . . . You're going to have to talk Del into leaving his uncle, and it'll break his heart. . . . ' She leaned an inch closer, and in front of Tom her face filled the room, large and enigmatic and beautiful as a model's face on a billboard. When their lips met, Tom's whole being seemed concentrated in the few centimeters of skin that touched her mouth. By instinct but awkwardly he put his arms around her.

 
   She pulled back. 'You won't believe me, but the first time I saw you, I wanted to kiss you.'

 
   'I thought you and Del — '

 
   'Del is a little boy,' she repeated, and they kissed again. 'We can meet outside sometimes. I'll tell you how. I'll arrange it. And I already know when we can escape. Mr. Collins is planning some big show — some big thing — in a little while. If you and Del will help, we can all get away then.'

 
   'But where can we go?'

 
   'Into the village. From there, we can go anywhere. But we'd be safe in Hilly Vale.'

 
   'I have to get a letter out.'

 
   'Give it to Elena. She's the only one who goes to the village regularly. I think she'll mail it for you.' Rose stood up and smoothed out her skirt. She looked tense and slightly drawn. 'But be careful. And don't pay attention to anything you see me doing — I'm only doing it because I have to. Because he's making me do it. Just wait until you hear from me. Promise?'

 
   'Promise.'

 
   'And do you trust me?'

 
   'Yes. I do.'

 
   'We have to trust each other from now on.'

 
   Tom nodded, and she flickered a tentative smile at him and slipped away out the door.

 
   A minute later he stood on the balcony outside in the warm fragrant air. He watched her disappearing into the woods down beside the lake, and stayed on the balcony until he saw her entering one of the circles of light. She turned and waved; he waved back at her slight, determined-looking figure.

 
10

 
After that he could not fall asleep again. He kept remembering her face swimming up before him, becoming more certain and beautiful the closer it came. That she had allowed him to kiss her was a blessing: it had not at all been like kissing Jenny Oliver or Diane Darling. Rose Armstrong was beyond his experience in a thousand incalculable ways. The unknown surrounded her, cast all of her words and gestures into relief — that yearning brooding uncertain beautiful face looming up before him, claiming him, not as much asking for trust as demanding it, had in some way been the essence of Shadowland. Certainly it was as unexpected as everything at Shadowland; as dreamlike, too, in its suddenness. And Rose Armstrong was much better at kissing than his earlier girlfriends. That, the sharp responsive physicality of her mouth, was anything but dreamlike. He lay in his narrow bed, wondering. What was shepromising him?
Del is just a little boy.
He could not bear to think of Rose Armstrong in the company of Mr. Peet's brutes, but his mind perversely would not leave these pictures be: as soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Seed or Thorn pushing toward her, all belly and beard. Then he saw her as he had with Del, pulsing through the dark water.

 
   After half an hour he threw back his sheets and got up. He felt impatient, constrained by the room. With nothing else to do, he decided to write to his mother. Sheets of paper and envelopes were just under the flap of the desk. Still in his underwear, he sat and wrote.

 
Dear Mom,

 
   I miss you lots. I miss Dad too, just like he was still alive and pretty soon I could go home and see him again. I guess I'll feel like that for a long time.

 
   Del and I arrived safely, but the train before ours had a bad wreck. This is the strangest place anybody could be. Del's uncle is such a good magician that he can really mess up your mind. He keeps saying that I could be a good magician too, but I don't want to be like him.

 
   I want to come home. It's not just homesickness. Honest. If I can get us out of this place, could you arrange to be back home? I guess I won't be able to get a letter back from you for about two weeks, but could you please . . .

 
That was no good. He balled it up and threw it in the wastebasket.

 
   Dear Mom,

 
   I'll explain later, but Del and I have to get out of this house. Can you possibly cut your trip short and come back sooner than you planned? Send me a telegram. This is urgent. I'm not joking, and I'm not just homesick.

 
Love,