Virginia Hamilton (15 page)

“Justice,” she said. The child was there with her brother Levi, with Thomas off a way by himself. Wasn’t that just like the Number One? “You all take your time,” she said, with not a trace of Southern accent.

“What day is it?” Justice asked.

“Saturday,” the Sensitive said. “You have been gone since Monday evening.”

“Saturday,” Justice said. Absently she touched her face. She looked down at her legs, her arms. She looked like her real self, no thinness anywhere.

“Justice,” the Sensitive said, staring at the three of them, “Your father got into the habit of coming down here looking. I suggested to his mind that he not walk here, for fear he would be seen. People know he is a smart man. If they saw him by the river, they might think there was something to see here. So he never came in here, but he did sit there in his car a minute before going on. Maybe it was a comfort for him. You might see him this morning, although it is Saturday.”

She moved away quickly with her son.

The three Douglasses went back to the river, careful of the snakes. There were lots and lots of snakes. The river was a sick river, black with algae and leeches.

Levi shivered, remembering that once leeches had got him.

No, it was Thomas who had the leeches all over him, he thought. But, using his power, he made
me
feel the pain.

Thomas looked at the river with no feeling for it whatsoever. It just smelled foul and he turned his back on it.

Justice wished the river were clean, like the water pool they’d given to Dustland.

Why didn’t we ever set our minds to cleaning up this place? she wondered. With all the power we had, we could have done it easily. We didn’t think of it because we take everything for granted—what’s one small stream when we have so much?

She sighed. “Shall we go?” she asked her brothers.

“St-st-stay a li-littttle l-l-longer,” Thomas said.

“Yeah,” Levi said.

Justice didn’t want to go home quite yet either. They needed time to bring themselves completely back. Justice felt literally torn apart from her brothers and knew they must be feeling the same about her and each other. Each felt alone, separate, in a way they never had. She saw Thomas glance at Levi, then away uneasily.

Like we no longer know one another, Justice thought, gazing at Levi. How much older he seemed, but in a good way. His skin was clear and healthy-looking.

“You look just great,” she told him.

“I feel great,” he said. “I think I’ll go get a check-up just to be sure.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she told him.

“Wwwant muh-muh-eee to-to sc-scan yyyou?” Thomas said.

“No, thanks,” Levi said. He didn’t want Thomas to invade him that way ever again. Then suddenly he stiffened, staring at Thomas. “You mean, you can still—” He could not finish.

“Oh, y-eah, I-I ffforrrrgot,” Thomas said. “W-w-wow!” He blanched under Justice’s careful gaze. “S-s-sorry.”

They heard a car. There were not many cars on the Quinella Road early on a Saturday morning. This one did not slow down. With the overhanging trees, they could not see the car. They listened until it was beyond their hearing. A half-hour later another car came. This one slowed. They looked up. And then Thomas was racing to the field. Justice and Levi heard the car stop and Thomas yelling, “Dad! Here!” She and Levi hurried out. She was vaguely aware that Thomas had spoken two words without stuttering—a result of his excitement on seeing their dad, she supposed.

She gave a last glance to the sluggish Quinella River, then followed Levi through the field. She felt awkward, not knowing what to say to her father.

Will he let me just shake his hand?

Her dad was halfway out of the car, grabbing Levi by the head and shoulders in greeting. He must have greeted Thomas the same way.

He was staring at her. She touched her face, just to be sure, and stopped a few paces away from him.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

“Ticey!” He saw at once that she was older, taller. He reached out, pressed his hand on her curly hair. Precious Ticey! “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. Was it possible she had grown more than two inches in just five days? No, but over the whole summer it could happen. One would notice only if she were away for a time and returned. One would see the difference as he saw it now. Gently he kissed the top of her head as, shyly, she held her face away from him. He patted her shoulder. “Let’s go home,” he said. Looked all around. “I assume the boy and his mother have already gone.” Caution in his voice.

“Yes,” Levi said.

“Okay, pile in.” They did, with Justice in front in the middle and Levi by the window. Thomas was in the back, surrounded by Mr. Douglass’ stone-cutting tools.

Her head lolled on her dad’s shoulder. It was wonderful being in the car, being close to her dad. She didn’t say a word. None of them did.

Mr. Douglass almost said, “The town hasn’t changed a bit since you’ve been gone.” It went through his mind to say it seriously, as if they’d been gone a year.

I promised June they’d come back. I
knew
they would, he thought. No, you didn’t know any such thing. Yes, you did. You knew their fighting spirit. Whatever it is, this power, you knew it would get them home—is that it? What has happened to them?

Something had affected them deeply. No chatter from them as there had been other times when they returned. Wisely he surmised that he and his wife would not know what it was for a while, if ever.

What does it matter? They’re home!

They were at the top of the Quinella Road, where once, one rainy night, Justice had made a huge image of her own head and shoulders at least forty feet high. And with the moon caught in the tangles of her hair. Thomas had made the illusion of a McDonald’s with the golden arches and an aroma of Big Macs.

What a night that was, she thought. It had been the time Mal had first come out of the future to warn them.

No more Mal. We gave up a lot to be free of it.

The next thing she knew, they were passing under the great cottonwood tree at the entrance of their property.

Cottonwoman! “I thought the leaves would’ve changed!” she said, surprised that the leaves were still green.

“Me, too,” said Levi.

Their dad said, “Well, it’s still only August 1990.”

“Wh-wh-wh—” Thomas couldn’t get the word out.

The next minute they were all laughing.

“Dad, you nearly scared me to death!” Justice said, finally stopping.

“Oh, man, I believed it, too,” Levi said.

“I’m glad it’s not 1990,” she said. “I’ve got a lot to do before then.”

“What have you got to do?” Mr. Douglass asked, talking smoothly now with the kids.

“I don’t know, but I know it’s a lot,” she said.

He laughed and eased the car up to the front of the house.

“Yey! Yey!” Justice said softly.

He turned off the motor and Mrs. Douglass came quickly out of the house to meet them.

S
HE KISSED AND HUGGED
each one of them, holding their hands, their faces, touching their hair, looking into their eyes. She liked what she saw. “Tice, you’ve grown!”

She would not pretend that nothing unusual was taking place or had occurred. She told them Mrs. Jefferson called to tell her they were back. She was frank and loving. “You all look different. I can’t tell you how yet, but you are, I can tell. And that’s good. Yes, I’m sure of it. Thomas, don’t look so worried, I’m not going to cry. I promised myself I wouldn’t. Oh boy, let’s get inside before I get on my knees and pray!”

They grinned. Their mom was nice. She kept up a stream of talking, sensing that they were so grateful to be home, they wanted only to be silent, to be loved and have her fuss over them.

Inside, they went in and out of every room, saving their own rooms until last. They picked up objects, turning them over and around as though they’d never seen such things in their lives. It took them most of the day to settle down, become used to living in a house again. They stayed together, not quite trusting their safety. At one point they found themselves in the laundry room, drawn there by an unusual absence of sound. For the first time in memory, they didn’t hear the washer and dryer going.

“We’ve been gone long enough for all our clothes to be clean at once,” Levi said.

Justice touched the machines. Machines! Differences of present and future stunned her.

The family sat down together around the kitchen table for breakfast. The three of them ate lightly. They would have to gradually get used to so much plenty. Afterward Justice went to her room and slept. The boys went to their room, too. She awoke much later feeling refreshed, calm, and she was able to take a good look at her room and herself in the mirror. Her room was so neat, not a trace of mess or dirt anywhere. Give me a few days, she thought lightly, and it’ll look just like a tornado hit it.

She peered at her face in the long mirror on her wall. She touched it. It was her own self, looking the way she’d hoped she would look. She couldn’t see any change of growing to twelve at all. And the elongated figure she had mysteriously become had disappeared without a trace.

Am I really me? she thought. Don’t think too much about it today.

Her reflection gave her no cause for alarm. She went to the kitchen. Her mom and dad were outside somewhere. Her brothers were quiet, probably still sleeping. Justice listened, hearing her folks talking quietly. The windows were up on screens. There were sounds of scraping, perhaps digging. They were working in the garden, which was what they liked to do. It amazed her that present life had gone on, uninterrupted. No dust sifted through the windows!

The kitchen was a neat space before the next meal, with chairs pulled in at the table and all the cupboards closed, breakfast dishes done. She took the small pink radio from the counter. The radio had been pay for some job her dad had done somewhere for someone. She took it back to her room, plugged it in behind her bed and listened to music, let it wash over her. She held the radio up close to her ear so the music could shut out all other sounds. She shut her eyes, let the radio play all the tunes. She switched stations again and again to keep the music going.

It was time again to sit down to a meal. The food they consumed in one day, Justice thought, was enough to feed the packen plus Miacis for a week.

It was a good supper. Cheeseburgers—really big and flat, like at McDonald’s—corn on the cob, green beans from the garden and salad. Just right. But more than enough. Sprite to drink. Justice would have preferred root beer, but the Sprite would do fine. They ate everything, feeling slightly guilty. They were polite and no nonsense about them, truly unlike themselves.

Mrs. Douglass kept talking. Mr. Douglass made jokes whenever there was a lull. Her parents were only trying to give them time—how did they know that she, especially, needed to grow into being twelve?

I haven’t been twelve for very long. Oh, I’m sorry I missed my birthday.

At once she burst out with, “Well, what happened to my cake?”

Mrs. Douglass laughed. “I froze it so you’d have it.”

“Well, I want it now!” she said, just like any old twelve-year-old, and they all laughed.

Thomas didn’t laugh. She could tell. His mouth opened, his lips pulled back, showing teeth, but there was no laughter in his eyes. He wasn’t even thinking about her. She could tell that, too. His mind wasn’t with any of them but on something that had his full concentration.

They finished and she helped her mom and dad clear the table. It took about ten minutes to scrape and pile dishes and put things away. Clean up the crumbs.

Thomas and Levi slipped off while she was in the kitchen; she was glad to be with just her folks.

“Let’s leave everything in the sink,” her mom said.

“Yeah, and let’s have cake!”

“In a minute,” said her mom.

“Follow me,” said her dad. Her dad took her mom’s hand. Her mom took hold of her hand. Before Justice could get her wits about her, she was at the end of the line, being pulled through the house and on outside.

“Well, for … What is going on?”

“It’s a parade,” Mr. Douglass said.

“Hear the band?” her mom said when they were outside. They paused in the backyard, which was overgrown and wildly beautiful with planted beds of flowers and stubborn, blooming weeds that wouldn’t die until winter. On the opposite side of the yard was her mom and dad’s large vegetable garden, which, by the looks of it, was a complete success.

Justice heard a moaning drumroll and a strange click-clicking in time with it.

With a flourish, Mr. Douglass whipped out a handkerchief and made a blindfold to cover her eyes.

“Well, for … What is going
on
?”

“Silence, please,” said her mom. Her mom and dad led her between them, once her blindfold was in place.

“I know! We’re going—”

She heard the gate open in the high wooden fence that separated the backyard from their open field. It squeaked closed behind them.

Oh, but she could tell when they were in the open field, all one acre and a half of it planted in Kentucky bluegrass. She could smell the grass, knew it had been freshly mowed. She heard the moaning, which grew louder—Thomas’ kettledrums, of course. And the click-clicking—what on earth could that be?

The blindfold was slipped off.

“Ta-dahhh!” said her mom and dad. Everybody hollered and whistled and click-clicked their forks and spoons together. It was a grand party just for her. For
her
!

All the guys and some girls, too. The neighborhood kids. She saw Dorian.

“Hi! Hi, everybody!” she said.

They were singing “Happy Birthday” and Thomas was acting a fool in his favorite hat, but not so much that the attention was taken away from her. There was her cake in the middle of a long tablecloth spread on the ground. The cake had chocolate icing. There were two other tablecloths, and kids were sitting around them, with a paper plate and cup in front of everyone. The kids wore party hats. Justice saw everything in a rush.

Mrs. Douglass lit the candles and brought the cake to where Justice still stood beside her dad. Mr. Douglass conducted “Happy Birthday” to its final, resounding
“POM POM-AH”
—on the kettledrums—“to you!”