The Scariest Night Page 8

  “I don’t feel like playing games. I’m too unhappy to tell stories.”

  “You’re so young and strong,” Molly said wistfully. “It’s hard for me to understand how you can be unhappy.”

  One afternoon Margaret Mary was even fuller of complaints than usual. “The earl doesn’t pay any attention to me,” she whined. “He doesn’t care what I do.”

  And my mom and dad would rather think about Cowbird than about me. The words popped into Erin’s head, unbidden. “I’d better go home,” she said uncomfortably. “I have some things to do.”

  “What things?” Margaret Mary demanded. “You’re going to have fun, I suppose.”

  “I don’t—” Erin hesitated. She’d been about to say, “I don’t have any fun,” but there was no way to say the words without sounding exactly like Margaret Mary. Whiny. Sulky. A pain in the neck.

  “You’re trying to teach me a lesson,” she accused Molly. “Just because you know I’d rather be in Clinton than stuck here in Milwaukee …”

  Molly Panca shook her head. “I’m too tired to teach anybody a lesson,” she said with a weary little laugh. “Come back tomorrow, and maybe we’ll all feel better—you and me and Margaret Mary, too.”

  Erin wanted to say she wouldn’t feel any better, but that too sounded like Margaret Mary. Besides, she knew that when tomorrow came, she’d be back knocking on Molly’s door.

  “I picked up a schedule of activities at the YWCA,” Mrs. Lindsay said that night. “There’s a beginning gymnastics class on Wednesdays and Fridays. That sounds interesting, doesn’t it? And how about this—a drama group on Wednesday mornings. You liked being in plays at school, Erin. Maybe they’d be interested in hearing about your video.”

  “I liked the Drama Club because I knew everybody,” Erin said. “And we had good plays.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” her father commented. “I’ll take you over there if you want me to.”

  Erin didn’t want him to. “Tomorrow morning?” she asked innocently. She knew he had classes tomorrow. “Mom said the drama group meets Wednesday mornings.”

  Mr. Lindsay looked trapped. “Well maybe not tomorrow morning,” he said. “But we can work something out.”

  Erin returned to her mystery book.

  “Between you and your brother!” Mrs. Lindsay said crossly. “Neither one of you knows when you’re well off.”

  Erin looked up. Her parents hardly ever criticized Cowbird. But, of course, she realized her mother wasn’t actually criticizing him. She was beginning to notice how quiet he was, and she was worried about him.

  “If he doesn’t snap out of this mood pretty soon, we’ll have to talk to Mr. Salzman,” she continued. “It isn’t natural for a child to spend all his spare time in his room alone.”

  “I think he’s just tired,” Erin’s father said. “He’s putting in pretty long days, you know.” He was worried, too.

  For a moment—only a moment—Erin allowed herself to hope. Maybe Cowbird hadn’t given up after all. Maybe he was back there in his bedroom trying to figure how to get out of the master class. Maybe—But then she remembered the way he’d looked at her in the parking lot of the Burger Boy. He had given up. He was going to do what he thought his real parents and his foster parents expected him to do. He wasn’t a fighter, and he never would be.

  The next afternoon Erin slipped away to Molly Panca’s apartment as soon as her mother settled down to study. Rufus went with her, curled at the bottom of a brown paper bag in case they met Mr. Grady on the way. They found Molly in her kitchen, her usually paper-pale cheeks rosy. She smiled as she slid a batch of cookies onto a tray to cool.

  “I hope you like lemon-drop cookies, Erin!” she cried. “And Rufus came, too! How nice! I woke up feeling stronger than usual this morning, and so I’m making the most of the day. We love lemon drops, don’t we, darlings?”

  “I certainly do.” A doll in a red satin ball gown smiled down from the top of the refrigerator. “I could eat that whole trayful, I’m sure.”

  “Nice cat you have there.” Erin turned to find the earl of Kirby propped against the breadbox at the end of the counter. “I prefer dogs myself, but a cat is a decent enough pet.”

  Rufus darted under the kitchen table and glared up at the earl with suspicion.

  “Margaret Mary’s in the bedroom closet, I’m sorry to say.” Molly frowned briefly, and then her smile returned. “The silly girl wanted chocolate chip cookies when everyone else voted for lemon drops. I told her we’d do the chocolate chips next time, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s in a real rage about it—insisted on going into the closet where she won’t have to talk to anyone. She’s missing all the fun.”

  “Missing the cookies, too,” the earl said. “Women!”

  “Oh, don’t act so superior,” snapped the doll in red. “All women aren’t like Margaret Mary, and you know it!”

  “I’d like a cookie right now,” the earl said calmly. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  Molly laid a lemon drop on his black-trousered knees. Then she sat down at the table and motioned Erin to sit, too. “You have a cookie, too, dear. I want to ask a favor. You mentioned the YWCA the other day.”

  “My mother keeps talking about it,” Erin said grumpily. “She wants me to join, but I don’t want to.”

  Molly just smiled. “Well, then you probably know the Y has a summer drama group. They’re really very good—at least, they have been in the past. A week from Friday night is their first production of the season, but this year I don’t dare venture out in the evening by myself. I’ve been wondering if you’d go with me. My treat, of course.”

  Erin stopped chewing. The melt-in-your-mouth cookie suddenly tasted like sawdust. She glanced at the earl and then at the smiling doll in red. They were both watching her with interested expressions. Rufus leaped up on her lap, and even he had a curiously expectant look.

  “Well, I—” She didn’t want anything to do with the Y and its summer drama group, but it was hard to say no to Molly Panca.

  “I guess it’ll be okay,” she said finally. “I’ll have to ask my mother.”

  Molly clapped her hands. “Oh, I do hope she’ll let you go. It would be lovely to have a special night to look forward to.”

  Later, after more cookies, Molly took Erin into the bedroom to say hello to the rest of the family. Two of the dolls were at the window; the others sat in a circle on the bed with a deck of Old Maid cards in their midst. Molly went to the closet and opened the door a crack. She pointed to the top shelf where Margaret Mary lay, her face to the wall.

  “Erin’s here, dear. We’re having cookies. Won’t you join us?”

  “I don’t like lemon-drop cookies.” Margaret Mary sounded as if she’d been crying. “If I can’t have chocolate chips, I don’t want any.”

  Erin retreated across the bedroom and scooped up Rufus. “I know you think I’m like Margaret Mary,” she said accusingly. “You make her say those dumb things so I’ll feel stupid. But I don’t care! Why should I pretend I’m having a good time this summer when I’m not?”

  “I don’t think anyone should have to pretend to be happy,” Molly said seriously. “But I do wish Margaret Mary would try to enjoy life.” She closed the closet door and followed Erin into the living room. “The truth is,” she whispered, “Margaret Mary is my favorite. You’ve never seen her at her best, Erin. She’s a darling when she isn’t feeling sorry for herself. Please don’t forget about the play, dear. It’s based on a wonderful book. You’ll enjoy it.”

  Erin dropped Rufus into the paper bag and cradled the bag in her arms. She was already trying to think of a way to get out of taking Molly to the play.

  “Maybe you’ve read the book,” Molly continued. “It’s always been one of my favorites—A Little Princess. Have you heard of it?”

  Erin gulped. “I’ve read it,” she said in a strangled voice.

  “And do you like it?”

  “I use
d to,” Erin admitted. She opened the door. “But not anymore. That Sara Crewe is too good to be true.” She fled down the hall, squeezing the bag so hard that Rufus meowed in protest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We played your video five times! My mom and dad watched it, too. We all think you and your family are terrific actors. Maybe you can write another one this fall with parts for Meg and Emily and me.

  “You say Milwaukee is dull, but it doesn’t sound dull. Emily says she would give ten million dollars to see the talking dolls. And Meg says you must be sure to go to a seance before you come home. Do you think your mother will let you?”

  Erin put down Heather’s letter and leaned out of the living room window to watch her father and Cowper. They were in the narrow side yard, tossing a softball slowly back and forth. It was what they did every afternoon now when Cowper finished his practice session at the conservatory. At first her father had tried to get Erin to join them, but after she’d refused a few times, he’d stopped asking. It would be boring, she told herself. When she and her father played catch, the ball shot crisply back and forth, but when Cowper was part of the game you had to remember that his hands might be hurt by a fast-flying ball.

  “Have to give our boy a little exercise,” Mr. Lindsay said. “He hasn’t had a chance to make any friends his own age around here.”

  “What about me?” Erin wanted to ask, but she kept still. She knew what the answer would be, and she didn’t want to hear it: “You could meet people if you tried, old girl. Get busy!”

  Back and forth, back and forth the ball swooped, the rhythm broken only when Cowper missed a catch. Erin watched a few minutes longer, until Rufus leaped up on the couch beside her.

  “What a pretty boy you are!” She leaned back and ran her fingers over the golden coat. It reminded her of the Bengal tigers she’d seen at the zoo last Saturday.

  The zoo, when they finally got there, had been wonderful. For a whole afternoon Erin had relaxed and forgotten how angry she was with Cowbird. The Lindsays strolled contentedly from the elephants to the tigers to the monkeys and the penguins.

  They picnicked in a sunny corner and ended the day riding on the little train that circled the park. It wasn’t until the car turned onto Kirby Avenue and the apartment building loomed into sight that Erin felt her dark, sad self come stealing back.

  “I wish we didn’t have to go in,” she said. “I wish this afternoon could go on forever.”

  Mrs. Lindsay, her nose burned red, gave Erin a hug. “I wish it could go on, too,” she said. “But we’ll do other fun things, I promise. Maybe the museum next weekend. Or a movie, if we can find a good one.”

  Erin nodded. A whole week away, she thought.

  “You have the play to look forward to on Friday,” her mother had added cheerfully. “It was sweet of Miss Panca to invite you.”

  That had been nearly a week ago. Now, leaning back on the couch with Rufus in her arms, Erin thought about how much she didn’t want to see A Little Princess. Once she would have been thrilled at the thought of watching Sara Crewe come to life; now she wished she could forget the book that had once been her favorite. Sara was a perfect person. She and Sara were nothing alike, and they never would be.

  At supper Erin’s mother announced that Mr. Salzman had sent a note asking the Lindsays to come to see him. Even though Cowper had failed the audition, the instructor was pleased with his youngest student’s progress and wanted to talk about plans for his future. Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay could hardly wait for the Thursday evening conference.

  “I told you there was no reason to be discouraged, Cowper,” Mrs. Lindsay said gaily. “We’re so proud of you!”

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Erin’s father added. “All this hard work is paying off, isn’t it?”

  “Yup.” Cowper stared grimly into space. But it didn’t matter whether he showed any enthusiasm. Erin’s parents were convinced that he loved what he was doing. They were happy with him just the way he was.

  There was nothing interesting on television early in the evening. If there had been, Erin thought later, her whole life might have turned out differently.

  She wouldn’t have gone looking for Rufus.

  She wouldn’t have wandered into Cowbird’s room and discovered his window standing open.

  She wouldn’t have leaned out into the twilight just in time to see a red-gold tail vanishing around the ledge at the rear of the building.

  “Rufus!” She barely whispered his name, too horrified to scream.

  Suddenly Cowper was there beside her, leaning out the window. “It’s okay,” he said. “No big deal.” He went back and closed the door to the hallway.

  “But where did he go?” Erin couldn’t move. She could only stare at the corner where her cat had disappeared.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Cowper said. “He’s just gone out for some fresh air. I do it all the time. Watch.” He swung his legs over the windowsill and stood there facing the wall. Then he edged along the ledge and vanished around the corner, just as Rufus had.

  Erin felt as if she had stepped into a nightmare. She clutched the sill with trembling fingers. After a moment a small hand appeared at the corner, the thumb and third finger touching in an “everything’s okay” signal. Then Cowper’s head came into sight, and he gave her one of his rare smiles.

  “Your cat’s coming,” he said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to walk along an eighteen-inch-wide ledge five stories above the ground. Erin held her breath as Cowper moved sideways toward her, his hands pressed against the wall. It wasn’t until he was inside the bedroom that she dared to speak.

  “Where—”

  “I told you.” Cowper brushed off his knees. “He’s sitting out there on the porch. It’s neat.”

  “What porch?” Erin demanded. She leaned out again and stared at the empty ledge.

  “You know—at the end of the hall. Behind that sealed-up door.”

  Erin stared at him. She’d forgotten all about the door hidden by the chest of drawers at the end of the hallway. “But that’s not a real porch,” she protested. “I thought—”

  Cowper leaned against the dresser, his hands in his pockets. “Sure it’s a real porch,” he said patiently. “It just doesn’t have any railings. The people who built this place about a million years ago ran out of money—I told you, remember?—and they decided not to finish the porches. They sealed up the door at the end of the hall. But you can still sit out there—if you don’t mind the walk and the jump. You have to jump from the ledge to the porch.”

  Erin felt sick. “I want Rufus to come back,” she moaned, trying not to cry. “He could be killed!”

  At that moment the big cat strolled around the corner. His tail was high, and he seemed completely at ease as he dawdled along the ledge. Two or three feet from the window he sat down and licked his front paws thoughtfully. Then he stood up, stretched, and in a single leap he landed on the sill. Erin grabbed him and pulled him inside, slamming the window shut with the other hand.

  “Oh, Ruf.” She cradled the cat in her arms. “How could you do such a terrible thing?”

  “Don’t blame him,” Cowper said. “I forgot to close the screen last time I came in.”

  For the first time Erin took in the full meaning of what Cowper was saying. He’d been out there before—lots of times!

  “But you can’t do that!” she protested. “You mustn’t! It’s the dumbest thing I ever heard of!”

  Cowper’s jaw tightened. “I can if I want to,” he said. “I like sitting out there. I can think about stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Just stuff. I even slept out on the porch one night. It was great—like floating. Just because you’d be afraid to do it …”

  Erin gripped Rufus more firmly. “I wouldn’t be afraid,” she lied. Nothing could make her climb out on the narrow ledge. “And I’m going to tell Mom and Dad what you’re doing. You’ll be grounded forever.”
>
  It occurred to her as she said it that grounding wouldn’t matter much to Cowper. He never went anywhere except to the conservatory. He never did anything except play the piano.

  “Don’t tell.” Maybe he didn’t care about being grounded, but he did sound worried.

  Erin stalked out of the room. Minutes later, with Rufus safely shut up in her own room, she tiptoed down the hall, hoping to slip out of the apartment without being seen.

  “Is that you, Erin? Where are you going?” Her mother was in the living room, out of sight but not out of earshot.

  Erin hesitated. “Downstairs,” she said finally. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “I hope you aren’t making a pest of yourself,” Mrs. Lindsay said. “Your friend Molly may not be ready for company whenever the mood strikes you.”

  “I said I’ll be right back.” Erin let herself out and closed the door quickly. She wasn’t going to visit Molly Panca.

  Silvery evening light softened Kirby Avenue and gave it a mysterious look. Erin hurried down the front steps and around the side of the building to the yard where her father and Cowper had been playing ball a couple of hours before. At the far end of the strip of lawn, a row of dumpsters loomed like dinosaurs. She squeezed between two of them, into the paved backyard and looked up at the back of the building.

  The porches that were not really porches went up the back wall in two rows, like the rungs of ladders. Each porch was a tiny platform without railings, held in place by frail-looking braces. The ledges, beginning on the sides of the building and continuing around the back, came to an end a couple of feet or more from each porch.

  You have to jump. When Cowper went out there, he jumped from the ledge to the porch over five stories of empty space.

  He could kill himself, Erin thought. If he fell, or if the porch gave way while he was on it, he’d be gone.

  Cowper would be gone.

  For a moment, Erin couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was spaghetti for dinner—Erin’s favorite. Usually she had two helpings, but tonight she could hardly swallow a bite. Cowper’s secret was in the way, like a lump in her throat.