"I'm not helping you as much as I'm helping him," she told me. "You're not the one who needs the help," she continued when she saw the confused expression on my face.
"Thank you anyway," I said.
She picked up my suitcase when I started to reach for it.
"I carried it in; carry it out," she said. I thought it might have some superstitious meaning for her, so I didn't resist. I wasn't exactly feeling like a ball of fire anyway.
"And Ami?"
"Still in her room."
"I wish I could say good-bye to Wade," I thought aloud.
"I'll say good-bye for you when the time is right for such a thing," she said.
I followed her out and down the hallway to the main part of the house. How empty it seemed to me now, despite all its luxurious furnishings, the artwork and expensive accessories in every room. Our footsteps even seemed to echo. I paused at the office door and gazed at the painting of the first Mrs. Emerson. Now I understood that cryptic half smile on her face, I thought. Mrs. Cukor saw what I was looking at and then urged me to continue.
The phone rang, and Mrs. McAlister stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway to tell us that a taxicab was waiting down at the gate.
"Well, let the man in, you fool," Mrs. Cukor snapped at her. "You don't expect me to walk the length
of that driveway with this, do you?"
Mrs. McAlister disappeared quickly back into the kitchen. Mrs. Cukor shook her head, glanced at me, and continued toward the front door. I paused once again to look up the stairway, half expecting to see Ami at the top, looking down at me. She wasn't there, of course.
I stepped out behind Mrs. Cukor. The afternoon sun was very bright, making my eyes tear and forcing me to shade them as I watched the glittering taxicab come up the driveway. As soon as it came to a stop, Mrs. Cukor rushed to the rear door and opened it. The driver stepped out and came around to take the suitcase from her so he could put it into the trunk.
I hesitated, trying to think of a way to thank her again.
"There's nothing to say," she told me. She had a touch of clairvoyance, for sure. "What's done is done, and what must be done will be done. Go find yourself and where you belong," she advised.
I got into the taxicab, and she closed the door and folded those heavy arms across her bosom, standing back like a palace guard who'd give her life before surrendering. Her face was that firm, her eyes that determined. I pressed my palm against the window, and she at least nodded at me as the taxicab began to leave. I looked back and saw that she didn't move until we were actually out the gate, and then we made a turn and she was gone.
As was the great house.
And everyone in it.
18 Back at the Atwell Farm
. Twenty minutes later I was at the bus depot. I bought the ticket to Sandburg and waited another half hour in the lobby. Every time someone else entered the depot, I looked up quickly, half expecting to see Ami or Wade or even Basil hurrying to stop me from leaving. Finally, the bus arrived, and I boarded. I had to make another change of buses, with another layover. This time it was nearly an hour. I slept on the bus most of the time, but in the second bus depot, I began, to question what I was doing. Shouldn't I have just returned to the orphanage and Mother Higgins?
No, I concluded; for better or for worse, Mrs. Cukor was right. I had to go home again. I had to reconnect with my past and with what hopefully still waited for me in the shadows and dark corners of that world. Then I would know what to do.
It was late afternoon by the time I reached Sandburg. I had almost no memory of the village-- not that there was all that much to remember about it. It had two main streets, one that ran through the village and one that joined about three-quarters of the way and then ran north. There was a post office, a firehouse, a dozen stores, including a supermarket, and two bar-restaurants. The bus depot was a small confectionery store run by an elderly couple, who had been there for nearly twenty-five years. It was called George's, and the wife's name was Annie. I was actually the only one to get off the bus. There had been only five people on it, and the others had gotten off at Centerville, the village preceding Sandburg.
The streets were nearly empty, only an occasional vehicle passing. I saw some boys at soccer practice on the school grounds as we went past the field. The air was brisk, but the sky was mostly clear, the late-afternoon sunlight making windows glitter. When we turned up toward the bus depot, I saw a man washing a storefront and, a dog lying comfortably on the sidewalk, as if he knew no one would come by to disturb him. His eyes popped opened with curiosity when I stepped down. The driver got out my suitcase, looking at me and the surroundings as if he was leaving me at the end of the world. He got back into the bus and drove off as I went into the confectionery store to see about getting a taxicab.
"Hello, there," George said. He wore a starched white full apron and was washing down the counter with a large sponge. His wife, who wore a half apron over a bright print dress, was sitting on a stool and reading the newspaper. She turned and glanced at me before returning to whatever held her interest in the paper.
"Can I get a taxicab?" I asked.
"Sure. I'll call Al for you," George said. "He's the only taxicab operating at the moment. Where you heading?"
"I have to get to the Atwell farm," I said.
"The Atwell farm!" Annie said, perking up. She couldn't contain her curiosity. "Why are you going there?"
"I own it," I said.