40
Rachel
I could hear Mama’s footsteps on the stair. Usually, she was easy to hear, for her steps were labored, which reminded me that she was old. But, of course, I had never needed an early warning before. There had never been any danger. Now, I fumbled with the strange phone. I thought, at first, to stuff it under the mattress. But, at the last minute, I dropped it into a tall, empty vase in which Mama had placed some fake flowers. She would never look there.
Mama’s footsteps grew still closer, then paused. I heard her fumble for her keys. If she would but allow me to open my own door, I could let her in. But no, she did not trust me.
I sighed. I wasn’t trustworthy. I had done exactly what she feared—allowed someone inside. She would see it as endangering myself.
But Wyatt was not a danger to me.
I had begun to wonder if there was any danger at all. But, indeed, the letter, and then, the strange phone call had confirmed that there was, that Mama’s fears were justified.
But she had no reason to fear Wyatt. But still, I wouldn’t tell her about it. She would, as Wyatt had said, flip out.
I heard her key enter the lock. Phone hidden, I sat on my bed to read.
Just as I did, she entered. Her face was lined with urgency.
“I heard voices. Is someone here?”
Calm. Keep calm. “You heard . . . voices?” I knew she had heard only one voice, my voice talking to Wyatt. But I tried to make my face a blank. “How could anyone be here. I am in a tower, at least five stories up and in the middle of a vast forest. I have not seen anyone but you in years.”
Her glance darted around the room. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know I heard something.” She walked to the closet and threw open the door. Nothing, of course. Then, under the bed, the very bed upon which I sat. Fortunately, I had moved the rope, just that day, to the back of one of my bureau drawers, under my clothing. That would have incited justifiable suspicion indeed. But there was nothing.
“Are you finished? Perhaps I have a boy under my pillow.” I lifted it up to show I had none. “Or a tiny little man in that vase over there.”
She sighed and embraced me. “Oh, darling, I am sorry. I worry about you, and I could have sworn I heard voices. It must have been my ears playing tricks on me.”
“Had you allowed me to speak, I would have told you that the voice you heard was mine. I was reading aloud.” I tuned to an oft-dog-eared page of Jane Eyre, one I might have been able to recite even without looking upon it. I trusted she had not heard my exact words. “‘I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, or even of mortal flesh:—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,—as we are!’ Is that not so beautiful that you need to read it aloud?”
“Of course it is, my darling.” She stroked my hair. “And I should not have doubted you.”
“I forgive you, Mama.” Though I did not.
“I’m glad.” She opened the hamper she had brought with her. “And if you have not, you will when you see what I’ve brought—your favorite roast chicken!”
This did cheer me somewhat. How sad that, before I met Wyatt, food had been my only pleasure.
“And I thought,” she continued, “that, after dinner, we could play a round of Rummikub!”