The Night Sister

Rose didn’t answer. Arguing was useless.

The front door of the house banged open, and Sylvie emerged, wearing a bright-red cardigan and carrying a letter. When they got back from Barre last night, Sylvie had sat down at the typewriter and pecked away at the keys. Rose asked her what she was writing, but Sylvie wouldn’t say. She claimed that Rose was being a pest and had better go to bed or else she’d go tell Mama.

“Are you going to tell Daddy I snuck out?” Rose asked.

“No, not this time. But if I catch you outside again, I will. Your father has enough to worry about these days; he doesn’t need to hear about you sneaking around like an old alley cat.”

Rose felt her muscles tighten. “What’s Daddy worried about?”

She thought of the woman with the green coat. Vivienne. He didn’t look worried when he was with her.

Earlier this morning, when she first came downstairs, she’d heard Mama and Daddy arguing. She’d come in just as Mama said, “I’m not an idiot, Clarence.” Then both her parents had seen her, and her father, flustered, said, “Don’t you have chores to do, Rose?”

Now Mama looked at Rose a minute, considering whether or not to answer. She looked around to make sure Daddy wasn’t close by. “He’s worried about the highway they’re planning to build. What it might do to business. He went to a meeting with men from town the other day; they believe that, once the interstate is complete, people won’t have much reason to take Route 6 anymore.”

“That won’t happen,” Rose said. “People won’t forget us. Right here at the motel we’ve got things no one on the highway has. We’ve got the tower, the chicken circus, Lucy the cow.” Rose gave Lucy a pat on her lucky spot. “People will still come.”

Rose stopped talking when she saw that Sylvie had reached the mailbox. She opened it, slid her letter inside, and pulled up the red flag to let the postman know they had a pickup. Who had Sylvie written to? It made Rose feel twitchy all over, not knowing.

Mama smiled at Rose. “I hope so, Rose, I really do.”

Rose slipped out of Lucy’s pen, and Mama followed, latching the gate behind them, as Sylvie came up the driveway with a contented smile.

“So we have an understanding, then,” Mama said. “No more wandering around outside after bedtime?”

Rose nodded, her eyes on Sylvie, who was going into the house.

“Promise me,” Mama said, lifting Rose’s chin again.

“I promise,” Rose said.

Mama nodded. “Good girl. Now, finish up your chores, and then come in and have breakfast.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Rose waited until her mother was back in the house, busy in the kitchen. Looking through the windows, she didn’t see anyone watching; she imagined they were all around the table, spooning out oatmeal, sprinkling cinnamon, brown sugar, and raisins on top.

Rose turned and ran down the driveway to the mailbox. She opened it, pulled out the letter. It was addressed to Alfred Hitchcock in Hollywood, California.

Without thinking any more about it, Rose slipped the letter into her coat pocket. Then she ran back up the driveway to join her family for breakfast.





Mr. Alfred Hitchcock Paramount Studios Hollywood, California October 8, 1955