penguins with nodding heads. They must be on springs—those heads.
Wooden blocks, a jack-in-the-box, bags of jacks and decks of cards, marbles, bubble mix, balloons, soldier sentries in their fort, fairy wands, scarlet capes, tiny cars and trucks and trains stood everywhere in piles, on hooks, in open drawers.
“My name is Belle,” the woman said. “Take this. It’s not big, but it’s heavy, so be careful not to break it.”
Marley stretched out her arms and Belle placed there a small, wooden house lacquered a brilliant red, with the silhouettes of the people inside showing through closed blinds at the windows.
“Do not tell anyone you’ve got this,” said Belle. “If you do, others will try to take it from you. Don’t let them. Protect the house from friends and enemies. Whatever it takes, keep it until I can return for it. Keep it and use it well.”
Almost afraid to do so, Marley looked at Belle. She was slim, quite tall, and shapely in a gray leotard, tights to her calves, and a glossy skirt the same color that reached her knees. Brushed straight from her face, Belle’s black hair, knotted at the nape of her neck, glistened, just as her dark eyes glistened. An exotic creature captured in a place where she didn’t belong.
“You’re a dancer,” Marley said .
“Oh, yes. Thank you for noticing.” She pointed the toes on one of her bare feet and traced on the floor. Lines formed in the dust there, shapes. “The house will be your way, but you will need courage. You have courage. Use it.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Go there.”
“Where?”
“You’ll find it if you follow,” Belle said. “I know there is a force for evil that needs the little house to complete his plans. We won’t allow it, you and I.”
Marley leaned the house against her. “Why me?” she said.
“Because you’re like me.” The woman smiled and appeared younger and even more beautiful. “You’re a traveler, too.”
“Can you tell me more about—”
“The beast has come home. You must stop the killing.”
Marley woke up. Twisted in her sheets, she flung out her arms and tried to breathe slowly. Parts of the dream replayed, vivid, full color and too real.
That woman’s last words echoed: “The beast has come home. You must stop the killing.”
It was a dream, not reality. Once she calmed down it would all fade.
A rough, wet tongue, Winnie’s, made rapid swipes over Marley’s face. A solid dog on your chest, even a not very large dog, could make it even harder to breath—and it hurt.
“Off,” Marley panted, rolling to her side and grabbing anxious Winnie against her at the same time. “I’m all right, Win. Relax.”
It wasn’t all a dream—or nightmare, but an echo of something Marley had already experienced. It brought back the day when that woman she’d never seen before really had given her the red house. What had been different was what she had heard said this time.
And the house was on her workbench to prove everything.
Marley kicked her feet and legs free of the sheets and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. A cotton nightie stuck to her clammy skin.
She had been on Dumain Street, walking back from delivering a package for Uncle Pascal and wishing her two sisters would call from London. Dawdling along, she heard someone call her name.
A shop bell had jangled and she’d noticed the tall woman beckoning her toward an alley. Unafraid, Marley had allowed herself to be led.
Since that puzzling day, Marley had returned to Dumain Street several times to search for the shop. There was no alley, archway or toy shop to be found. And there was certainly no elegant, barefoot woman dressed for ballet practice and calling herself Belle.
Marley gritted her teeth and got up to open her goody cupboard. Like traveling, intense dreams and nightmares made her hungry.
In Marley’s sleep just a little earlier, that woman had told her to stop the killing.
Did it mean she should go back through
Wooden blocks, a jack-in-the-box, bags of jacks and decks of cards, marbles, bubble mix, balloons, soldier sentries in their fort, fairy wands, scarlet capes, tiny cars and trucks and trains stood everywhere in piles, on hooks, in open drawers.
“My name is Belle,” the woman said. “Take this. It’s not big, but it’s heavy, so be careful not to break it.”
Marley stretched out her arms and Belle placed there a small, wooden house lacquered a brilliant red, with the silhouettes of the people inside showing through closed blinds at the windows.
“Do not tell anyone you’ve got this,” said Belle. “If you do, others will try to take it from you. Don’t let them. Protect the house from friends and enemies. Whatever it takes, keep it until I can return for it. Keep it and use it well.”
Almost afraid to do so, Marley looked at Belle. She was slim, quite tall, and shapely in a gray leotard, tights to her calves, and a glossy skirt the same color that reached her knees. Brushed straight from her face, Belle’s black hair, knotted at the nape of her neck, glistened, just as her dark eyes glistened. An exotic creature captured in a place where she didn’t belong.
“You’re a dancer,” Marley said .
“Oh, yes. Thank you for noticing.” She pointed the toes on one of her bare feet and traced on the floor. Lines formed in the dust there, shapes. “The house will be your way, but you will need courage. You have courage. Use it.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Go there.”
“Where?”
“You’ll find it if you follow,” Belle said. “I know there is a force for evil that needs the little house to complete his plans. We won’t allow it, you and I.”
Marley leaned the house against her. “Why me?” she said.
“Because you’re like me.” The woman smiled and appeared younger and even more beautiful. “You’re a traveler, too.”
“Can you tell me more about—”
“The beast has come home. You must stop the killing.”
Marley woke up. Twisted in her sheets, she flung out her arms and tried to breathe slowly. Parts of the dream replayed, vivid, full color and too real.
That woman’s last words echoed: “The beast has come home. You must stop the killing.”
It was a dream, not reality. Once she calmed down it would all fade.
A rough, wet tongue, Winnie’s, made rapid swipes over Marley’s face. A solid dog on your chest, even a not very large dog, could make it even harder to breath—and it hurt.
“Off,” Marley panted, rolling to her side and grabbing anxious Winnie against her at the same time. “I’m all right, Win. Relax.”
It wasn’t all a dream—or nightmare, but an echo of something Marley had already experienced. It brought back the day when that woman she’d never seen before really had given her the red house. What had been different was what she had heard said this time.
And the house was on her workbench to prove everything.
Marley kicked her feet and legs free of the sheets and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. A cotton nightie stuck to her clammy skin.
She had been on Dumain Street, walking back from delivering a package for Uncle Pascal and wishing her two sisters would call from London. Dawdling along, she heard someone call her name.
A shop bell had jangled and she’d noticed the tall woman beckoning her toward an alley. Unafraid, Marley had allowed herself to be led.
Since that puzzling day, Marley had returned to Dumain Street several times to search for the shop. There was no alley, archway or toy shop to be found. And there was certainly no elegant, barefoot woman dressed for ballet practice and calling herself Belle.
Marley gritted her teeth and got up to open her goody cupboard. Like traveling, intense dreams and nightmares made her hungry.
In Marley’s sleep just a little earlier, that woman had told her to stop the killing.
Did it mean she should go back through
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