and it would be Winnie.
“All I can think of,” said Derek, “is if Gideon is getting these letters and they are addressed to him, he must understand the code. So the way to crack the code is through him.”
“Yes, Derek,” I said spinning round and round until everything seemed upside down and all mixed up. “And I’ve been wanting to say that I do have an idea.”
I went over to Derek. He was leaning his head back on the porch swing, thinking. I went up close and whispered to him, “Uncle Gideon often goes on a long walk and he carries a folder with him. Sometimes he doesn’t bring the folder back. I honestly think we ought to follow him.”
The sun seemed to drop just a tiny bit lower on the horizon so that a shaft of light now fell directly across Derek’s face. Or perhaps I was wrong; perhaps his face just lit up because he was very pleased with my idea.
I didn’t imagine that I could get Derek to leave the house actually. I mean he was on the porch swing all the time, but so far he hadn’t even been down the long steps to stick his toes in the ocean. He was awfully self-conscious about his arm. Even though recently, Auntie Miami had made him a sling to cover it up. And Derek didn’t want to go back to school. I heard him having a row with The Gram the night before. He was saying he was not going back, no matter what, and The Gram was saying he had to.
And I was going to have to go to school as well. The strangest part of all was that I was going to have Uncle Gideon as my sixth-grade teacher. Which made me ever so nervous because I didn’t want anyone at school to know about Wink. I wasn’t at all sure that Uncle Gideon wouldn’t tease me about him. All the girls might be talking about nail varnish and new hairdos and Uncle Gideon might mention Wink and then I would have to be transferred to another school in another country altogether, like Portugal perhaps. And immediately.
I got out some paper to write again to Winnie. I was feeling almost like shouting out extremely loudly, “Why is there no proper mailing address for you, Winnie?” I’m sorry to say that I hit my pillow. Then I threw the pillow across the room.
Dear Winnie,
I am not at all angry at you for leaving me here and not explaining what you are doing. Honestly. I don’t mind feeling terribly lost and alone and worried. Truly. And I do like writing letters and not mailing them. Honestly.
Love, love, love,
Your Felicity
I went across my little tower room to pick up the pillow. I punched it and threw it again. Then I took a couple of books and stomped on their spines, ripping the pages. Wink sat there staring at me. “Oh, Wink I am sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Then I looked out my window and saw Mr. Henley coming down the hill with his big fat mail pouch. I looked at his hopeful face, and most of my anger just sort of cracked apart like waves when they hit the rocky shore. Each piece of jagged anger sank away into nothingness.
The mail pouch looked fatter than usual and the postman was smiling and I could just tell he had a real letter for us again. So I opened my window and shouted, “Hello, Mr. Henley. Are you pleased about something?”
He smiled and waved and I shot down the stairs like Derek’s toy cannon. I think I broke a world record getting down the stairs, trying to beat Uncle Gideon. But Gideon wasn’t even nearby and neither was The Gram. Perhaps they had gone off in the Packard for supplies in town.
I got down on the beach and just about threw myself in front of Mr. Henley. He really looked very topping and he had a letter for us and it was one of the ones in code. I could tell. The envelope was ever so light and delicate with a red-and-blue airmail design round the border. I took the letter in my hand like it was spun sugar, like one of Winnie’s elaborate cake decorations that she used to make sometimes on her days off before the war. I tried somehow to hold the letter without
“All I can think of,” said Derek, “is if Gideon is getting these letters and they are addressed to him, he must understand the code. So the way to crack the code is through him.”
“Yes, Derek,” I said spinning round and round until everything seemed upside down and all mixed up. “And I’ve been wanting to say that I do have an idea.”
I went over to Derek. He was leaning his head back on the porch swing, thinking. I went up close and whispered to him, “Uncle Gideon often goes on a long walk and he carries a folder with him. Sometimes he doesn’t bring the folder back. I honestly think we ought to follow him.”
The sun seemed to drop just a tiny bit lower on the horizon so that a shaft of light now fell directly across Derek’s face. Or perhaps I was wrong; perhaps his face just lit up because he was very pleased with my idea.
I didn’t imagine that I could get Derek to leave the house actually. I mean he was on the porch swing all the time, but so far he hadn’t even been down the long steps to stick his toes in the ocean. He was awfully self-conscious about his arm. Even though recently, Auntie Miami had made him a sling to cover it up. And Derek didn’t want to go back to school. I heard him having a row with The Gram the night before. He was saying he was not going back, no matter what, and The Gram was saying he had to.
And I was going to have to go to school as well. The strangest part of all was that I was going to have Uncle Gideon as my sixth-grade teacher. Which made me ever so nervous because I didn’t want anyone at school to know about Wink. I wasn’t at all sure that Uncle Gideon wouldn’t tease me about him. All the girls might be talking about nail varnish and new hairdos and Uncle Gideon might mention Wink and then I would have to be transferred to another school in another country altogether, like Portugal perhaps. And immediately.
I got out some paper to write again to Winnie. I was feeling almost like shouting out extremely loudly, “Why is there no proper mailing address for you, Winnie?” I’m sorry to say that I hit my pillow. Then I threw the pillow across the room.
Dear Winnie,
I am not at all angry at you for leaving me here and not explaining what you are doing. Honestly. I don’t mind feeling terribly lost and alone and worried. Truly. And I do like writing letters and not mailing them. Honestly.
Love, love, love,
Your Felicity
I went across my little tower room to pick up the pillow. I punched it and threw it again. Then I took a couple of books and stomped on their spines, ripping the pages. Wink sat there staring at me. “Oh, Wink I am sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Then I looked out my window and saw Mr. Henley coming down the hill with his big fat mail pouch. I looked at his hopeful face, and most of my anger just sort of cracked apart like waves when they hit the rocky shore. Each piece of jagged anger sank away into nothingness.
The mail pouch looked fatter than usual and the postman was smiling and I could just tell he had a real letter for us again. So I opened my window and shouted, “Hello, Mr. Henley. Are you pleased about something?”
He smiled and waved and I shot down the stairs like Derek’s toy cannon. I think I broke a world record getting down the stairs, trying to beat Uncle Gideon. But Gideon wasn’t even nearby and neither was The Gram. Perhaps they had gone off in the Packard for supplies in town.
I got down on the beach and just about threw myself in front of Mr. Henley. He really looked very topping and he had a letter for us and it was one of the ones in code. I could tell. The envelope was ever so light and delicate with a red-and-blue airmail design round the border. I took the letter in my hand like it was spun sugar, like one of Winnie’s elaborate cake decorations that she used to make sometimes on her days off before the war. I tried somehow to hold the letter without
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