we get in the cupboard?”
And Derek had said, “That’s not a cupboard, it’s a closet, and yes, let’s.” Quite cleverly, we left the door open just a crack. Through that crack we could see the dining room table and the letter lying there. Derek said, “At school, Roland Rupert shut himself in his locker once because he didn’t want to take a math test. Those lockers lock by themselves when you shut the door, you know. And Roland was in there all afternoon.”
“But how did he ever get out?” I asked.
“When he didn’t come home at two thirty, his mother had them search the school, and when they opened his locker, Roland Rupert rolled out. That’s what I’ll do if they make me go back to school,” said Derek.
“I wonder if there’s room for two in your American lockers,” I said.
We were all stuffed under a row of wool coats and I was sitting on some old rubber boots, with a fuzzy cape draped over my shoulders. Derek put on a big wool hat with fur-lined earflaps, the one he said Uncle Gideon always wore in the winter when he went to the Shriners Club. Then Derek buckled his feet into some enormous snowshoes, which caused me to get a bit of a laughing attack, which then caused us both to fall into the back of the closet. When we got straightened out, I ended up quite close to Derek, looking at his nice, soft, land-of-counterpane eyes, and even in the semidarkness, it felt as if I were in a little airplane hovering over the surface of Derek’s face, roaming over his brown eyelashes, skimming lightly across his handsome forehead.
Just then, we heard voices on the steps outside, and Derek tried to get up, but he kept falling back into the depths of the stuffed closet, laughing. Finally, it was me who got to my feet and watched The Gram and Uncle Gideon carry bags into the kitchen. It was me who saw Uncle Gideon notice the envelope on the table in the dining room. It was me who heard Uncle Gideon call out, “What did you say, Mother? You unpack the canned goods. I think I’ll go up to my room and then I’ll take a walk while the sun’s high.” He picked up the letter, went upstairs, unlocked the study, and went in, clicking the door shut behind him.
Uncle Gideon seemed to be taking his time in the study. Looking out through the crack and waiting for him to come back, I felt a bit like a jar full of crickets. My hands were jumping about on their own. I tried to glare at them in a fierce sort of way to get them to stop, but they kept on going. Derek was lying on a pile of sweaters, snoring. He was faking, of course. As he lay there, I thought he looked so much like that little tin soldier with the missing arm and the sad smile, the one who wanted to be just like the others and tried so hard and had such a lovely heart.
What was Uncle Gideon going to do with this new letter and how long would he be? What would we do or say if by chance he should stop by the closet for a hat? In the kitchen, The Gram and Auntie Miami were unpacking groceries from bags. I could hear cans being stacked and the icebox door being opened. The Gram was saying, “Well, if Flissy is a little immature for her age, I wouldn’t blame her. I would be too, given her unstable situation. Under these circumstances, Winifred had no business having a child in the first place. And then to be so neglectful and selfish.”
I was hoping I had been mixed up and heard that all wrong. Perhaps they were talking about someone else named Winifred and not my lovely Winnie. I wanted to shout out loudly again, “No, that’s not so. The Gram is wrong. I know she’s wrong. You’re wrong.” I closed my eyes and I pinched my lips shut with my fingers so I couldn’t say a word.
“Fliss,” said Derek. He tilted his head and looked at me up close. “Are you upset? Come on,” he said, putting on a partly smashed black bowler hat, the kind all the businessmen in London wear, minus the smash. “Don’t be sad.”
Just then, we heard Uncle
And Derek had said, “That’s not a cupboard, it’s a closet, and yes, let’s.” Quite cleverly, we left the door open just a crack. Through that crack we could see the dining room table and the letter lying there. Derek said, “At school, Roland Rupert shut himself in his locker once because he didn’t want to take a math test. Those lockers lock by themselves when you shut the door, you know. And Roland was in there all afternoon.”
“But how did he ever get out?” I asked.
“When he didn’t come home at two thirty, his mother had them search the school, and when they opened his locker, Roland Rupert rolled out. That’s what I’ll do if they make me go back to school,” said Derek.
“I wonder if there’s room for two in your American lockers,” I said.
We were all stuffed under a row of wool coats and I was sitting on some old rubber boots, with a fuzzy cape draped over my shoulders. Derek put on a big wool hat with fur-lined earflaps, the one he said Uncle Gideon always wore in the winter when he went to the Shriners Club. Then Derek buckled his feet into some enormous snowshoes, which caused me to get a bit of a laughing attack, which then caused us both to fall into the back of the closet. When we got straightened out, I ended up quite close to Derek, looking at his nice, soft, land-of-counterpane eyes, and even in the semidarkness, it felt as if I were in a little airplane hovering over the surface of Derek’s face, roaming over his brown eyelashes, skimming lightly across his handsome forehead.
Just then, we heard voices on the steps outside, and Derek tried to get up, but he kept falling back into the depths of the stuffed closet, laughing. Finally, it was me who got to my feet and watched The Gram and Uncle Gideon carry bags into the kitchen. It was me who saw Uncle Gideon notice the envelope on the table in the dining room. It was me who heard Uncle Gideon call out, “What did you say, Mother? You unpack the canned goods. I think I’ll go up to my room and then I’ll take a walk while the sun’s high.” He picked up the letter, went upstairs, unlocked the study, and went in, clicking the door shut behind him.
Uncle Gideon seemed to be taking his time in the study. Looking out through the crack and waiting for him to come back, I felt a bit like a jar full of crickets. My hands were jumping about on their own. I tried to glare at them in a fierce sort of way to get them to stop, but they kept on going. Derek was lying on a pile of sweaters, snoring. He was faking, of course. As he lay there, I thought he looked so much like that little tin soldier with the missing arm and the sad smile, the one who wanted to be just like the others and tried so hard and had such a lovely heart.
What was Uncle Gideon going to do with this new letter and how long would he be? What would we do or say if by chance he should stop by the closet for a hat? In the kitchen, The Gram and Auntie Miami were unpacking groceries from bags. I could hear cans being stacked and the icebox door being opened. The Gram was saying, “Well, if Flissy is a little immature for her age, I wouldn’t blame her. I would be too, given her unstable situation. Under these circumstances, Winifred had no business having a child in the first place. And then to be so neglectful and selfish.”
I was hoping I had been mixed up and heard that all wrong. Perhaps they were talking about someone else named Winifred and not my lovely Winnie. I wanted to shout out loudly again, “No, that’s not so. The Gram is wrong. I know she’s wrong. You’re wrong.” I closed my eyes and I pinched my lips shut with my fingers so I couldn’t say a word.
“Fliss,” said Derek. He tilted his head and looked at me up close. “Are you upset? Come on,” he said, putting on a partly smashed black bowler hat, the kind all the businessmen in London wear, minus the smash. “Don’t be sad.”
Just then, we heard Uncle
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