Falling Stars Read online

  And the world outside the window was dark.

  As dark as it would be if a curtain had closed. I heard an audible gasp from Rose's lips.

  Or was it coming from my own?

  5 The Room Upstairs

  I remember a line I once read in a famous short store, calling truth "a hard deer to hunt." If ever sleep was a "hard deer to hunt," it was so this night. I closed my eyes and turned on my side with my back to my bedroom door. but I couldn't help anticipating the sound of it opening, and then seeing either Cinnamon or Ice or Rose herself there to tell me he had returned. At times my eves popped open and I stared at my own window. The darkness played tricks, metamorphosing into someone's silhouette and then turning back to nothing.

  Steven had been right about the house itself. It was so well built, sounds familiar to me from my own home back in Ohio were not audible here. Pipes didn't groan, boards didn't creak, shutters didn't tap a beat to the marching wind. At night this house tightened like a fist, not to open again until the first light of morning,

  The silence was not welcome, however. It caused me to feel shut up, entombed with my own childhood fears. I heard my own little groans, heard myself breathing. For hours I tossed and turned and fought with my pillows. Every once in a while, I glanced at the illuminated face of my clock and panicked a bit at the hour. I would get no sleep whatsoever, I thought, and tomorrow. I would be a mess and make one mistake after another during my violin lesson.

  Once. before I actually did fall asleep -- or, rather, pass out-- I heard what sounded like approaching footsteps in the hallway and lifted my head from the pillow, expecting the door to open. Whoever it was paused, but then turned and descended the stairs. Stillness overtook the echo of those steps, and once again. I was drowning in silence. I let out a breath, closed my eyes, and tried desperately to think only good thoughts, to visualize my beautiful little lake back on the farm. remember Chandler's laughter and smile and all the wonderful things we whispered to each other so I could drift into sleep.

  Sleep finally came, but like it would if I had been anesthetized. When sunlight streaked in. it stood at my bedside and waited impatiently for me to acknowledge morning. I knew that was true because when I finally did wake up. it was more than a half hour later than I needed to make my new schedule. After all. I had promised Mr. Bergman I could manage the earlier session. I had even bragged about how easy it was for me to be an early riser. Now what would he think of me?

  I literally threw off my covers and leaped off the bed, rushing around to get myself showered and dressed, and did it all in less than half the usual time. I practically flew down the stairs.

  There was still no one else at breakfast vet. Except for Mrs. Churchwell, there were no servants around either. Before I was finished eating, however, the girls and Howard began to stream into the dining room. I could see from the sleepy eves on all the girls that I was not the only one who had been in a desperate battle for some rest.

  Steven, who looked like a somnambulist himself and who was the last to come to breakfast, was oblivious to how the rest of us looked, but I could see Howard had suspicious eyes. He continually glanced from one of us to another and asked delving questions like. "Anyone hear a lot of moving about in the hallway last night?"

  Rose was the most obvious, turning constantly to Cinnamon for the answers. Finally, Howard came right out and asked what we were all up to.

  "Who says we're up to anything. Howard?" Cinnamon returned,

  "You look like a pack of conniving

  conspirators. Roman senators planning the

  assassination of Julius Caesar or someone of similar

  importance . "

  "Maybe you?" Ice said, smiling coolly. "Very funny. What's up. girls? What am I

  missing here? The silence speaks volumes." "We stayed up late comparing notes about old

  boyfriends," Cinnamon replied. "And decided that

  none of them compared to you."

  Steven laughed and Howard smirked and

  nodded.

  "Okay," he said. "Have your little girlie secrets.

  See if I care."

  "Thanks for giving us permission," Ice said.

  She didn't say much, but when she did, it carried the

  chill that her name suggested.

  Howard glanced at her and then quickly

  returned to his breakfast. There was no question she

  intimidated him far more than Cinnamon did. "I've got to get to an early lesson," I said. "I'll

  take care of my own dishes."

  "Butter him up for me, will you?" Steven cried

  after me.

  Actually, my morning went relatively better

  than I had expected it would. Somehow, when I put

  my fingers to my bow and held my violin, my fatigue

  took a back seat to my enthusiasm and I was able to

  play well enough for Mr. Bergman to give me a real

  compliment. However, it was couched in one of those

  between-the-lines type of remarks.

  "Madame Senetsky certainly has a gift for

  recognizing exceptionally talented young people." he

  said. He had taken me through what he called the

  basics, moving me along quickly because of his

  satisfaction with my performance at almost every

  level,

  "Thank you," I said. He looked at his planning

  book and kept his eyes glued to the pages, ignoring

  me, as if thank yous were unnecessary and even

  embarrassing for him.

  "We'll continue the same time tomorrow," he

  said as a way of dismissing me.

  I met Steven on my way out.

  "How is he?" he whispered.

  "Like a hungry raccoon," I said. "He'll tear

  through anything."

  "Huh?"

  I laughed as I hurried away.

  With the time I had in between my violin lesson

  and my next session. I mailed out the letter to Uncle

  Simon and then finished cleaning and organizing my

  room. While I was doing so. I heard footsteps above

  and paused to listen. It was the first time I had heard

  anything above me. There was a shuffling and even

  the squeaking sound of something metallic being

  opened and closed. Both Howard and Cinnamon

  should be in their drama class with Mr. Marlowe. I

  thought. Ice was in her vocal lesson. Rose was at

  dance class, and I knew where Steven was, Mrs. Ivers

  was in the laundry room and Mrs. Churchwell was in

  the kitchen. I had seen Madame Senetsky and Laura

  Fairchild conversing in Madame SenetsWs office

  below when I had hurried to the stairway. Who was

  that up there?

  Daddy used to say curiosity could often be like

  a worm to a fish, dangling on a hook, drawing you

  closer, drawing you into trouble, but it was hard to

  resist.

  I checked my watch, saw that I still had some

  time, and went to the stairway leading up to the third

  floor. All I had been told was there was a costume

  room up there. I had vet to see it. I listened for a while at the foot of the short stairway, but heard nothing.

  Then I slowly ascended.

  The third floor was quite unlike the rest of the

  house in which we lived and worked. There was only,

  a single light fixture in the center of the ceiling,

  halfway down the corridor. It was a weak light at that,

  casting thin, soft shadows that caused the gray walls

  to look like stone.

  Apparently there was only one room up here. I

  paused at the door, listened again, and then opened it.

  The slight illumination from the hallway spilled in

  b
efore me to reveal rows and rows of costumes. They

  began just inside and ran the length of the room. I

  found a light switch on the right side and flipped it on.

  A series of bigger and brighter fixtures in brass lamp

  shades lit up the room well enough for me to see

  everything. On shelves above the costumes to my left

  were all sorts of hats and helmets. Against the right

  wall was another set of shelves, upon which were

  props-- the swords Cinnamon and Howard were

  playing with the day I arrived, the armor, canes and

  magic wands, as well as crowns with imitation jewels.

  Below that were pairs and pairs of shoes and boots,

  slippers, and Indian moccasins.

  The room felt dusty. Stepping into it, I sensed that once I moved something., a parade of particles would begin to float through the air, swimming from one set of costumes to another. The smell was musty, stale, as if the door to the room hadn't been opened in

  years. Of course. I knew otherwise.

  If this was the only room up here and there

  were no other doors, who had been moving around?

  To do what? No one had come down the stairs. "Hello?'" I called, wondering if someone was

  deeper in the room, perhaps behind some costuming.

  There was no response. I walked in further and then

  followed the aisle on my right, past the rows of

  costumes organized by century and style, from the

  Middle Ages to the Roaring Twenties, with lots more

  from other eras and styles on the opposite side of the

  room.

  I reached the rear of the room and started to go

  around the other side in order to return to the doorway

  when I saw what I realized was another door, behind a

  pair of gowns that looked like they could have been

  worn by Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. Where did this door go? It had a key in the

  lock. Why was it practically hidden from sight, I

  wondered. and I lifted the gowns away to turn the lock

  and then try the knob. It turned, but the door opened to another door. Still curious. I put my ear to that door and listened. I thought I could hear someone singing to the music of what sounded like a mandolin. I knew

  the sound well. It was a form of lute.

  "Who's in here?" I heard, and spun around to

  see Laura Fairchild in the doorway. She seemed to

  swell in the doorway, her neck stretching, her eyes

  beaming with rage.

  As quietly as I could. I closed the door, locked

  it again and stepped out into the aisle.

  "Honey? What are you doing here?" she

  demanded.

  "I was just curious," I said. "I heard about the

  costumes and wanted to see them."

  "I've already instructed Howard and Cinnamon

  not to touch anything in here again until they are told

  to do so. You had no permission to be up here." "I'm sorry." I said. "I didn't really touch

  anything."

  She pursed her lips and gazed at me skeptically,

  after which she looked into the room as if she would

  be able to tell in an instant if I had moved a single

  dress or boot.

  "There's no reason for you to be on this floor,"

  she emphasized. "I thought I heard someone above my room, and thought it might be one of the others," I explained. I knew it couldn't possibly be one of my fellow students, but she made me feel so guilty, her eyes narrowing with cold suspicion. that I thought I had better come up with some other sensible explanation, even though all I was guilty of was

  curiosity.

  "Isn't it time for your next session?" she asked,

  or more like commanded.

  "Yes."

  "Then you had better get going."

  I started out and she went further in. I hesitated

  in the doorway. What was she doing? Was she really

  checking to see if I had taken anything? How could

  anyone keep track of all that was in here anyway?

  And why would I take anything from the room? I lingered in the doorway and watched her trace

  my steps toward the rear. Then she surprised me by

  lifting away the old gowns as I had done and then

  testing to see if the door was still locked. Suddenly

  she spun around, as if she could feel my eyes on the

  back of her neck.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Nothing," I said quickly and hurried away and

  down the stairs. Where did that door go? Was

  someone singing behind it? Who?

  Curiosity was certainly a warm on a hook for

  me. I thought. And like the perennial fish, it would

  Zet me in trouble. too. I felt sure of that.

  After our speech lesson, during which we were

  each recorded reading a selection from James Joyce's

  Ulysses for Mr. Masters. I pulled Cinnamon aside and

  told her what I had heard and what I had done. "I didn't see any door in the rear of the

  wardrobe room when Howard and I went up there,"

  she said. "But maybe that was because I didn't go all

  the way back and didn't look behind those costumes

  you said were hanging in front of it. Howard and I got

  excited over the armor, which was close to the front,

  and got into that. Our Ms. Fairchild did tell Howard to

  tell me to stay out of the room until we were

  instructed to go there for a specific thing, but I didn't

  think much of that. You said you distinctly heard

  footsteps and then you heard someone singing?" "Yes. I'm sure that's what it was," I said. "Of

  course, it could have been someone listening to

  music.'

  "You're sure of what?" Ice asked, catching up

  with us. I told her all of it briefly. She didn't look

  surprised.

  "I've heard someone above at night," she

  revealed. "or what I thought was someone above, but I

  haven't heard anyone singing or any music playing." "I never did before." I said.

  "Ice's room is directly under the costume

  room," Cinnamon remarked.

  "I'm sure I heard footsteps, but there was no

  one there in the costume room." I said.

  "Did you try to open the second door?"

  Cinnamon asked.

  "I didn't have a chance. Ms. Fairchild appeared

  as suddenly as a ghost. I closed the first door and

  locked it again as quickly and as quietly as I could." Ice moaned.

  "Let's not think it's Howard's ghost of Mr.

  Senetsky again," she pleaded.

  Cinnamon thought a moment. Rose was coming

  along with Steven.

  "Don't say anything to Rose just yet. She's

  spooked enough by what we found last night." We agreed and went on to our vocal class. Mr.

  Littleton had decided to turn us into a little chorus.

  with Ice, of course, singing lead. We had an

  opportunity to really hear her vocalize, and all of us.

  even Howard, were very impressed.

  Later, when we confronted each other in dance

  class in our dance costumes. Steven took a lot of

  ribbing from Howard, who baptized him Mr.

  Toothpick Legs. Mr. Demetrius employed Rose as his

  assistant to help us develop fundamental moves and

  exercises. She truly had a striking figure, and moved

  with such grace and east, she was inspiring to watch

  and to try to emulate. She seemed made of rubber,

  able to turn, twist and mo
ve in defiance of gravity

  itself.

  While we were working in the studio.

  Cinnamon nudged me and nodded toward the

  doorway.

  There, apparently observing us for some time.

  was Edmond Senetsky. Rose saw that we were

  looking behind her and turned and saw him there as

  well. She suddenly became very nervous. A moment

  later, he was gone. She looked back at us and then

  caught Howard gazing at her, a big fat Cheshire cat

  smile spread over his face.

  "Did y'all see him?" Rose asked immediately at

  the end of the dance session. "Maybe he returned to

  the school to get his scarf."

  "Not in the daytime." Cinnamon insisted. "He

  couldn't risk being seen up there. He'd have no

  explanation for it."

  "One of us has a real fan," Howard Rockwell

  sang as he walked by us. He rolled his eyes and

  laughed.

  "Stuff it. Howard," Cinnamon called after him. "There's no doubt in my mind that if Howard

  found out what we've discovered and planned to do,

  he would make more trouble for us." Ice remarked,

  glaring after him with eves that looked capable of

  drilling a hole through a steel wall.

  "Forget about him," Cinnamon said. "We'll

  follow our plan tonight."

  After we completed the school day, we all went

  up to shower and rest before dinner. Tonight, we were

  told, we would be enjoying a French meal, and we

  would be given a lecture about wines as well.

  Madame Senetsky would be at this dinner to observe

  us. Laura Fairchild said.

  "French food happens to be her favorite," she

  added. "Everyone is to be on his or her best behavior

  and look presentable."

  After I took my shower and lay down to get

  some rest. I fell into a deep sleep. I was that exhausted

  from tossing and turning, fretting in and out of

  nightmares the night before, and now, equally tired from a day of tension as well. Unfortunately. I slept so deeply. I didn't wake even when the others were talking and making noise outside my room. I didn't even hear Cinnamon knocking on my door. I woke

  only when I felt her shaking me vigorously. "Whaaa...?"

  I gazed at all three of them, dressed and ready

  for dinner, standing beside my bed.

  "Oh, no!" I screamed and sat up. "What time is