The Umbrella Lady Read online

I shook my head.

  “So many good words are rotting away like unpicked apples. A spinster is an unmarried woman who probably won’t marry. But I fooled my father.”

  I was just looking at her. It didn’t seem interesting, and I didn’t want to stop thinking about Daddy.

  “Don’t you want to know how I fooled him? Aren’t you full of curiosity, like Mr. Pebbles?”

  I really wasn’t, at least about her right now. Right now, I was tired and wanted my father to come take me away, but I nodded because I knew she wanted me to.

  “I met a widower who was happy to find a woman like me to marry. My father was so unhappy about it that he had a stroke, but he survived and then ended up in the old-age home, clinging to life like a spider to a web. By then I had to retire. That’s what I got for getting married to an older man. I could have gone on teaching right up to today, but I had to take care of my husband, who was an accountant who suddenly could no longer remember numbers.”

  She stared at me a moment. I was sure I was gawking at her now. No one I had met with Mama or Daddy ever told me so much about himself or herself as quickly.

  “Maybe it was my own fault,” she said, thinking aloud. She looked up, as if she could see those thoughts in a cloud, just the way they appeared in the newspaper cartoons Daddy read. “You can’t always blame the choices you make on someone else, or fate.”

  She looked at me again.

  “I didn’t marry until I was thirty. My husband was forty-six. He divorced his first wife when he was thirty-one. He didn’t have any children with her, and what happened to him up here,” she said, pointing to her temple, “was considered premature.”

  She waited a moment, probably to see what I would say. I was thinking about Daddy telling me his losing his hair was premature. When I said nothing, she thought I didn’t know the meaning of the word and quickly added, “Another apple rotting. That means it shouldn’t have happened yet. My father outlived my husband. Can you imagine that? My husband just forgot what he was doing one day and took too many sleeping pills. I didn’t know.”

  Then, more firmly, she said, “Don’t think I knew. I wasn’t trying to escape.”

  I didn’t understand. Escape? Escape from what?

  She pressed her lips together quickly, as if she had said something wrong or terrible. After a moment, she continued in a softer tone.

  “Anyway, I was all alone in this house again. Except for Mr. Pebbles and Mr. Pebbles and Mr. Pebbles,” she said. She paused, and then suddenly, she slapped herself so hard on the right side of her head that I jumped in the seat.

  “Stupid, stupid me, talking about my dead husband when we should be talking only about you. Here I am, going on and on about sad things, too. I don’t have enough pennies for all that I’ve told you already. If I keep up like this, I’ll have to go to the bank first thing in the morning and get rolls and rolls of pennies.”

  I stared up at her, astonished at how hard she had slapped herself. The side of her face was so red I thought she was bleeding. Then, just as suddenly, her face softened into a smile again.

  “Come, let me show you the room,” she said, plucking my hand off the table. I rose quickly so that she didn’t tug me. I had no doubt she would have nearly pulled my arm out of my shoulder.

  She saw me glance with concern at my carry-on bag.

  “No one is going to steal your things, Saffron. This is not a train station. It’s my house,” she said. “And Mr. Pebbles doesn’t steal.”

  Mr. Pebbles rose to follow us.

  I walked with her past the small living room on the left, with furniture that looked, as Mama might say, because she often had said it about some of ours, “exhausted.” She wouldn’t know where to begin to clean in this living room, I thought. There were magazines on the table in front of the dark-brown sofa with torn skirts. Some of the bottom of the sofa appeared to be touching the floor where the springs had dropped through. I could see the thick dust on the dark wood coffee table and side tables, and the gray carpet looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed since it had first been installed. There were stains as big as coffee cups on it, and the ends were frayed. Crumpled pieces of paper were on a side table, and bread crumbs were in a small light-blue dish. Another dish contained the browning core of an apple.

  “I’m not as neat as could be when I’m all by myself,” she said, seeing how my eyes were scanning the room. She smiled. “You can help me clean it up properly. I bought all that furniture in there when I first got married. After my husband died, I planned to buy new furniture. But then I thought, what for? Everything has been broken in and fits me. Why get a new horse when the old one still takes you wherever you want to go?”

  Horse? I thought. What horse?

  “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  When most adults ask if they’re right, they are really not asking you a question. It’s usually something they want you to do or believe. But the Umbrella Lady really was waiting for me to respond, as if my opinion was important. I didn’t want to nod, but I thought I had better, even though I didn’t understand what a horse had to do with furniture.

  Satisfied, she smiled, and we continued down the hallway, past the short stairway on the left, to a door on the right. I could see there was a door to the outside at the end of the hallway. It had a frosted paneled window and a silver doorknob. She knocked on the door on our right and said, “Hello in there. Are you decent?”

  Then she laughed.

  “There’s no one there, but I like to do that. It’s fun to imagine people here sometimes. I’m sure you’ll do it, too. There’s nothing wrong with having imaginary friends. I bet you have one already. I had one at your age. I still remember her name, Pookie. Do you still have an imaginary friend?”

  I shook my head. “I never had an imaginary friend.”

  She didn’t look pleased. “Well, you should have had one. Imaginary friends keep you from being lonely. Did you have any real friends, a neighbor?”

  “Mama was my best friend,” I said, and she smirked with a twisted smile.

  “Did she tell you to say that?”

  “No.”

  “Not in so many words, you mean.”

  She opened the door and reached in to flip a switch that turned on a fixture that looked like a big bowl in the center of the ceiling. It was so bright I couldn’t look at it long.

  “I’m going to replace that soon with something softer and more fitting for a child’s bedroom. I just needed the extra light right now. I’m not that old, but my vision’s not what it used to be.” She thought a moment and then added, “But nothing is what it used to be. Sometimes that’s good.” She smiled at me. “It will be for you.”

  What did that mean? The more she said confusing things, the more I longed for Daddy to come to her house and take me off to our new home.

  “It’s a beautiful room, though, isn’t it?” she asked.

  The bedroom was the strangest I think I had ever seen, not that I had seen all that many bedrooms in other people’s houses. The furniture was nice, but the walls had streaks of blue and gold, pink and green, going haphazardly in all directions.

  “What color do you like the best?” she asked before we took another step.

  “I like blue,” I said quickly. I always had. Daddy liked blue, too, but Mama liked green.

  “Oh, so do I. This is called robin’s-egg blue,” she said, placing the palm of her right hand on the streak. “I knew any little girl who could color as well as you do would see how perfectly it goes with the princess white furniture. Don’t you love this bedroom? Can you just imagine how perfect it will be? It makes me wish I was a little girl again, but then, lots of things make me wish that.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be a while before you have such a wish. There’s not much you can do about that, anyway. When you’re older, you’ll realize that life is simply a list of important documents: your birth certificate, your diplomas, maybe a marriage certificate, your AARP card, and your death certifica
te.”

  Now she was really confusing me.

  “I’m not being sad,” she quickly added. “No pennies necessary. I’m just stating facts. But let’s think about the room. Don’t you love it?”

  I gazed at the poster bed. The top of each post had a sparkling crystal ball. The curved headboard and footboard had embossed ribbons and bows. There was a white comforter and a very large white pillow. On the right of the bed was a matching desk and chair, and on the left was a dresser with an oval mirror framed in the same wood. There was only one side table with a lamp. The shade was a darker white. A pinkish area rug was rolled up and off to the left side. The floor had narrow dark-brown wood slats and right now was covered here and there with what looked like brown wrapping paper, probably to keep dripping paint off it.

  Above the headboard was a picture of a little girl in a light-pink dress with a blue bow tie.

  Had this been that little girl’s room? Where was she?

  “Is that the girl who lives here?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, no. That’s not anyone. I bought the frame, and it had that picture in it. Actually, that’s why I was attracted to the frame. She is, I’ll admit, the granddaughter I wish I had.”

  It’s not her room? Why, I wondered, was there a little girl’s room in her house, then? The furniture looked too new for it to have been her little girl’s room when she was my age. And why was she painting it? Was there someone else she was expecting?

  I was going to ask, but she clapped her hands together.

  “I just had a wonderful thought.” She paused, thinking and nodding to herself. “We should have another jar, one for wonderful thoughts. We’ll put nickels in that one, because nice thoughts are worth more than triple what sad ones are worth.

  “Anyway, this is my thought. If you stayed here for a while, you could help me paint the room blue. You’re probably better at that than I am. I could never color perfectly within the lines. I’m sure you’ll be much neater than I am, too. I’m always in a rush, but a girl who can color like you do must have great patience, and to do anything right, you have to have great patience. Worth a nickel, my idea?”

  I looked up at her, puzzled. I didn’t have a nickel. “Daddy’s coming for me,” I said. “We have to catch another train. I can’t stay here and paint a room.”

  “Of course, of course. I was just dreaming. When you get to be my age and you’re alone, you spend more of your time dreaming and talking to cats.”

  Mr. Pebbles was right behind us.

  “Whose room was this?” I asked. Did she have a niece? It was definitely a girl’s room. “Whose is it going to be? Maybe she will want a different color.”

  “Oops,” she said, instead of answering. “The pizza!”

  She turned, taking my hand, and hurried us back to the kitchen. Mr. Pebbles stayed right behind us.

  “You set the table,” she said. “The dishes are in the first cupboard on the right, and silverware is in the drawer beneath it. Napkins are right there on the counter. Glasses are in the second cupboard on the right. We’ll get bowls for ice cream after.”

  She went to the stove.

  I wasn’t afraid to do it. Often, when Mama stayed in bed longer, I would set the table, but it seemed to make Daddy angrier, so I stopped doing it. Either he would do it, or Mama would finally get up and come down to start breakfast or dinner. To get to the Umbrella Lady’s dishes, I had to step on the small stool she had in the corner of the kitchen.

  “Should I get a plate and a glass and silverware for Daddy, too?” I asked.

  “Oh, what a good idea. If he showed up now, he’d surely be as hungry as we are. How sweet of you to think of him.”

  Why wouldn’t I think of him? I thought.

  “Careful,” she said. “We don’t want you breaking a bone and going to the hospital. I’d have to call an ambulance. I don’t have a car anymore. I walk to the grocery and the drugstore. Why do I want a car?” she asked, as if I had complained. “No, we’d have to take you in a screaming ambulance to an emergency room with sick and injured people, blood everywhere, splattered on floors and walls.”

  The very thought of that made my hands tremble and my insides tighten as if something was inside me squeezing, but I was as careful as could be. When I had it all on the table, I stood looking toward the front door and listening.

  “You go look for your daddy while I get the pizza. Maybe he doesn’t know this is the house and he’s walking all over the street,” she said. “It’s not easy to read the numbers when it gets dark.”

  I went to the front door, opened it, and stepped out on the porch. She was right about the house number. It was faded so badly and now in some shadows. Anyone would have to stand right in front of it to read it. The dimly lit street was still very quiet. There was no one in sight, and no cars were being driven in either direction. The air was suddenly much colder, too. The wind had picked up, and some dust danced over the macadam right in front of me and landed on the Umbrella Lady’s lawn. I looked up. Most of the stars were under a dark purple blanket now. That gave me a cold shiver. For a moment, I felt like crying, but I sucked back my tears. I knew that once they had started, I would have a hard time stopping them.

  “It’s ready!” I heard her cry.

  I stood on the porch for a few more moments. I was tempted to shout for Daddy. Where was he? Should I just run up the road screaming for him?

  “Do you want lemonade or Coke?” she asked.

  I entered the house and closed the door. The aroma of the pizza was stronger now.

  “Lemonade,” I said, and walked into the kitchen.

  She paused and looked at me. “Daddy still not there?” she asked, smiling.

  I shook my head. Why was she smiling?

  “I must tell you. All the stores are closed by now. We’re going to have to talk about this,” she said, and put the pizza at the center of the table.

  She stood up with her hands on her hips and pulled her shoulders back. I hadn’t known her very long, but already I realized that when she did that, her voice would deepen, and she would say something very serious or important.

  “Talk about what?” I asked.

  “We’re going to have to talk about what to do. But let’s eat first. We can think better if we’re not starving,” she said. “Oh,” she added, “you need to wash your hands first.” She nodded to my right. “The powder room is right there. Go on. Hurry up, before it gets cold, not that cold pizza isn’t good, too. I’ve eaten plenty of that. You can’t eat if you don’t wash your hands, Saffron.”

  I hesitated, not because I wasn’t hungry. I kept thinking it was wrong to start without Daddy.

  “I’m very hungry,” she said. Then, with a sharp tone, she added, “And I’m going to start eating any minute. It won’t be the first time I’ve eaten alone.”

  I trembled at the anger in her voice. Then she smiled.

  “Of course, Mr. Pebbles was always here. He’s waiting for you, too.”

  I looked at the cat, who was looking at me as if he had understood every word she said.

  I felt like I had fallen down a well, like Alice who fell into Wonderland.

  Only I was still falling.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When I came back, she was at the table, waiting.

  I sat across from her. Mr. Pebbles moved to sit near me.

  “This is very nice,” the Umbrella Lady said. “How serendipitous that I decided earlier to walk to the train station. I don’t usually. It holds both good and bad memories for me.”

  She stared at me a moment and then nodded to herself.

  “You don’t know what that means, ‘serendipitous’?”

  I shook my head. She looked at Mr. Pebbles.

  “Dying words, Mr. Pebbles. Her generation will have to use sign language eventually. They will be that illiterate. Books will end up in museums.”

  I was only eight, and I had yet to go to an actual school, and I never had heard that word, I wanted to
say, but didn’t because I didn’t want her to get angrier than she already looked to be. She took a deep breath.

  “Okay, okay. Don’t worry. It means something nice happens by accident or coincidence. I had no reason to walk to the train station. Something made me turn in its direction, and I kept walking. I wasn’t even thinking about it. But when something wonderful happens spontaneously, something without any planning, you can call it serendipitous. Can you think of something serendipitous that happened to you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Nothing, ever?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, now something has,” she said. “Something joyful for the both of us. Fewer pennies in the jar… Let’s eat. It should be cool enough to sink your teeth into it.”

  I did start on my piece, and it was very good. She watched me eat and smiled.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. It was.

  “I knew you were very hungry as soon as I saw you,” she said. “Did your father get you anything to eat on the train?”

  “No, because I was sleeping,” I said, and kept eating.

  “Just don’t eat too fast, or you’ll get a tummy ache. Little girls need to eat well, even better than little boys.”

  She started to eat her piece.

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t your mother ever say that and then explain it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Girls do more than boys do. Girls, when they grow old enough, become mothers. Can you imagine men walking around with someone else inside them? They may have more muscles, but inside, they are fragile china moaning about every little pain.” She laughed. “I told my husband once that if men had to give birth, the world would have no people.”

  She laughed again.

  I don’t know why I decided to ask the question that Mama would tell me was very personal. She taught me that you had to know people better to ask them personal questions. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl in the picture above the bed in the bedroom I had been shown.

  “Did you ever have someone inside you?”

  The strange woman stopped chewing. “Yes,” she said slowly. “But it was sad.”