The Peculiar Night of the Blue Heart (6 page)

The old woman led them to a green pickup truck that was parked on the grass. “Didn't learn to use this contraption until my Abner died, God rest his soul,” the old woman said.

Mrs. Mannerd was running out of the little red house even before the truck had made it down the driveway. Lionel did his best to make himself into an opossum; he did not care to do any more speaking.

“Oh, Marybeth, not again,” Mrs. Mannerd said, when Marybeth and Lionel climbed out of the car.

The old woman stepped out of the car. She had a very kind face, and it seemed to put Mrs. Mannerd at ease. The old woman was not the sort of dangerous person Mrs. Mannerd had warned Lionel about. “I do apologize,” Mrs. Mannerd said. “I don't know what has gotten into these two. They've never wandered off like this before.”

“It was no trouble,” the old woman said, and despite her smile Lionel could sense that she was sad. “It's nice having children on the farm again, even if only for a quick breakfast.”

“That's very generous, but they won't be troubling you again. Lionel, Marybeth, in the house.”

Marybeth hesitated. There was something about the old woman that she liked. She was staring at her face and trying to think of what it was.

“Come on,” Lionel said.

He began walking toward the house, and Marybeth followed him just as she always did.

CHAPTER

7

As she moved about the kitchen preparing for breakfast, Mrs. Mannerd told Mr. Porter that she was coming to her wit's end. “That Lionel is one thing,” she said. “He's never been quite right, but even he never ran away before all of this. And now Marybeth! My only bit of sanity among the lot of these children has lost her marbles.”

Lionel and Marybeth were huddled together with their ears pressed to the floor vent in the girls' bedroom, listening.

Marybeth sat up and leaned against the wall. “It's true,” she said. “I am losing my marbles. I walked that whole way to the farm, and I thought I was dreaming
it.” She looked at Lionel. “What if I wander somewhere more dangerous next?”

“It always seems to be that barn,” Lionel said. “Maybe the blue creature likes hay.”

“We have our own barn here,” Marybeth said.

“Ours has animals in it,” Lionel said. “Maybe the blue creature likes to be alone.”

Marybeth shook her head. “There's something about that barn. And that old woman.” Her breaths came quicker. The difference was slight, but Lionel noticed. “And that man.”

Marybeth hadn't braided her hair for days now, and she began to tug at a piece of it. She was thinking of the man—the old woman's son—but she didn't have the words to describe what the thought of him did to her nerves. She felt a heart begin to pound in her chest, and she knew that the heart was not her own.

It was Tuesday. Errand day. It was the one day of the week that Mrs. Mannerd was allowed any reprieve from the children, or so she liked to say.

But that morning, once the older ones had gone off to school, she told Lionel and Marybeth, “Get your coats. You're coming into town with me.”

“What about our lessons?” Marybeth asked.

“They'll resume tomorrow.” Mrs. Mannerd did not like to interfere with the children's education; with no parents and no inheritance to help them get by, they would need their brains. But she worried at the thought of leaving that poor tutor alone with Marybeth in her current state, wandering off as she had begun to. Lionel was no help. He would only follow her, if he weren't too busy gnawing on the table legs like a beaver.

Lionel and Marybeth followed Mrs. Mannerd out to the car. It was a Cadillac that used to be the color of a manzanilla olive but now resembled a rust-spotted Dalmatian, and it was old and took several turns in the ignition before it sparked to life.

“Marybeth,” Mrs. Mannerd said as she backed the car down the long dirt driveway. “Why don't you put those pretty braids in your hair anymore?”

“I forgot,” Marybeth said.

Mrs. Mannerd caught Marybeth's eyes in the mirror. With her long hair fanning around her shoulders and without her spectacles, Marybeth looked like a different girl completely.

Mrs. Mannerd had found Marybeth's spectacles in the leaves near the river and was patiently waiting for Marybeth to admit she was nearsighted and ask to have them back. But if Marybeth was pretending to have perfect vision, she was doing a convincing job of it.

“If you children are on your best behavior with me today, I'll let you have a treat. How's that? I'll take you to the library and you can look at anything you'd like.”

“Even the encyclopedias?” Lionel asked.

“I suppose it's been long enough,” Mrs. Mannerd said. “As long as you promise not to pretend you're a lion and chase the children through the house again.”

Lionel hadn't been pretending. On the afternoon that he had chosen to be a lion, he was merely trying to protect himself from the older ones when they had barricaded the door so he couldn't go outside to feed his wild rabbits. One small boy was no match for a herd of six monstrous baboons with fangs that extended to their chins when they laughed. Only a lion could best them.

But he knew that he could never make Mrs. Mannerd see reason, and so he said, “Yes, I promise.”

“Well, all right then,” Mrs. Mannerd said.

Marybeth nudged him. “Say thank you,” she whispered.

Lionel made a sour face, and she nudged him again.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mannerd,” he said. The words stuck to his tongue, and he fought the urge to hiss.

He saw the reflection of Mrs. Mannerd's raised eyebrows in the mirror. “You're most welcome, young man.”

“I'm not a young man,” Lionel said. “I'm going to grow up to be a leopard, or maybe a bear.”

Mrs. Mannerd sighed.

Once they reached the center of town and stepped out of the car, Marybeth and Lionel truly did try their best to behave. Marybeth walked slowly and with poise; she didn't know what would cause the blue creature to awaken, and she didn't want to provoke it.

Lionel walked beside her, watching her with heightened senses, prepared to create a diversion if the blue creature did emerge.

“Come along,” Mrs. Mannerd said. “Move your feet, pick it up. That's it.”

In the tailor shop, there was a giant box of mismatched buttons. Lionel and Marybeth arranged them into patterns as Mrs. Mannerd ordered a bolt of fabric to repair the children's winter coats now that winter was coming.

Marybeth picked out all the blue buttons and the deep purples, and when Lionel noticed the concentration on her face, he stopped touching the buttons and he watched her. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips. Her eyes were big and dazed.

“Marybeth, what a lovely collage,” Mrs. Mannerd said. Marybeth blinked, and then looked at her handiwork.

The buttons were arranged in the pattern of a blue painting whose shades and hues made up a face with blank spaces for eye sockets. Marybeth did not think it was lovely. She had no memory of making it whatsoever,
and now that strange heart was beating in her chest again and she felt as though she might faint.

Lionel stared at the button face. Marybeth's pallor wasn't lost on him. He thought that the button face was as disturbing as any other portrait that lacked eyes, but beyond that it meant nothing to him. Whether the face was young or old, whether it belonged to a boy or to a girl, he couldn't say.

“Let's move along now,” Mrs. Mannerd said. “We have other things to tend to.” Marybeth was already at the door, eager to leave it behind.

As they walked from store to store, Lionel watched Marybeth. She had her head down and her arms crossed tight against her stomach. She looked frightened and horribly sad.

Lionel felt helpless. He couldn't talk about the blue creature or the button collage in front of Mrs. Mannerd. He would have liked to climb one of the trees along the sidewalk. He could dangle upside down by his knees and become a monkey. That would make her laugh for sure. But Mrs. Mannerd would not approve, and then she wouldn't take them to the library.

All he could do was whisper, “It'll be all right.”

She turned her head sharply to him. Her eyes flashed blue for only a second, but even after they returned to their usual brown, the skepticism remained.

“Trust me,” he said, to both Marybeth and the blue creature.

Marybeth looked at her boots. She nodded, just slightly.

Lionel wanted to be rid of this blue creature. He had never met an animal he didn't like, but he was growing to hate this one. Marybeth had always been soft spoken, but never subdued. He could see it in the way she walked. She was so worried about awakening the awful thing that she didn't even raise her eyes.

This blue creature was no different from the older ones who had locked her in the closet. But this time, he didn't know how to open the door and set her free.

By late morning, the car was filled with fabric and groceries, and there had been no outbursts or displays from either of the children. Lionel had done an impressive job behaving like a human, and Marybeth had not wandered off. So, as promised, Mrs. Mannerd took them to the library.

“We have an hour before it's time to go home for lunch,” she said. “I'll be just over there.” She pointed to a row of shelves near the door.

As Lionel and Marybeth climbed the spiral staircase that led to the library's top floor, Marybeth said, “There's
no sense looking at the encyclopedias. We have them at home, and I've been through all of them. I must have looked up every animal that ever existed. Even the ones that have gone extinct.”

“What next, then?” Lionel asked.

Marybeth peered over the railing at Mrs. Mannerd, who was browsing a traveler's atlas. “Come on.” She led him past a row of empty tables and down a narrow aisle of books. “While I was researching, I found something that gave me an idea.” She stopped walking, and Lionel looked up at the sign affixed above the bookshelf:

SUPERNATURAL OCCURRENCES

He looked at Marybeth. “You think it's supernatural?”

“We've already ruled out everything else,” she said. “There are animals that burrow and dig, but mostly in the ground. And there are parasites that can get under your skin, but they aren't as big as a fox, and they surely don't glow the way that this one did.”

Lionel stared at the books, overwhelmed by all the dusty cloth spines and the possibilities they represented. He knew everything about animals and nothing about ghosts. “Where should we start?”

Marybeth shrugged. “Alphabetically, I suppose.”

Lionel became an iguana and scaled the shelves so that he could reach the topmost books.

They sat on the floor, below a flickering bulb, and read passages aloud to each other as they researched. They read about photographers who took pictures of spirits, and spiritualists who could summon the dead and see the past.

“We don't have any money,” Marybeth said. “Do you suppose they'd do it for free? If we explained?”

“No,” Lionel said. “They'd want money. Especially if we explained.”

Marybeth frowned at the page. “We could try to make money.”

“I don't think it's a good idea,” Lionel said. “I don't trust them, and, anyway, it looks fake to me. That ghost is wearing a trench coat. Why would a ghost wear a trench coat? Clothes are so itchy. If I were dead, I wouldn't wear anything.”

Marybeth stared at the photo a long time, and then her eyes filled with tears.

“I'm sorry,” Lionel said. He didn't want to make her cry. He wanted to yell at this blue creature to leave her alone. He had liked the old Marybeth, who was bright and inquisitive and never looked sad. He missed that Marybeth, and he wanted her back.

“It's not what you said,” Marybeth sobbed. “It's not me. It's this.” She grabbed his hand and brought it to her neck so that he could feel the pulse galloping beside her own. “It's telling me what to feel.”