woke at the sound of his footsteps. She went to embrace him, near tears. “What do you think the authorities would do if they found their monster?”
“Is that what I am?” James said softly.
“No! Of course not!” She hugged him closer. “But what will people in town think if they see you? That’s why this isn’t up for discussion. You have to stay home.”
James moved away from her and narrowed his eyes. He was changing, becoming his own person. He’d had enough of being locked away. “I don’t think I can do that,” he said in a hollow voice.
I was watching from behind the old wavy-glass window set into our front door. I could tell from James’s eyes, more black than gray, that he wasn’t going to do as he was told anymore.
I didn’t blame him.
One morning there was a knock at the door. It was Saturday and of course we weren’t expecting anyone, since we never had visitors. My mother asked me to send our unexpected guest away. I thought it was probably one of those door-to-door salesmen that sometimes came through town, trying to get everyone to buy some silly product no one needed, like an umbrella for two or a folding trampoline you could carry in a suitcase or a new kind of car-wash soap that didn’t need any water to do the job. I opened the door a crack. A man was pacing along the porch, talking to himself. He carried a rolled-up newspaper. When he saw me he froze.
“Hello, Twig.” He was very tall and gaunt and had sad gray eyes.
“How do you know my name?” I said, suspicious.
“Doesn’t everyone know everyone else in Sidwell? Isn’t that what a small town is all about?” He noticed my cast and his eyes widened. “Broken?”
“A slight fracture.” He still looked concerned, so I added, “I’m a fast healer. It’s almost perfect already.”
“That’s good to know.” I was about to say good-bye, adding a
Thanks but no thanks
to whatever he was selling,when he took an old-fashioned fountain pen from his pocket. Before I could stop him, he stepped forward and signed my cast. He had a very nice signature and he drew a rose at the end of his name.
“Ian Rose,” he said, introducing himself. “A rose is a rose is a rose.” He grinned. He had dark hair that was a little too long and somewhat shaggy. “I’m from the newspaper.”
The last time I’d delivered pies to the General Store, I’d overheard the Gossip Group discuss a newspaperman from New York who had moved to town to take over as the editor of the
Sidwell Herald.
Even though he wasn’t a local person, they weren’t too upset that an outsider would now be in charge of Sidwell’s news. He was a nephew of Miss Larch and was living in the spare bedroom of her house on Avery Street. The
Herald
wasn’t much of a paper anymore, and people thought it would go out of business, but supposedly this fellow aimed to save it if he could. A few of the men made bets on the date the new editor would fail and the paper would close up shop.
“We don’t want any newspapers.” I began to shut the door. “Thanks anyway.”
“My aunt told me to stop by. She spoke very highly of you.”
“Did she?” I was flattered to hear this. I couldn’t be rude to one of Miss Larch’s relatives, so I kept the door open.
“She always came to New York to see me, at least once a year. I would visit occasionally when I was about your age, but I don’t really know Sidwell. Now that I’m here for good, I think I’m going to feel like it’s home in no time. From what I can tell, it’s a nice town.”
“Yes and no. It’s more complicated than you would think,” I said, echoing Miss Larch’s sentiments.
“Most things are.”
I nodded.
“I came to interview your mother,” he then explained. “We could have an interesting article about the orchard in the
Herald
.”
“Unlikely,” I said. “She doesn’t speak to strangers.”
“I’m not that strange.” He grinned and I grinned back.
For some reason I felt bad for
“Is that what I am?” James said softly.
“No! Of course not!” She hugged him closer. “But what will people in town think if they see you? That’s why this isn’t up for discussion. You have to stay home.”
James moved away from her and narrowed his eyes. He was changing, becoming his own person. He’d had enough of being locked away. “I don’t think I can do that,” he said in a hollow voice.
I was watching from behind the old wavy-glass window set into our front door. I could tell from James’s eyes, more black than gray, that he wasn’t going to do as he was told anymore.
I didn’t blame him.
One morning there was a knock at the door. It was Saturday and of course we weren’t expecting anyone, since we never had visitors. My mother asked me to send our unexpected guest away. I thought it was probably one of those door-to-door salesmen that sometimes came through town, trying to get everyone to buy some silly product no one needed, like an umbrella for two or a folding trampoline you could carry in a suitcase or a new kind of car-wash soap that didn’t need any water to do the job. I opened the door a crack. A man was pacing along the porch, talking to himself. He carried a rolled-up newspaper. When he saw me he froze.
“Hello, Twig.” He was very tall and gaunt and had sad gray eyes.
“How do you know my name?” I said, suspicious.
“Doesn’t everyone know everyone else in Sidwell? Isn’t that what a small town is all about?” He noticed my cast and his eyes widened. “Broken?”
“A slight fracture.” He still looked concerned, so I added, “I’m a fast healer. It’s almost perfect already.”
“That’s good to know.” I was about to say good-bye, adding a
Thanks but no thanks
to whatever he was selling,when he took an old-fashioned fountain pen from his pocket. Before I could stop him, he stepped forward and signed my cast. He had a very nice signature and he drew a rose at the end of his name.
“Ian Rose,” he said, introducing himself. “A rose is a rose is a rose.” He grinned. He had dark hair that was a little too long and somewhat shaggy. “I’m from the newspaper.”
The last time I’d delivered pies to the General Store, I’d overheard the Gossip Group discuss a newspaperman from New York who had moved to town to take over as the editor of the
Sidwell Herald.
Even though he wasn’t a local person, they weren’t too upset that an outsider would now be in charge of Sidwell’s news. He was a nephew of Miss Larch and was living in the spare bedroom of her house on Avery Street. The
Herald
wasn’t much of a paper anymore, and people thought it would go out of business, but supposedly this fellow aimed to save it if he could. A few of the men made bets on the date the new editor would fail and the paper would close up shop.
“We don’t want any newspapers.” I began to shut the door. “Thanks anyway.”
“My aunt told me to stop by. She spoke very highly of you.”
“Did she?” I was flattered to hear this. I couldn’t be rude to one of Miss Larch’s relatives, so I kept the door open.
“She always came to New York to see me, at least once a year. I would visit occasionally when I was about your age, but I don’t really know Sidwell. Now that I’m here for good, I think I’m going to feel like it’s home in no time. From what I can tell, it’s a nice town.”
“Yes and no. It’s more complicated than you would think,” I said, echoing Miss Larch’s sentiments.
“Most things are.”
I nodded.
“I came to interview your mother,” he then explained. “We could have an interesting article about the orchard in the
Herald
.”
“Unlikely,” I said. “She doesn’t speak to strangers.”
“I’m not that strange.” He grinned and I grinned back.
For some reason I felt bad for
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