Mr. Rose. Maybe because he was new to town and had no idea how unfriendly our family was. My mother was never going to talk to him. I heard a rustling in the hall. She had come to stand beside me. “Ian,” she said.
I wondered if she’d met him when he’d come to town to visit Miss Larch all those years ago.
“I was just telling Twig that I’d like to write an article about the orchard.”
“An article?” I expected her to send him on his way. Instead she turned to me and said, “Why don’t you get some breakfast?” Then she went out to the porch, closing the door behind her.
I peered through the old glass window. When you look through it, the whole world looks very far away, almost like something in a dream. For people who didn’t know each other well, my mother and Mr. Rose seemed to have a lot to say. I heard my name mentioned, which surprised me. Then I heard my mother say, “If you came to town for that, Ian, then you’ve made a mistake.”
I must have rattled the door, because her attention shifted. When she turned to see me, she gave me a serious look that convinced me to go and get breakfast. I took out cereal and milk, but I had a funny feeling in my stomach, as if there had been an earthquake, and the ground was shifting under our feet, and everything we had ever known and been and done was about to change.
I brought James’s breakfast up to the attic. Lately he hadn’t been eating much, so I brought his favorite things: a bowl of cornflakes, sourdough toast, and some of ourmother’s homemade honey butter. The secret to the honey butter was that she added lavender, which made it so fragrant bees sometimes came in through the window to hover around the butter dish.
Mr. Rose had driven away, and my mother had begun baking strawberry pies in one of the huge ovens in the summer kitchen. We could hear her singing while she baked. The attic window was open and the air smelled like piecrust and fruit. I was glad it was Saturday and I didn’t have to rush off to school. I told my brother about the graffiti, and how the artist was so smart he’d designed an image that looked like one thing right side up, and another thing altogether upside down. James looked interested, but not guilty. I could tell when he was hedging, and he wasn’t. “I can’t figure out who would do this,” I said. “The weird thing is, there’s no one who’s more interested in owls than you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” James said. “There’s the ornithologist.”
So that was what Dr. Shelton did. No wonder he was always in the woods.
“You know him?”
“I’ve seen him recording birdsongs. I’ve followed him a few times. He’s studying the saw-whet owls.”
I couldn’t quite picture Dr. Shelton with a can of spray paint, even if he was on the side of the birds.
After breakfast, James and I played Scrabble, our favorite game. I had the
X,
which made my turn difficult. There were only so many words I could think of that contained that letter.
Ox, ax, mix, exit.
None of them were worth very many points.
“Have you been over to Mourning Dove?” my brother asked.
“I can’t go over there on the weekends unless I have a good excuse.” I probably could have come up with one, but I was having second thoughts about my friendship with Julia. She didn’t really know me; how could she like me? She’d phoned twice, and both times I’d picked up the phone, then hung up. When my mother asked who had called, I told her it had been a wrong number, someone looking for a kennel for her dog. Maybe I just wanted to end the friendship before Julia did.
James seemed to be having doubts of his own. “Agate probably thinks I was a hallucination. I’m sure she’s forgotten all about me.”
I didn’t think so. I’d seen the look on her face. I didn’t know if people really could fall in love at first sight, but if it was possible, then she had.
“I don’t know how much longer I can stay in thisattic,” James
I wondered if she’d met him when he’d come to town to visit Miss Larch all those years ago.
“I was just telling Twig that I’d like to write an article about the orchard.”
“An article?” I expected her to send him on his way. Instead she turned to me and said, “Why don’t you get some breakfast?” Then she went out to the porch, closing the door behind her.
I peered through the old glass window. When you look through it, the whole world looks very far away, almost like something in a dream. For people who didn’t know each other well, my mother and Mr. Rose seemed to have a lot to say. I heard my name mentioned, which surprised me. Then I heard my mother say, “If you came to town for that, Ian, then you’ve made a mistake.”
I must have rattled the door, because her attention shifted. When she turned to see me, she gave me a serious look that convinced me to go and get breakfast. I took out cereal and milk, but I had a funny feeling in my stomach, as if there had been an earthquake, and the ground was shifting under our feet, and everything we had ever known and been and done was about to change.
I brought James’s breakfast up to the attic. Lately he hadn’t been eating much, so I brought his favorite things: a bowl of cornflakes, sourdough toast, and some of ourmother’s homemade honey butter. The secret to the honey butter was that she added lavender, which made it so fragrant bees sometimes came in through the window to hover around the butter dish.
Mr. Rose had driven away, and my mother had begun baking strawberry pies in one of the huge ovens in the summer kitchen. We could hear her singing while she baked. The attic window was open and the air smelled like piecrust and fruit. I was glad it was Saturday and I didn’t have to rush off to school. I told my brother about the graffiti, and how the artist was so smart he’d designed an image that looked like one thing right side up, and another thing altogether upside down. James looked interested, but not guilty. I could tell when he was hedging, and he wasn’t. “I can’t figure out who would do this,” I said. “The weird thing is, there’s no one who’s more interested in owls than you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” James said. “There’s the ornithologist.”
So that was what Dr. Shelton did. No wonder he was always in the woods.
“You know him?”
“I’ve seen him recording birdsongs. I’ve followed him a few times. He’s studying the saw-whet owls.”
I couldn’t quite picture Dr. Shelton with a can of spray paint, even if he was on the side of the birds.
After breakfast, James and I played Scrabble, our favorite game. I had the
X,
which made my turn difficult. There were only so many words I could think of that contained that letter.
Ox, ax, mix, exit.
None of them were worth very many points.
“Have you been over to Mourning Dove?” my brother asked.
“I can’t go over there on the weekends unless I have a good excuse.” I probably could have come up with one, but I was having second thoughts about my friendship with Julia. She didn’t really know me; how could she like me? She’d phoned twice, and both times I’d picked up the phone, then hung up. When my mother asked who had called, I told her it had been a wrong number, someone looking for a kennel for her dog. Maybe I just wanted to end the friendship before Julia did.
James seemed to be having doubts of his own. “Agate probably thinks I was a hallucination. I’m sure she’s forgotten all about me.”
I didn’t think so. I’d seen the look on her face. I didn’t know if people really could fall in love at first sight, but if it was possible, then she had.
“I don’t know how much longer I can stay in thisattic,” James
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