Click-clack-click. She smiled at her husband.
"Well, dearest Mother?" persisted Anni, sarcastic now.
Aunt Belle stopped smiling. "I don't know about Miranda, but you may not. We don't know them."
Helen laughed apologetically. "We don't know the boys wellâMandy has been too busyâbut we were over at their house the other evening..." Her voice trailed off. "I've spoken with their mother several times. They live just across the street in that old house that's the Garnet Museum now. They're perfectly nice boys."
Simon pulled on Miranda's hand. "C'mon, then. Let's go!"
Aunt Belle's knitting needles stopped abruptly. "I said no, Simon. You stay away from those children, do you hear me?"
Uncle Willy glanced sharply at Aunt Belle. "What's with you? Of course they can go play!" He nodded to Simon. "Go ahead, kids."
Miranda stretched in the swing. "You two go on. I'll sit here."
Anni scowled. "Why is everybody being so weird?"
"I'm not! I just want to sit here. Maybe later."
"Later you three children shall all be put to bed," said Aunt Belle angrily.
Miranda bristled at the cold, formal tone. What was eating Aunt Belle? She felt her own temper rise. "I'm thirteen years old," she snapped. "No one puts me to bed!"
"Mandyâ," chided Helen.
Simon and Anni leaped down the creaky steps into the yard. Behind the bushes and the magnolia tree their laughter and shrieks rang gaily. Miranda turned sideways on the swing and put her feet up. Something seemed wrong here. She felt out of place. She wished she had gone with her father. If she had, she would be safe and cool in the Rosenbaums' tiny, air-conditioned apartment.
Safe? Odd word. She was safe here, of course. Yet, there
was
something. She couldn't put her finger on it. Everything seemed normal enoughâexcept for Aunt Belle's bad temperâand yet the air was different. Charged, somehow. She tried to pinpoint it. Sort of like the fear she'd felt last night and on the attic steps today. A tensionâlike the first stages of the dollhouse terror: an intensified awareness of the slightest nuances in voices and atmosphere.
But how could she feel terror in such an ordinary setting? This was a cozy family reunion. She wasn't even alone. A porch. Her aunt, uncle, and mother talking softly in the dusk. Ice clinking in drinks. A June evening, tree frogs everywhere, and the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms.
The smell of magnolia blossoms.
Something nudged Miranda's memory. Terror and the smell of magnolias? Miranda rubbed her eyes. No connection thereâand yet, and yet there was
something...
"Mither?"
"Hmm?"
"Mither, come sit with me."
Helen smiled and stood up, smoothing her pleated summer skirt, and sat down again next to Miranda on the swing. She drew her long legs up under her skirt and circled Miranda's narrow shoulders with one arm. She smelled of fresh air. Miranda leaned her head on Helen's shoulder, eyes closed. They rocked gently.
A red Frisbee landed with a clatter on the porch floor, and Buddy's face appeared in the bushes by the porch railing. "Oops!" he laughed. "That was out of bounds."
Uncle Willy leaned over, retrieved the Frisbee, and sailed it out over the bushes. "Here you go, fella."
"Thanks!"
There was laughter in the bushes, and Simon's fair head appeared next to Buddy's. He waved the Frisbee. "Thanks, Dad. I guess I threw it too far. Don't know my own strength!"
With a low sound in her throat, Aunt Belle was on her feet. "Simon!" Miranda jerked her head off Helen's shoulder, startled by the venom in Aunt Belle's voice. "You come up here right now, young man! And where is Anni?"
"She's right here," said Simon in a small, uncertain voice.
Buddy looked from Simon to his mother, then lifted the Frisbee from Simon's hands. "Guess you gotta go," he said, shrugging. "See you later."
"Get back up on this porch this instant," hissed Aunt Belle. "Didn't I say you weren't to play with those street children? Didn't I warn you?"
"Belle!"
"Well, dearest Mother?" persisted Anni, sarcastic now.
Aunt Belle stopped smiling. "I don't know about Miranda, but you may not. We don't know them."
Helen laughed apologetically. "We don't know the boys wellâMandy has been too busyâbut we were over at their house the other evening..." Her voice trailed off. "I've spoken with their mother several times. They live just across the street in that old house that's the Garnet Museum now. They're perfectly nice boys."
Simon pulled on Miranda's hand. "C'mon, then. Let's go!"
Aunt Belle's knitting needles stopped abruptly. "I said no, Simon. You stay away from those children, do you hear me?"
Uncle Willy glanced sharply at Aunt Belle. "What's with you? Of course they can go play!" He nodded to Simon. "Go ahead, kids."
Miranda stretched in the swing. "You two go on. I'll sit here."
Anni scowled. "Why is everybody being so weird?"
"I'm not! I just want to sit here. Maybe later."
"Later you three children shall all be put to bed," said Aunt Belle angrily.
Miranda bristled at the cold, formal tone. What was eating Aunt Belle? She felt her own temper rise. "I'm thirteen years old," she snapped. "No one puts me to bed!"
"Mandyâ," chided Helen.
Simon and Anni leaped down the creaky steps into the yard. Behind the bushes and the magnolia tree their laughter and shrieks rang gaily. Miranda turned sideways on the swing and put her feet up. Something seemed wrong here. She felt out of place. She wished she had gone with her father. If she had, she would be safe and cool in the Rosenbaums' tiny, air-conditioned apartment.
Safe? Odd word. She was safe here, of course. Yet, there
was
something. She couldn't put her finger on it. Everything seemed normal enoughâexcept for Aunt Belle's bad temperâand yet the air was different. Charged, somehow. She tried to pinpoint it. Sort of like the fear she'd felt last night and on the attic steps today. A tensionâlike the first stages of the dollhouse terror: an intensified awareness of the slightest nuances in voices and atmosphere.
But how could she feel terror in such an ordinary setting? This was a cozy family reunion. She wasn't even alone. A porch. Her aunt, uncle, and mother talking softly in the dusk. Ice clinking in drinks. A June evening, tree frogs everywhere, and the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms.
The smell of magnolia blossoms.
Something nudged Miranda's memory. Terror and the smell of magnolias? Miranda rubbed her eyes. No connection thereâand yet, and yet there was
something...
"Mither?"
"Hmm?"
"Mither, come sit with me."
Helen smiled and stood up, smoothing her pleated summer skirt, and sat down again next to Miranda on the swing. She drew her long legs up under her skirt and circled Miranda's narrow shoulders with one arm. She smelled of fresh air. Miranda leaned her head on Helen's shoulder, eyes closed. They rocked gently.
A red Frisbee landed with a clatter on the porch floor, and Buddy's face appeared in the bushes by the porch railing. "Oops!" he laughed. "That was out of bounds."
Uncle Willy leaned over, retrieved the Frisbee, and sailed it out over the bushes. "Here you go, fella."
"Thanks!"
There was laughter in the bushes, and Simon's fair head appeared next to Buddy's. He waved the Frisbee. "Thanks, Dad. I guess I threw it too far. Don't know my own strength!"
With a low sound in her throat, Aunt Belle was on her feet. "Simon!" Miranda jerked her head off Helen's shoulder, startled by the venom in Aunt Belle's voice. "You come up here right now, young man! And where is Anni?"
"She's right here," said Simon in a small, uncertain voice.
Buddy looked from Simon to his mother, then lifted the Frisbee from Simon's hands. "Guess you gotta go," he said, shrugging. "See you later."
"Get back up on this porch this instant," hissed Aunt Belle. "Didn't I say you weren't to play with those street children? Didn't I warn you?"
"Belle!"
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