The Wikkeling (14 page)

Rose's father was tall, slender, and darker-skinned than Rose, with curly black hair. He wore khaki cotton pants, which Henrietta could identify easily because they weren't shiny like most pants. Rose was wearing the same wool shirt Henrietta had seen her in the other day.

“You
walked
,” Gary said as they arrived.

“It's good to meet you both,” said Rose's father. His voice struck Henrietta as quite friendly. “Rose's mother told me you looked after Rose during her
headache. That was very kind.”

“I'm Henrietta, and this is Gary,” said Henrietta. “Come in and meet my mom.” She opened the front door and ushered everyone in.

Henrietta's mother was waiting in the sitting room, and she stood as the guests entered.

“It's nice to meet you,” said Rose's father. “Call me Sid.”

“Aline,” said Henrietta's mother. “Won't you have a seat? Sorry about this old house. We're planning to move soon.”

“Oh, I like old houses,” said Rose's father. “Some things about them can be quite nice.”

“You'll have to tell me what those things are,” said Henrietta's mother with a laugh.

“I don't think you've met my daughter, Rose,” said Sid.

“It's nice to meet you, Rose,” said Henrietta's mother. “Are you in kindergarten? You seem a little young, I must say.”

“I'm old,” said Rose.

“Can I make everyone some instant lavender tea?” She gestured toward the kitchen.

“Thank you, that would be nice,” said Sid.

“Um, can we go study now?” Henrietta blurted.

As soon as they entered Henrietta's room and closed the door, they saw that Henrietta and Gary had accidentally left the chair sitting atop her desk.
Henrietta winced at the oversight. They would need to be more careful.

“Why is that up there?” said Rose.

“Rose,” said Henrietta, “we're going to show you a secret. But you have to promise not to tell.”

Rose, used to keeping secrets, nodded.

Henrietta gave Gary an expectant look, and he clambered onto the chair, opened the trapdoor, and pulled himself up easily, as if he'd been doing it for months.

“An attic,” Rose observed, intrigued but not apparently amazed.

“When we're up there,” said Henrietta, “you have to be quiet so our parents don't hear.”

Henrietta was going to help Rose, because she seemed too small to climb up by herself, but to her surprise Rose zipped onto the desk and the chair, jumped to catch the frame of the attic door, and pulled herself inside, all in about half the time it normally took Henrietta, who followed as quickly as she could, feeling oafish in comparison.

The wild housecat stood and stretched on the couch as they entered.

“Rose,” said Henrietta, “this is a wild housecat. I found it up here.” Then to the cat she said, “This is my other friend, Rose.”

The cat curled its tail over its feet and yawned.

“What's its name?” said Rose.

“I . . . don't know!” said Henrietta, a little taken aback.

“Yeah, we
should
call it something other than just ‘the cat,'” said Gary.

“What's a good name for a wild housecat?” said Henrietta.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” said Rose.

“I don't know that, either,” said Henrietta. “My grandpa said it's supposed to be extinct, but I don't know much else.”

They all looked at the cat. It did not announce its gender.

“We should pick something that would work either way,” said Henrietta.

“How about Mister Lady?” said Rose.

Gary and Henrietta grinned. “Perfect!” said Gary.

“Do you mind if we call you Mister Lady?” Henrietta asked.

The cat narrowed its eyes a little and cocked its head. It didn't seem thrilled. “It doesn't
not
like it,” said Gary. He turned away from the couch and walked over toward the windows.

“If you ever want us to call you something different,” said Henrietta, “just . . . let us know.” That cat perhaps nodded a little bit, though Henrietta couldn't be sure. It lay down and curled up on the couch, closing its eyes.

“I've only been up here a few times,” said Henrietta to Rose. “I don't know what any of the stuff back there is.” She gestured past the bookcases at the many shadowy objects behind in the deep recesses. “It used to belong to my grandmother.”

“Rose, come look out the windows,” said Gary. Rose and Henrietta joined him.

On the street below, a woman with a cart full of fruit gestured toward her apples, several adults on the sidewalk carried on an animated discussion, and a group of children skipped past, joking with one another and playing tag. One of them jumped onto the giant stump and ran across it.

“I don't understand,” said Rose.

“This is the past,” said Gary. “That's what the street outside used to look like here, a long time ago.”

“We don't know why we can see it, though,” said Henrietta. She and Gary were waiting for the moment when Rose understood, and became as thrilled as they had been. Instead of seeming surprised, though, Rose said, “Their school gets out a little after ours.” Gary and Henrietta saw that the children walking past below were all carrying books and book bags.

Henrietta glanced over at the couch then to see Mister Lady hop down from it and limp over with some difficulty to stand next to the three of them, looking down on the old town with a gaze that seemed somehow sad. After a moment, the cat put a paw gently up against the glass.

“I think Mister Lady might be from there,” Rose speculated. “Maybe she's wishing she could go back.”

Henrietta glanced at the couch again, and noticed something. The cobweb she'd earlier placed there was gone. “Hey!” she said to Mister Lady. “Did you eat that?”

Mister Lady limped back over to the couch and laboriously climbed onto it, her injured leg dangling awkwardly. She looked at the three of them, and her expression, if Henrietta interpreted it correctly, said
It's about time you noticed.

Henrietta said, “I've been trying to figure out what it eats! I was reading this—” she pointed to the
Bestiary
, open on the coffee table. She flipped to the page on wild housecats as Gary and Rose looked on.

“That's a drawing of one!” said Gary, pointing at the illustration in amazement. “Right there, like in a textbook, like it's real!”

“It is real,” said Henrietta. “And read the entry.” She gestured to the cursive.

“I can't read cursive,” said Rose.

Henrietta looked to Gary.

“Uh . . .” he said. His eyes darted around suddenly, evasively, and he backed away from the book. He turned partway toward the trapdoor, but stopped. A grim determination settled on his features, and he faced his friends. “I have to tell you both something,” he said. “My secret.” He looked up at the rafters and then down at his shoes. “It's . . . well . . .” He hesitated, and seemed to brace himself. “I can't read,” he said finally. He spat the words.

In the midst of the strangeness of the attic, this really was a surprise. Henrietta had half expected Gary to admit that he could make things float with his mind, or become invisible. It took her a moment to absorb his admission.

“But you're the teacher's kid,” she said. Gary's face turned scarlet, and he glanced at Rose. Henrietta clapped one hand over her mouth—she'd been so shocked, she'd forgotten that this was also a secret.

“It's okay,” Gary sighed. “Rose, my mom is our teacher.” Rose nodded, still somehow immune to surprise.

“But you pass the practice tests!” Henrietta protested. “And the Competency Exams! You're the best in class.”

“I know how to
type
,” said Gary. “I just can't read what I type.”

“What about when we write compositions?”

“I ask my mom what it's going to be, and then I copy stuff the night before and memorize the letters.”

“That seems harder than reading,” said Henrietta.

“Well, it isn't,” said Gary. “And don't tell my mom. If she knew, she'd ground me forever.”

“You'd be Finished,” said Henrietta.

“Yeah,” said Gary. “But the thing is, too—” Now that he'd started talking, he wasn't about to stop. From the quickness with which the words spilled forth, it was obvious he'd wanted to confess this for a long time. “—I think I'd
like
being a garbage collector. I wouldn't have to fake anything anymore. And, and, actually . . .” Gary put his hand in his pocket and pulled it out to reveal a small, crumpled up piece of paper. He sat at the table and began to unfold it. “I kind of like garbage. I have a collection of it.”

Henrietta and Rose stared at him as he continued to attentively smooth the small sheet.

“Trash?” said Henrietta.

“Interesting trash,” said Gary. “Like this,” he said. He finished smoothing out the little piece of paper. It was a sticky note which had the words
henRift and andi
scrawled upon it.

“Where did you get that?” Henrietta and Rose said simultaneously. For the first time, Rose looked completely surprised.

“History Nutrition room trash can,” said Gary. “I saw Henrietta throw it out, and I wondered what it was. I've looked at it for awhile. I think someone made a mistake on it. I think it says ‘And and I.' I'm not sure,” he admitted, still obviously embarrassed by his poor reading skills.

“Rose wrote it,” said Henrietta.

“That movie was wrong,” said Rose. “There's no one named Henrift Andi.
It was two people. Henrift and Andi.”

“How do you know?”

“A book my dad read me,” said Rose. “It said there were two people. They were scientists. A man and a woman.”

“That's weird,” said Henrietta. “Why would the movie be wrong?”

“I wish I could read,” said Gary, folding the sticky note and returning it to his pocket.

“Well, we did tell my mom we'd study,” said Henrietta.

Gary looked doubtful. “I'm pretty stupid,” he said. “Maybe we could try later. Weren't you about to tell us something?”

Henrietta let the issue drop. She pointed at the
Bestiary
. “This says wild housecats eat cobwebs, and so I put a cobweb on the couch, and . . .”

“And Mister Lady ate it?” said Gary. “Let's get more!” There was a relieved note in his voice.

For the next several minutes, they forgot themselves in a flurry of gathering. Henrietta and Gary stayed close to the main area, both still a little nervous about being on their own. The dark lanes of old stuff behind the bookshelves, though full of magnificent cobwebs, seemed a bit scary. But this didn't deter Rose. The attic reminded her of home. The moment she'd arrived and taken a breath she smelled the wonderful rich pages of all the old books.