100 Cupboards (7 page)

“My pride's why I asked him,” Frank muttered. “He couldn't open it, either. Proved I didn't need him.” He set his tea down. “I'm gonna blob with the girls.”

Anastasia and Penelope were on the floor in front of the television. Frank plopped next to them.

“Henrietta went upstairs with Henry,” Anastasia said. “She said we couldn't come.”

“Did you want to go?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” Anastasia said.

“No,” Penelope said. “Henry's not very good at playing games. Henrietta is just being nice to him.”

“I think they have a secret,” Anastasia said.

“It's not nice to try and find out people's secrets,” Penelope said.

“Secrets are for finding out. Dad, do you think they have a secret?”

“Why don't you ask them?” Frank said.

Anastasia was excited. “Can I? Do they have to answer?”

“No,” Frank said. “No, they don't have to answer.”

“Can I ask them now?”

“Sure. Penny and I will keep track of the television for you, won't we, Pen?”

Penelope just bit her lip as Anastasia ran to the stairs.

Anastasia reached the attic stairs, slowed down, and listened. She knew that the first step to asking about secrets is seeing how much you can find out by sneaking. She had been wanting to sneak for days. She had wanted to follow Henrietta when she got out of bed late the night before. Penelope hadn't let her. She wanted to spy on Henry in his room and go through his drawers, but Penelope wouldn't let her. Penelope thought it was more fun when people wanted to tell you things. Anastasia thought it was more fun to find out what they didn't want to tell you.

She could hear Henrietta's voice, though she couldn't tell what she was saying, and she could hear something slopping heavily on the floor. She could also hear tape being unrolled and torn across the teeth of its plastic holder. She spread her feet all the way against the walls on both sides of the stairs, put out her hands a few steps up, and began crawling.

“How do you think the latch came undone?” she heard Henrietta ask. “I saw you latch it. I know you didn't forget.”

“I don't know,” Henry said.

“It's a lot of water. You'll have to curl up on the dry end of your bed tonight.”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “I don't know if I'll sleep, though. I drank a lot of soda.”

“So did I.”

“I've never had soda before.”

“What? You haven't?” Henrietta laughed. “Why not?”

“I think because it's bad for your teeth.”

“Isn't everything bad for your teeth?”

“Probably.”

“I think the worms are funny. It's weird that they came through.”

“Yeah. I don't think they like my floor.”

“Do you think the worms were Quantummed?”

“I don't know where they came from, but they'll probably like the backyard.”

“I'm done with your wall. Should I put some on the ceiling?”

“Sure.”

“What about the other wall?”

“Sure.”

Henry was not thinking about what Henrietta was saying. He was slapping towels on the floor and squeezing them out into a bucket. His bucket needed to be dumped. He picked it up and walked to the top of the stairs.

Anastasia was splayed out on all fours about halfway up. She straightened quickly.

“Hi, Henry,” she said. “I was just coming up.”

“Oh,” Henry said. At the sound of her sister's voice, Henrietta came scurrying out of Henry's room.

“Anastasia, you're awful!” Henrietta said. “You were eavesdropping!”

“No, I wasn't.” Her eyes went big. “I was just coming to ask you something. Can I come up?”

“No,” Henrietta said. “You were sneaking.”

“It's okay,” Henry said. “You can come up.” He put the bucket down and moved aside. Anastasia climbed the remaining stairs quickly, trying not to look at her sister. Henrietta was making faces.

Anastasia stepped into Henry's doorway. Henry and Henrietta stood behind her. “Where'd you get all the posters?” she asked. The wall was completely covered with images of a basketball player, arms crossed, glaring. The posters were all taped together into a single sheet. Most were vertical, some were leaning, and one was upside down. Another one dangled from the ceiling, where Henrietta had not yet finished her taping.

“Dad gave them to me for Henry's room,” Henrietta said. “He had them in the barn.”

“All the same one?” Anastasia asked.

“Yeah, I don't mind,” Henry said. Anastasia looked down at the still-wet floor. “Were you trying to keep a fish?” she asked. “Mom wouldn't mind a fish.”

“No,” Henry said.

“Frogs?”

“Nope.”

“Salamanders?”

“Uh-uh,” Henry said.

“Then what's the water from?”

“Nothing,” Henrietta said.

“A rain cloud,” Henry answered.

Anastasia stepped into Henry's room. Henrietta followed, standing right beside her.

Anastasia felt the bed. Then she saw the worms.

“I wish you would tell me about your secret. I've been wanting to spy, but Penny won't let me. Why won't you tell? I won't tell on you. Penny and I can keep a secret.”

“Penny can,” Henrietta said. She crossed her arms and shook back her hair.

Anastasia looked hurt. “I keep secrets!”

“Who told Mom about the rat skulls in the barn?” Henrietta asked.

“Well, I didn't mean to.”

“Who told Becky Taller about the fort in the chestnut trees?”

“I don't even like Becky Taller!”

“Well, who told her, then? Who told Dad about the boots we were getting him for his birthday?”

“He forgot! He was still surprised.”

“Who told Mom when I tried to climb the water tower?”

“I did not tell that!”

“You climbed the water tower?” Henry asked. “The tall one on the other side of town?”

“Yeah. Dad came and got me before I could get very high because someone told.” She stared at Anastasia.

“It wasn't me,” Anastasia said. “It really wasn't. I promise.”

“Well, you told all the other times.”

“Not on purpose. If you tell about the water and the worms, then I promise I won't tell anyone, not even Penny.”

“If we told you, we would tell Penny,” Henrietta said.

“I already told you,” Henry said. “It came from a rain cloud.”

Anastasia looked at him and curled her lip. “That's not very nice. Most water probably came from a rain cloud.”

“We might tell you soon,” Henry said. “I have to go dump the bucket.” He scooped the towels up, carried them to the bucket, and started down the stairs. Anastasia followed him down onto the landing.

“Henry?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I can't keep a secret?”

He stopped and looked at her. “I don't know, can you?”

“It's kind of hard, but sometimes I can.”

“Okay. I'll tell you a secret. Don't tell anybody.”

“Okay.”

“I don't want to go back to Boston.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “What about your parents?”

“I hope they're okay, but I don't want to go back. They would never let me have a knife or ride in the back of the truck or drink soda or play baseball without a helmet.”

“Real baseball players wear helmets,” Anastasia said.

“They made me take a special class when I wet the bed.”

“You wet the bed?”

“I used to.”

“I won't tell anybody.”

“Okay,” Henry said, and he went into the bathroom. Anastasia went downstairs. She didn't tell anyone. It would have been harder if Penelope had asked.

“I thought he was keeping a fish,” she whispered to Penelope. “But Henrietta said they weren't.”

 

That night, Henry read on the dry end of his bed until he was sure his aunt and uncle were asleep. Then he pulled down the sheet of posters and looked at his collection of doors. He got out the chisel Henrietta had brought him and began prying and scraping at the remaining plaster.

Downstairs, Frank told Dotty not to worry about the scratching noise, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Henry worked much faster with a chisel, and he was getting the hang of how the old plaster broke off. He was also still heavily caffeinated from the barbeque and not even slightly tired.

The plaster in the upper corners came off quickly, and he tipped his dresser onto his bed so he could stand on its side to reach the very top of the wall where the ceiling peaked. There were no little doors that high, just a wooden panel crowning the whole wall. He climbed down off his dresser, stood it back up on the floor, and tried to quietly pull his bed away from the wall to get at the bottom.

Henrietta came in just as he finished moving his bed. She had waited a very long time for her sisters to fall asleep.

Most of the plaster behind the bed came off quickly because water had seeped down behind it and loosened it up. But the bottom corners still took the two children a great deal of time to clear off. The plaster was thinner there, cracked easily, and came off in tiny pieces.

When Henry finished and stepped back to look at his wall, the caffeine was gone and he was tired enough to fall asleep standing up. His arms and wrists were sore, and yawns came with almost no break between them. Henrietta, who had been sweeping and cleaning while Henry chipped, stopped as well and stood beside him.

“How many are there?” she asked.

Henry yawned. “I don't know. A lot. They're pretty small.”

Henrietta started counting. Henry was too tired to count, so he just waited for her to finish.

“Ninety-nine,” she said finally. “There are ninety-nine. Ninety-nine is a lot.”

“Yeah.” Henry yawned again.

“Should we go dump all the plaster now?” Henrietta asked.

Henry yawned again. He nodded. He couldn't talk.

The blanket was not piled as high as it had been the last time, but it was still very heavy. An exhausted Henry heaved his makeshift sack, and Henrietta followed him, picking up the pieces that he dropped.

When they arrived outside, the night air roused them a bit, but not much. Every time Henry yawned, Henrietta's jaw quaked and then opened wide as she fought one of her own.

The two of them finally made it to the irrigation ditch, watched the plaster slide down into the oily-looking night water, and sat down.

“I fell asleep here last time,” Henry said. “It was early, but the sun was up. Your dad found me. He didn't even ask what I was doing.”

“He never does.”

“I'd like to sleep here again. It's much nicer than inside.”

“You'd get cold.”

“It's not that cold out here,” Henry said. “It's just nice.”

“I've done it before,” Henrietta said. “Eventually you still get cold. Have you ever slept outside at night?”

Henry shook his head.

“Not even in a tent?”

Henry shook his head again. “I slept in a sleeping bag once. Mom said I had to keep it on top of my bed, but I slept on the floor. She thought I'd fallen out of bed.” He was staring at the moon's strange face. Henrietta didn't say anything. He turned to look at her. She was asleep in the grass. Her mouth was open.

“Henrietta,” he said. He poked her in the shoulder, and she woke. “We should go inside, or we'll both fall asleep.”

“Okay,” she muttered, and he helped her up. The two of them dragged bare feet through the beautifully damp grass, a wet and dirty blanket dragging behind them.

Henry said goodbye to Henrietta at her door, climbed his stairs, and threw his blanket on his bed. Where it had been wet, it was now filthy with dust that would not shake off. He didn't care. He didn't even bother to reattach his sheet of posters. He dropped his clothes and climbed onto his bed, put his head in the corner, remembered something, reached over, turned off his light, and closed his eyes in the darkness.

 

Henry didn't know if he had been asleep for hours or if he had only just gotten into bed. All he knew was that there was a light on in his room. It was supposed to be dark. What does that matter? his sleeping mind wondered. He didn't open his eyes. His bare feet squirmed around on the wet part of his sheets.

Suddenly he was wide awake. The light was shining across the end of his bed, lighting his damp feet. It was coming from the post office box.

Henry sat up and slid to the end of his bed, kicking his tangled bedding to the floor. Holding his breath, he looked through the narrow glass panel. Inside the darkness of the box, a single postcard leaned against the left side. Beyond that, the box opened onto a yellow room glowing with light. Henry's mind, back up to normal speed, remembered the key in his pants pocket.

Henry jumped off his bed and rustled through the sheet-and-blanket pile on the floor, hunting for his pants. When he found them, he reached for the pocket, then he panicked. What if the key had fallen out when he fell down at first base? Or when he fell down at second base? Or in right field? Then his fingers found the string and pulled it out.

The key swung and spun in the dim light. Henry hopped back onto his bed and felt for the keyhole. He pressed the key to the lock. Nope. He flipped the key around and tried again. It slid into place. He turned it, felt the latch release, and pulled open the little door.

Henry was peering through a mailbox into somewhere else. The somewhere else was mostly yellow. Then Henry heard someone whistling, and a pant leg came into view not two feet from Henry's face.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The
pant leg was gray. It shifted, shuffled, and then stood still. The whistling slowed and stopped. A thick hand, wiry with black hair, reached down and slid a long envelope into Henry's box, next to the old postcard. Then the pant leg moved on, just one step judging from the click of the shoes, but out of Henry's range of vision.

Henry did not wonder if he was dreaming. He was too surprised for that. Instead, he stared, hardly breathing, into the yellow place. He could still hear the whistling, sometimes faint and distant, sometimes closer. He could hear the clicking of shoes as the pant legs walked about, but he only saw them walk by once more. The yellow place was not something that would have normally intrigued Henry, and a man's pant leg never would have. But seeing them just through a small box in his bedroom wall, which he knew to be an exterior wall facing the barn and miles of fields, made them far more interesting. And so Henry stared for quite a long time, at nothing much, which should never have been there.

When a boy finds a spider that isn't moving, he generally stops to examine it. If it persists in its lack of motion, even if it looks like it might be dangerous, he will poke it with a stick, just to see what it does. If it's a snake, he might use a longer stick or even a well-tossed rock. Henry was in a similar situation. He was looking at something more surprising than most people imagine possible. And yet it wasn't doing much.

Henry didn't have a stick. He didn't have a rock. So he reached up and pushed the long envelope back through the box and heard it drop to the floor on the other side. The whistling stopped. The yellow place was silent for a moment, and then the shoes began clicking toward him. Half a pant leg came into view. The leg inside it bent. A hand passed by. It traveled to the floor, then passed back the other way. It was holding the envelope.

“Hmm,” a voice said. Henry caught his breath as a face, cocked sideways, came into view and looked straight at him. It was a man's face, long and thin, with a biggish gray mustache. The man peered inside the box while the hand came up and reslotted the envelope. Then the man stood, the whistling began once more, and the feet clicked their way elsewhere. Henry began breathing again.

It did not take Henry very long to become uncomfortable, hunched over with his face filling the small door. He tried shifting his weight, sitting instead of kneeling, but his neck kept kinking and his back ached. Finally, he pushed the sheet of posters to the far end of the room and slid off the bed onto the floor. He sat facing the cupboards, with his back against the opposite wall and his feet under his bed. From this position, he stared at the little rectangle of yellow light. But he didn't stare for long, because now that he was finally comfortable, he fell asleep.

When he woke, his right cheek was resting on his shoulder, his neck was kinked, and the light was gone. Henry hit his shin on the bottom of his bed standing up, yelped, then crawled onto his bed and felt for the small door. When he found it, he pulled out the long envelope and the postcard and dropped them on his bed. Then he sat and stared at the darkness, wondering what he should do next. He put his hand in the small post office box and felt around. Then he reached in deeper. It was only about a foot deep, and his hand quickly found the open back. He had an idea. With his left hand, he felt around for the latch on the door to the wind and trees. It slid easily, and the door swung open, letting in its earthy smell. That door was just above the little mailbox; a two-inch strip of wood was all that separated them.

Leaving his right hand in the mailbox, Henry leaned to the side and put his left hand in the bigger cupboard. He waddled as close to the wall as he could get, until he thought both of his arms had to be sticking out the other side of the cupboards. Then, resting his chin on the wall, he felt for his hands. His right hand waggled around in the air, touching nothing. His left squished against something soft and damp. His hands were in two very different places, but his mind knew that they ought to be touching just on the other side of the wall. Adjusting to push farther into the mailbox, he bent his arm and reached as high as he could. His fingers twiddled around and felt an envelope. He had found the back of another post office box. He reached to the side and found another one.

Henry pulled his arms back through and rubbed his hands together. The back of the mailbox was apparently in a wall in a post office somewhere. The front was in his bedroom. The back of the other cupboard was in a forest or somewhere with trees. The front was in his bedroom. His left hand had felt moss and dirt in some place where it had just rained. His right had been in a post office, fingering other people's mail. His body was in his bedroom.

Henry sat in the dark for a long time, thinking thoughts that led nowhere and asking questions he couldn't answer. Eventually, breathing in the air that crawled through his wall from some other place, he slept again. He slept with both little doors open. And while he slept, he dreamed.

Henry stood barefoot in a green place. His toes curled and uncurled, digging into wet, thick moss. And there were trees. Enormous trees. It was a forest, but the trees were far apart, at least one hundred feet in most places. The canopy intermingled above him, sprawling out from the straight-trunked, smooth-skinned towers that had waited to throw out branches until they had reached well into the sky.

Henry was on a gentle slope, almost flat where he stood. But below him he could see the tops of trees. This and the coldness of the air told him he was on a mountain. Henry looked up the hill behind him, at the green, mossed earth and the trunks of great trees. He watched himself walk. He was not controlling his walk or his pace or what he looked at. He was simply following along as he wandered through the dream. He could feel the water squeeze out of the moss between his toes. He could smell the cold air and feel it in his lungs. He wanted to stop and run his hands along the smooth bark of the trees, to grip a great wooden belly with his arms. Instead, he walked and soon found himself in a clearing surrounded only by grass and sky. The slope rose only a little farther, and there at the top, a great rectangular slab of stone lay flat. It was almost as tall as Henry, and its edges were rounded.

Henry watched his hand reach out. The stone had been smooth once. Now moss and time had roughed its skin. Henry left his hand on its surface as he walked all the way around. On the other side grew the last tree.

This tree was thicker than those on the mountain's slopes, and not as tall. Its lowest branches were as broad as those on most trees he had ever seen. It was an old tree and looked as if it was dying. At the base of the trunk gaped a wide crack. Inside, the floor was all earth and rot. The wind was stronger on the top of the mountain and poured constantly through the old branches and their leaves.

Then Henry saw the dog. It was black and very large. It rushed up to the ancient tree and tried to force its head into the crack, pawing and scratching. Then it leapt away and ran to the slab of stone and scraped at the earth along its base. When it stood again, it hesitated, flaring its nostrils. It looked at Henry, or at where Henry was standing. The dog was huge, like a mastiff or a Dane, and with two steps it stood directly in front of Henry, its head nearly as wide as his waist. It cocked its head and smelled. Then it crouched and ran back to the tree.

It didn't make sense. Henry felt that he belonged there on that hill, that he knew the dog. His sleeping mind groped and grasped at old memories and found nothing it could hold.

Then the dog turned to him and said in a soft, feminine voice, “I don't think we should tell him. It's not real news and won't accomplish anything tonight, anyhow.”

The dream swirled. Henry couldn't see the tree, but the stone was still there.

“They're his parents. Why would I be keepin' secrets about his parents?” said another voice.

“It's not a secret. It's just not helpful,” the dog said.

“I know more than he does, and I don't see how that's right.”

“Well, you'll always know more than he does.”

“What are you saying?”

“Frank, they're not even his parents. Are you going to tell him that, too?”

Henry opened his eyes. He was on his bed, in his bedroom's darkness. The voices were very low. He could just make them out.

“If you tell him, at least wait until morning. It wouldn't do any good talking to him now.” There was silence. Then Frank muttered something Henry couldn't hear.

“Do you smell something?” Dotty asked. “The air feels crisp.”

“No,” Frank said. “I don't. The air feels like air to me.”

“Okay, then,” Dotty answered. “Come back down to bed.” Henry could hear footsteps and realized Frank had been just outside his doors. It sounded like Dotty was still standing on the stairs. The creaking began, and Henry knew they were both walking back down.

It was a strange thing for Henry to hear. But he was more immediately relieved that Uncle Frank hadn't come into his room. Henry sat up and shut the cupboard doors. Then he turned on his lamp and put the sheet of posters back on the wall. When he was done, he curled up at the top of his bed and turned off his light.

Some of his dream was disappearing, already losing itself in his mind, but he remembered the dog talking, and he remembered what it had said. He remembered waking and what his aunt and uncle had said.

His parents weren't really his parents.

Henry was almost relieved. He still hoped that they would be all right. But he wouldn't mind if they didn't come back until he was old enough to go to college. As long as they were comfortable.

 

Henry woke up and rolled over. Someone was knocking on his door.

“Come in,” he said.

Frank stepped in and sat down on the bed.

“Hi, Uncle Frank.” Henry sat up and yawned, as nervous as he was tired. He tried not to look at his posters.

“Mornin', Henry.” Frank wasn't looking at Henry. He was looking through the bedroom doors, down the attic, and out the window at the end. “I was gonna tell you somethin' last night, but Dots thought I should wait until mornin'. So here I am.”

Henry waited. When Frank didn't say anything else, he tried to help things along. “What is it?” he asked.

“Oh, well, yesterday a man calls up real late. He's with the government, and he tells us that your parents are alive. Been a ransom demand or some such.”

“Oh,” Henry said. “Is that it?”

“Yeah. Your aunt Dots didn't think it was a big deal. She thought it was awful late for someone to call us up just to state the obvious. Personally, I was surprised. Wouldn't have shocked me a bit if they'd knocked Ursula over the head. Amazes me they've kept her alive this long.” Frank rubbed his jaw. He hadn't shaved. “I guess there's money in it for 'em. How long's it been now? A month?”

“About. They told me a couple weeks before school was out.”

“Hmm,” Frank said, and he just sat there.

“Uncle Frank?” Henry asked.

“Yeah?”

“Are they really my parents?”

“Nope,” Frank said, and kept staring out the window.

“Oh,” Henry said.

“Did you wet the bed?” Frank asked.

“No.” Henry blushed and swung his legs onto the floor.

“Strange,” Frank said. “Feelin' a little damp in my seat.”

“Yeah, there was a spill.”

“Anyway…” Frank slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Thought you should know. Your aunt and I are heading into the city. Penny and Anastasia are comin' along. We should be back in time for a late dinner. I'm sure you got plenty to do. Ever use a computer? Got solitaire on mine, if you like. Don't tell the girls I let you.”

“You're leaving us here by ourselves?”

“You and Henrietta,” Frank said. “She wanted to stay. Said you would, too. Do you wanna come?”

“No. I'll be fine. But isn't that neglect? Can't you get into trouble?”

“Don't know why we would. Your aunt's already put sandwiches in the fridge for the two of you and left instructions for the casserole if we're late comin' back.”

Frank stepped out of Henry's room and then glanced back, looking over the wall of posters.

“Don't get into too much trouble,” he said, and headed for the stairs.

Henry tried to smile, then he lay back down. A few minutes later, he heard the truck erupt into life and the noise of spraying gravel as it pulled away.

Henry didn't feel like getting up, and so he didn't. It wasn't long before he heard Henrietta running up the stairs.

“Up, up, up!” Henrietta said, jumping on his bed. Her loose curls seemed to fill the room. “Everybody's gone.”

“Go out,” Henry said. “I have to get dressed.”

She did, but she kept talking from the attic.

“Mom and Dad were going to take us, too, but I said I didn't want to and that I thought you wanted to go to Zeke's, so they left us. Now we can figure out the doors, and we won't even have to be quiet.”