Part 15 (2/2)

”'Sides, that's where my daddy gets his liquor, and she don't bother him none. They have some kind of still set up in there, and every once in a while when he ain't feeling too religious, he goes in and skims off a liddle bitty bit. It's awful sweet stuff.”

”I tried 's.h.i.+ne once at a party,” Ophelia said. ”That was back in Lynchburg. Yuck.” She hesitated. ”Are they, uh, are they listening to us right now?”

”Yeah,” Fran said. ”They're awful eavesdroppers.”

Ophelia turned around in a circle in the cluttered hall. ”Um, hi?” she said. ”I'm Fran's friend Ophelia? I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

In response came a series of clicks from the War Room.

Ophelia jumped. ”What's that?” she said.

”Remember I told you 'bout the reenactor stuff?” Fran said. ”Don't get freaked out. It's pretty cool.”

She gave Ophelia a little push into the War Room.

Of all the rooms in the house, this one was Fran's favorite, even if they dive-bombed her sometimes with the airs.h.i.+ps or fired off the cannons without much thought for where she was standing. The walls were beaten tin and copper, sc.r.a.p metal held down with twopenny nails. Molded forms lay on the floor, representing scaled-down mountains, forests, and plains where miniature armies were fighting desperate battles. There was a kiddie pool over by the big picture window, with a machine in it that made waves. Little s.h.i.+ps and submersibles, and occasionally one of the s.h.i.+ps sank and bodies would go floating over to the edges. There was a sea serpent made of tubing and metal rings that swam endlessly in a circle. There was a sluggish river, too, closer to the door, that ran red, and stank, and stained the banks. The summer people were always setting up miniature bridges over it, then blowing the bridges up.

Overhead were the fantastic shapes of the dirigibles, and the dragons that were hung on string and swam perpetually through the air above your head. There was a misty globe, too, suspended in some way that Fran could not figure, and lit by some unknown source. It stayed up near the painted ceiling for days at a time, and then sank down behind the plastic sea, according to some schedule of the summer people's.

”It's amazing,” Ophelia said. ”Once I went to the house of some friend of my father's. An anesthesiologist? He had a train set down in his bas.e.m.e.nt, and it was crazy complicated. He would die if he saw this.”

”Over there is a Queen, I think,” Fran said. ”All surrounded by her knights. And here's another one, much smaller. I wonder who won, in the end.”

”Maybe it's not been fought yet,” Ophelia said. ”Or maybe it's being fought right now.”

”Could be,” Fran said. ”Anyway, sometimes I come and sit and try and take in all the changes. I wish there was a book that told you everything that went on.

”Come on. I'll show you the room you can sleep in.”

They went up the stairs. BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BUT NOT TOO BOLD. The moss carpet on the second floor was already looking a little worse for wear. ”Last week I spent a whole day scrubbing these boards on my hands and knees. So of course they need to go next thing and pile up a bunch of dirt and stuff. They won't be the ones who have to pitch in and clean it up.”

”I could help,” Ophelia said. ”If you want.”

”I wasn't asking for help. But if you offer, I'll accept. The first door is the washroom,” Fran said. ”Nothing quare about the toilet. I don't know about the bathtub, though. Never felt the need to sit in it.”

”My mom always tells me not to sit down in the bathtub when we stay in a hotel,” Ophelia said. ”I think she thinks you get AIDS that way.”

”Far's I know, all you'd get is wet,” Fran said. ”Here's where you sleep.”

She opened the second door.

It was a gorgeous room, all done up in shades of orange and rust and gold and pink and tangerine. The walls were finished in leafy shapes and vines cut from all kinds of dresses and T-s.h.i.+rts and what have you. Fran's momma had spent the better part of the year going through stores, choosing clothes for their patterns and textures and colors. Gold-leaf snakes and fishes swam through the leaf shapes. When the sun came up in the morning, Fran remembered, it was almost blinding.

There was a crazy quilt on the bed, pink and gold. The bed itself was shaped like a swan. There was a willow chest at the foot of the bed to lay out your clothes. The mattress was stuffed with the down from crow feathers. Fran had helped her mother shoot the crows and pluck their feathers. She thought they'd killed about a hundred.

”I'd say wow,” Ophelia said, ”but I keep saying that. Wow, wow, wow. This is a crazy room.”

”I always thought it was like being stuck inside a bottle of orange Nehi,” Fran said. ”But in a good way.”

”Oh, yeah,” Ophelia said. ”I can see that.”

There was a stack of books on the table beside the bed. Like everything else in the room, all the books had been picked out for the colors on their jackets. Fran's momma had told her that once the room had been another set of colors. Greens and blues, maybe? Willow and peac.o.c.k and midnight colors? And who had brought the bits up for the room that time? Fran's great-grandfather or someone even farther along the family tree? Who had first begun to take care of the summer people? Her mother had doled out stories sparingly, and so Fran only had a piecemeal sort of history.

Hard to figure out what it would please Ophelia to hear anyway, and what would trouble her. All of it seemed pleasing and troubling to Fran in equal measure after so many years.

”The door you slipped my envelope under,” she said finally. ”You oughtn't ever go in there.”

Ophelia yawned. ”Like Bluebeard,” she said.

Fran said, ”It's how they come and go. Even they don't open that door very often, I guess.” She'd peeped through the keyhole once and seen a b.l.o.o.d.y river. She'd bet if you pa.s.sed through that door, you weren't likely to return.

”Can I ask you another stupid question?” Ophelia said. ”Where are they right now?”

”They're here,” Fran said. ”Or out in the woods chasing nightjars. I told you I didn't see them much.”

”So how do they tell you what they need you to do?”

”They get in my head,” Fran said. ”I guess it's kind of like being schizophrenic. Or like having a really bad itch or something that goes away when I do what they want me to.”

”Not fun,” Ophelia said. ”Maybe I don't like your summer people as much as I thought I did.”

Fran said, ”It's not always awful. I guess what it is, is complicated.”

”I guess I won't complain the next time my mom tells me I have to help her polish the silver or do useless c.r.a.p like that. Should we eat our sandwiches now, or should we save them for when we wake up in the middle of the night?” Ophelia asked. ”I have this idea that seeing your heart's desire probably makes you hungry.”

”I can't stay,” Fran said, surprised. She saw Ophelia's expression and said, ”Well, h.e.l.l. I thought you understood. This is just for you.”

Ophelia continued to look at her dubiously. ”Is it because there's just the one bed? I could sleep on the floor. You know, if you're worried I might be planning to lez out on you.”

”It isn't that,” Fran said. ”They only let a body sleep here once. Once and no more.”

”You're really going to leave me up here alone?” Ophelia said.

”Yes,” Fran said. ”Lessen you decide you want to come back down with me. I guess I'd understand if you did.”

”Could I come back again?” Ophelia said.

”No.”

Ophelia sat down on the golden quilt and smoothed it with her fingers. She chewed her lip, not meeting Fran's eye.

”Phew,” she said. ”OK. I'll do it.” She laughed. ”How could I not do it? Right?”

”If you're sure,” Fran said.

”I'm not sure, but I couldn't stand it if you sent me away now,” Ophelia said. ”When you slept here, were you afraid?”

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