And the Trees Crept In(6)

No phone. No one home.





We were given separate rooms that night—our “forever” rooms, as Cath said with a smile. Mine was too big, too cold, and too empty—not to mention the floor was slanted and crooked in parts.

I had spent years imagining this manor, this magical place where nothing could hurt or upset us. A place of plenty, of light, of riches and luxury. And yet… this place was barren. The wallpaper hung loose, old and peeling, the furniture skeletal. Almost everything I had seen so far was either repaired with tape and glue, or broken entirely. And everything was older and shabbier than could be called elegant or antique. Even the wall sconces flickered unsteadily.

Still. All this space, all this room, and all I could do was stare at the ceiling.

Is this what safety feels like? I wondered, because I was still afraid and I was still alone. Nothing had changed, except now I had more area to move in. An actual bed. Clean hair and clothes.

But it was the same.



Knocking at my door. Knock, knock, knock, knock; pause. Knock, knock.



Scratch, scratch, knock.

hi. me.

For a four-year-old, Nori was gifted. I hated that she would never say the letters she knew so well. Despite my sadness, I was thrilled she had come. I knocked on the side of my bed frame.



OK.

My door creaked open and Nori slipped inside, dashing over the cold floorboards, hopping onto the bed and under my open duvet. She was a freezing little bundle, so I hugged her into me and rubbed her arms until she stopped shivering. The moon lit our room like silver.

It’s big, she signed.

I nodded.

There are funny noises.

“It’s just the wind,” I said. “Or maybe just the house cooling down.”

Nori pursed her lips, uncertain. Sounds like this, she signed, and then reached down and scratched at the bed so that it sounded like mice scuttling.

“Mice,” I told her. “Maybe we can make a pet of one.”

She snuggled closer into me. Don’t like my room.

“It’s bigger than you’re used to. But, trust me. When you get older you’ll be complaining that you have no space, just like we all do.”

The thought comforted me.

Her sleepy hands had more questions. What do you think Mama’s doing?

“Go to sleep.”

Silla?

“Mm?”

Are we safe?

The same question again.

“Yes,” I told her.

Are we? I thought.





2


under the table



Lookie here, why don’t you

you family all around

plenty of things to do

dangers lurk and abound!





Despite our fears, La Baume did become a haven. We went outside most mornings with Cath, into her prized garden. We’d watch her mow the lawn with an old-fashioned mechanical cutter, and then help her gather up the piles of grass. Nori would jump into them half the time, but Cath didn’t seem to mind. After a while, I loosened up and found myself laughing.

Picking the gooseberries, rhubarb, and mustard greens was my favorite. Digging in the earth and planting new seeds, even better. But Cath was the only one who cooked.

Days passed. A week. Three months.

“Lasagna tonight!” she’d announce on the days we were kept outside until evening, and then we’d eat until we couldn’t stuff in a single forkful more. And dessert, always a dessert. My favorite was milk tart.

It was paradise. It was almost a home.





One night, after a long day tilling the soil, we sat in the library together, Nori curled up on Cath’s right, asleep with her head on Cath’s lap, and I on the other side, sitting close, but not touching. I stared into the fire and felt my muscles begin to loosen. I was dozing comfortably when the lights died with a thwack!

I sat up, startled. Nori slept on.

“Don’t worry,” Cath said, her voice sleepy and warm. Lit only by the fire, she reminded me of my mother. The way she used to be before Nori came. Before Dad got bad. “It’s only the generator. I’ll see to it in the morning.”

“You run the power with a generator?” I whispered.

“The wiring here is old. Too old to be useful or safe.”

“I noticed my hair dryer cord didn’t fit in any of the plugs in my room.”

Cath smiled. “Sorry.”

We fell into a companionable silence.

After a while, she turned to me with warm eyes.

“I’m so glad you came, Silla.” The fire was reflected in her eyes. Mam’s eyes. I looked away. It was torture. I didn’t want to think of her, or Dad, or London—none of it.

She took my hand, and the touch jolted me. So warm. So foreign. “I really am,” she said. “Things must have been… awful.”

I nodded stiffly. What an understatement.

“I want you to know, I’m your family, too. And family isn’t always such a higgledy-piggledy.” I stared at her, mouth open. Hearing the words higgledy-piggledy coming from her mouth—anyone’s mouth—surprised a bubble of laughter out of me. It rose without warning and escaped before I could pop it.

“I like that,” Cath said, grinning down at me. “Your laugh is sweet. Did you know, I used to run an orphanage here, a while ago?” She stared deep into the fire. “You remind me of those children, Silla. So lost. Always afraid to laugh.” She looked down at me again. “Please don’t be afraid to be happy.”