The edge of everywhen, p.13
The Edge of Everywhen, page 13
He wondered where she was from, and what family may be missing her.
He wondered if their ruse would last long enough.
Prowlers
All he needed was a tin-foil sword and a morsel of imagination. The fairy tales made him invincible, and he conquered the world, every afternoon between school and tea-time.
—Laura Fullington
Sofia, you have outdone yourself,” said Mr. Greene, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. “That chicken was amazing!
“I helped!” Piper said as she grew warm on the inside. “Sofia is teaching me how to cook.”
Sofia smiled as she rose to clear the dishes, waving away their words as embarrassment brightened her cheeks. “Bah, wasn’t anything at all,” she said. “Piper, you’re a natural-born chef.”
Aunt Beryl quipped, “I’ve always said that cooking is a useful skill.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin and nodded her head with something that resembled approval. She rose and pushed back her chair as she said, “I believe I’ll go finish up a bit of paperwork and turn in early. Good night.” She took her leave of the Echo Chamber and Piper watched her go, wondering if Aunt Beryl would ever stop being so stiff and formal in their presence.
Mr. Greene jumped in to help clear the table, and Piper followed with her brother’s plate and her plate. As Piper put the dishes on the counter, Mr. Greene said, “I believe I’ll read a book before retiring tonight.”
It had been five days since I had found myself in Mr. Greene’s possession. He had been so busy with his regular duties, the charity ball, and the spring house maintenance chores that he hadn’t had an extra moment to spare.
“That sounds like a great plan!” Piper said. Phoenix had followed the group into the kitchen, and Piper elbowed him lightly. “I talked Mr. Greene into reading that book we liked so much,” she said. “You know? The new story?”
Phoenix looked at his sister, and then turned to look directly at Mr. Greene for the first time since the children had lived there. Piper’s breath caught in her throat as Phoenix smiled.
It was a little smile, but it was there and unmistakable, and it was something Piper hadn’t seen since she couldn’t remember when.
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t want to overreact. “You think he’ll like it, huh?” she said. “Me, too.”
Mr. Greene beamed at Phoenix and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “I look forward to reading it,” he said.
“Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself staying up all night,” Piper said. “It’s the kind of book that sucks you in and suddenly . . . poof ! Eight hours are gone!”
He laughed. “I will consider myself warned.”
Phoenix and Piper took the dogs for a short walk as the sun began to set, but the late spring temperatures in Maine still weren’t warm enough for their Southern blood, so they didn’t stay outside for long. They took their showers and put on pajamas, and Piper went to tuck Phoenix into bed.
She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor with his laminated flipbook in one hand, open to Gordon’s face. He had Gordon’s beachcombing photo in the other hand, and his gaze went back and forth between the two.
“I can read to you, if you want,” Piper suggested. She had brought Where the Sidewalk Ends with her, knowing that Phoenix loved to trace his finger over the drawings while she read aloud.
They climbed into his bed, and after a few minutes of listening to Piper read the whimsical poetry, Phoenix started to nod off. She tucked the blankets around him and switched off the lamp. When she leaned in to kiss his forehead, he reached around Piper’s neck with one arm and gave his sister an awkward, gentle, sleepy hug. She hugged him back hard and whispered, “Good night, Phoenix. I love you, buddy.”
Piper hadn’t read The Hobbit in a while, so she propped up pillows in her bed and started to read. Opening the book that she had devoured so many times in so many different places was as comforting as visiting a long-lost friend. She became immersed in the tale, and after what felt like just a few minutes, she glanced at the clock. 11:54.
I wonder if Mr. Greene is awake right now reading the book.
Is he a fast reader? Or a slow reader? Is the magic working?
It won’t hurt anything just to go see.
Piper pulled on her robe and pushed her feet into her warm bootie slippers. The moon was bright and full, making a flashlight unnecessary. She crept down the service stairs, through the kitchen, and around through the Echo Chamber into the lonely Halls of Moria.
Piper tiptoed halfway across the marble floor. As the bright moonlight shone directly onto her light hair and pale face, it dawned on Piper that none of the windows in the Halls of Moria had any sort of curtains. She dropped down onto all fours and crawled the rest of the way to the window. Slowly she peeked her head over the windowsill and looked toward the little cottage behind the house.
A single light in Mr. Greene’s apartment was lit, but the sheer curtains covering the windows blocked Piper’s view, and her curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied unless she could see for herself. She wanted to see Mr. Greene’s face, to see if he was reacting to the book the same way she did.
Piper opened the back door and cringed when the pleasant Bing—Bong—Bing security chime sounded. She froze, hoping and praying that Aunt Beryl was sleeping too deeply to hear it. A few moments later Piper forced herself to relax, satisfied that she wasn’t about to get busted as she stepped out into the crisp night air. Leaving the back door open behind her, she crouched down as low as she could and crept awkwardly toward the lit window to the right of the cottage porch, failing to keep the bottom of her robe out of the wet grass. Once she reached her destination, she leaned her back against the cottage wall and crouched beneath Mr. Greene’s illuminated window and let out the breath she was holding.
Something warm touched Piper’s leg and it was all she could do not to scream. Mouser came into view, rubbing his head over and over against her knee and winding circles around her ankles as he purred. She scratched his ears and chided herself for being jumpy.
Piper pivoted to face the window, put her fingertips on the windowsill, and then inched her way upward until she could just see over the edge. This close to the window she could see through the sheer curtains, and a little thrill went through her body as she recognized the unmistakable glow of a pale blue light filling the tiny living room. Mr. Greene was sitting on a small couch reading by the light of a lamp, but Piper was disappointed that his body was turned in such a way that she couldn’t see his face. Her spying mission was only a partial success.
Still facing the window, she crouched back down slowly. Piper swiveled around on the balls of her feet, coming nose to nose with Phoenix squatting behind her in the dark.
A scream almost jumped out of her throat, but Piper clamped her hand across her mouth just in time and hoped the sound was muffled enough. Her heart thudded inside her chest at a thousand miles an hour, and she almost started laughing at the fright Phoenix had given her.
She didn’t dare say anything aloud for fear of being heard by Mr. Greene. She pointed back toward the main house and mouthed the word, “Go!”
Footsteps began to resonate from inside the cottage behind them, and Piper grabbed her brother’s arm and froze, still hunkered down beneath the window ledge. The cottage door opened, and Mr. Greene stepped onto the porch and looked directly toward their hiding place. The unmistakable sound of a smile softened the edges of his voice as he said, “You two should be in bed.”
Phoenix stood immediately from his crouching position, and Piper reluctantly stood as well. The chill of the night air had begun to seep into her robe, and she shivered, taking her brother’s hand. Unable to contain herself, Piper blurted out, “Is the story about you? Is it magic?”
“Good night, you two,” Mr. Greene replied firmly, ignoring her question.
Piper let out a huff and walked with Phoenix back to the main house, and the two of them dutifully went to bed.
The next morning Phoenix and Piper came downstairs to breakfast. Aunt Beryl was at her usual spot reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of tea, but Mr. Greene wasn’t there. “Good morning, Aunt Beryl,” Piper said with a stifled yawn, still sleepy from her midnight escapade.
“Good morning, Piper,” she replied, still as formal and stiff as ever.
As the children sat down at the table, Aunt Beryl eyed Phoenix’s movements, her eyes narrowing with a curious uncertainty. “Good morning to you too, Phoenix,” she said.
He looked at her and smiled a tiny smile, and Piper enjoyed the surprise in Beryl’s expression.
Sofia delivered a cloth-covered basket filled with warm raisin scones. Small bowls of lemon curd and Devonshire cream were already on the table. “Good morning, you two,” she said. “Sleep well?”
Piper nodded, breaking open a warm scone and slathering it with sweet cream and tangy lemon curd before taking a huge bite. “You have to teach me how to make these!” she said with her mouth full.
Sofia smiled and said, “Scones and biscuits are easy. How about you start making a list of what you want to learn to bake and just let me know when!”
Mr. Greene strode into the room, bringing in a little of the outside morning chill with him. He had been overseeing a crew of Friday morning groundskeepers who were busy tending the lawn. “Good morning!” he declared brightly, taking a seat next to Piper as Sofia brought him a cup of coffee. “Goodness, breakfast smells wonderful!”
As he prepared his plate, Piper watched him with an unspoken question mark written all over her face. She couldn’t just ask him about the book in front of Aunt Beryl without giving away their entire thieving charade and opening a giant can of worms. Piper hoped her expression would do the asking.
Mr. Greene broke open a steaming scone and spread some lemon curd on it, then took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. (He never talked with his mouth full, Dear Reader.)
He swallowed and smiled at Piper with twinkling eyes. Then he took a long sip of coffee and raised the cup in her direction as if he were making a toast.
“Magic,” he said with a little nod. “Some things in this world are just pure magic.”
Snickerdoodles
To know and be known, the reader and the writer. You cannot have one without the other.
—Ian Humphrey
Piper desperately wanted Mr. Greene to tell her more details about the story I had given him. But his day was filled with overseeing groundskeepers and taking three reluctant dogs to town for their annual veterinary visits. Piper had asked Sofia to teach her how to bake snickerdoodle cookies, so after breakfast was cleared, Piper tied an apron around her waist and joined Sofia in the kitchen. Phoenix sat at the breakfast bar with Gordon’s photo in one hand and a copy of The Tale of Despereaux in the other.
That valiant little mouse is a long-time friend of mine, Dear Reader. So much pluck and bravery packed into such a tiny body!
Sofia set out all the ingredients needed for the cookies, and then told Piper each ingredient to measure out ahead of time. “Your recipe isn’t written down?” Piper asked. “I wouldn’t be able to do it without a recipe. My cookies wouldn’t even be edible!”
Sofia laughed and tapped the side of her head with her finger, jostling a hairpin loose and causing a few strands of hair to stand up and wave. “They’re all right here,” she said. “I remember the recipes that my mama and gramma taught me when I was a little girl.”
There was a warm, gentle comfort that flowed out of Sofia. She seemed to be happy all the time, no matter what kind of work she was doing, or what sort of mess she was cleaning up, or how wild her hair might look. The simple act of making cookies with Sofia reminded Piper of home, of making cookies with Naomi at Christmas. It wasn’t a sad sort of reminding, though. It was the sort that filled Piper with a quiet sense of belonging.
Earlier Piper had seen Aunt Beryl go out the back door arrayed in gardening attire. Heavy brown work pants, thick waterproof boots, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt made her look like a different person, and a wide-brimmed droopy straw hat hid most of her face. Had Piper not seen her leave the house, she would’ve thought Aunt Beryl was just another groundskeeper.
“So it’s warm enough for Aunt Beryl to start working out in the garden again?” Piper asked as she sifted different ingredients with the flour.
“Yep,” said Sofia, passing over some eggs for Piper to crack into a bowl. “Mr. Greene said that every Friday, rain or shine, Ms. Bouchard goes outside and clips hedges and plants flowers and stuff all during the spring and summer. I guess she sleepwalks less when it’s warm and she can work outside, so it’s a welcome sight.”
Piper had to fish out a bit of eggshell from the first crack attempt, but the next one was shell-free. She added the vanilla and whisked it together the way Sofia showed her, and then added it all to the stand mixer bowl where the butter and shortening were softened and waiting.
She switched on the mixer to beat the butter and shortening with the eggs before pouring in the sugar, and in a few minutes the batter was smooth and creamy. Then she added the flour mixture to the bowl and mixed it all together.
“Why do you think my aunt walks in her sleep so much?” Piper asked as Sofia removed the mixing bowl from the stand and handed Piper a baking sheet covered in parchment paper.
“You’re gonna roll the dough in little balls like this,” Sofia said, demonstrating how it was done. “Make it a little smaller than a golf ball. Then you’ll roll it in the sugar and cinnamon like this, stick it on the pan, and press it down.” They both scooped small chunks of dough with their hands and rolled them into balls as Sofia answered Piper’s question.
“Now I’m not one for gossip, but it seems like there’s some stuff you ought to know about so you could kinda understand where your aunt is coming from.” Sofia wiped her hands on a cloth, choosing her words carefully. “This is what Mr. Greene has told me about all that. Your aunt loved your dad very, very much,” she said softly. “And I guess she was fine until about two years ago when she got word that he went missing. That’s when the sleepwalking started.”
“Aunt Beryl loved my dad?” Piper asked.
Sofia nodded. “Oh, yes. To hear Mr. Greene explain it, your aunt was like a second mama to your dad since she was so much older than him when he was born. She read to him constantly and pretty much helped raise him. I think she’s looking for him when she’s sleepwalking, because she’s worried. I’d worry too, if my baby brother went missing overseas, you know?”
Piper wondered why she didn’t know this about her father or her aunt, and she also wondered why they had only met Aunt Beryl once if she had truly doted on her only brother when he was a child. “Well, she is a lot older than he is, so I guess it would be like having a second mom,” Piper said as she continued scooping the dough with her fingers and rolling it in the cinnamon and sugar.
“I know Ms. Bouchard never had any children of her own, and she was so close with your dad. But when your mom and dad got married, I guess your aunt didn’t want to share her little brother with anybody, and she got really mad at your mom for taking him so far away to Atlanta. At least, that’s what Mr. Greene thinks happened.”
“So that’s why it seemed like she didn’t like me the first day we came here, when she said I looked like my mother,” Piper said. Some of her aunt’s quirky behavior began to make more sense.
Sofia arranged the raw cookie dough on the sheet pans and put two trays into the hot oven. “Yes, and from the pictures I’ve seen, you do look a lot like your mom. And I can’t believe how much Phoenix looks like your dad! Phoenix is the spitting image of Gordon at the same age, and your aunt sees that,” Sofia explained, setting the timer on the stove for eight minutes. “Maybe it makes her miss him and worry more, like she’s seeing him all the time, but it’s not him.”
“No wonder she acts the way she does around us!” Piper said. “She looks at both of us and it just reminds her of the brother she lost, and of the person who sort of took him away in the first place. Uncle Lonnie had already passed long before mom and dad got married, so I can sorta see why Aunt Beryl got so mad when my parents moved to Atlanta. I guess she never took the time to get to know my mom, or things might have been different.” Piper shrugged, “Dad always sent her Christmas cards and letters with our school pictures in them, but I guess she was too mad—or too sad—to write back.”
Piper washed her hands and brought Phoenix a glass of apple juice while they waited for the first batch of cookies to finish baking. As she came to stand beside him, Phoenix looked up at his sister and smiled. Piper suddenly had a lump in her throat again, and she wasn’t sure how long it would be before she got used to seeing him smile.
Seeing the book in her brother’s hand reminded Piper of something. “Oh, did Mr. Greene give you the books I picked out for you to read?” she asked.
Sofia looked at her shoes, embarrassment mingling with appreciation as she nodded. “I started with Because of Winn Dixie,” she said with a nod. “It’s really good so far. I hope it’s okay if I don’t get it back to you any time soon. I’m a really slow reader.”
“Keep it as long as you want,” Piper said. “Winn Dixie is one of my favorites.” She cocked her head sideways, confused. “I’m not trying to be nosey, but how did you learn to read a recipe if you have dyslexia?”
Sofia smiled and said, “Oh, I don’t mind. I learned how to cook by watching my mama and gramma, them telling me all the steps as we cooked together. I learned by doing instead of reading.”
The aroma of warm cinnamon wafted toward the breakfast bar from the direction of the oven, and as Piper breathed in the delicious scent, a thought struck her from out of the blue.
