Pale Phoenix (6 page)

"I think you should know, though," added Helen, "that I called the high school today to see if there had been a mistake with the address they gave us. But the Grove Street number is the one you gave them when you enrolled three weeks ago. Mr. Raphael was very upset to learn it's a false one. Then he contacted the school you told him you went to in Baltimore and discovered it doesn't have accurate records for you, either. It's all very strange." She frowned at Abby. "But does it need to be? What's going on? We only want to help you."

Abby stared at her. When she finally spoke, her voice was tense. "No one can help me."

Helen's frown deepened. "We'd like to try."

"Where do you live, if not on Grove Street?" pressed Miranda. "You have to be living somewhere."

"What right do you have to meddle in my life?" Abby asked shrilly. Her tense, drawn expression and hunched shoulders reminded Miranda of a stray dog she'd once seen in New York, cornered by boisterous boys.

"We have every right to look into the affairs of a thief!" Philip thundered.

"Just leave me alone, all of you." Abby's voice broke with tears. "All week, Mandy has been following me and watching me. I can't bear it anymore."

Philip shook his head. "I don't get it," he said wearily. "Does this really have to be such a mystery? You aren't being fair to accuse us of meddling when you are clearly in some trouble and need the help we would like to give you."

A long moment passed, during which Abby sat with her head down. She seemed exhausted, as if just sitting upright in her chair were an ordeal. Finally she looked up at Helen and Philip and her eyes were tearful. "Well," she said, "I suppose I have to tell you. But there's nothing you can do, though it's nice of you to want to help. It's been so long since I've had anyone to talk to, anyone to trust, I've forgotten what trusting people is like." She took a deep breath, and Miranda could almost see her mind running backward to find a starting point for her story.

They all waited. Outside the kitchen windows it had begun to snow again.

"The truth is that since I arrived in Garnet, I've been living in the old Prindle House. I jimmied the lock on the back door."

At their surprised exclamations, she hesitated, then continued in her soft voice. "I've been on the run for a long time. My parents are dead. They were killed in a fire—years ago. I went to live with my grandfather in Baltimore." Her words came more slowly now, as if chosen with care. "He was an alcoholic and didn't want much to do with me, but he was the only relative I had left. Everyone else is dead. So I sort of took care of him, and he paid for food and stuff. I only went to school sometimes—when I felt like getting out of the house. And when he died, I ran away. I wasn't about to end up in some children's home. So—" This time her pause lengthened into a full minute.

"So? What happened?" asked Helen gently.

Abby shook back her curtain of hair. It cascaded over the back of the oak chair like strands of cornsilk. "So I took money from my grandfather's house, got on a bus, and started traveling. I wasn't sure where I'd end up, but I knew I didn't want to live on the streets. There's too much trouble in that kind of life. I just wanted to be normal, to go to school, to have friends, you know. And when I got off the bus in Boston, I saw an old lady struggling to get onto another bus with some bags of stuff—she had been out shopping, you see. So I helped her onto the bus, then got on, and rode with her to Garnet. She was so nice, I was—well, I was hoping I could move in with her and kind of help out the way I used to help out my—my grandfather. It's like that with old people, you know. They're often eager to have someone stay and it's so easy...." She broke off and looked around the table at them. "I mean, well, I thought she might need a companion. But I found out she lives in one of those senior citizen communities where you have to be retired. No kids allowed, you know. I liked the look of Garnet, though, so I decided to stay."

Miranda frowned. For a second it had sounded as if Abby meant she'd moved in with old people lots of times. She watched Abby toss back her long hair again and glance more confidently around the table at them. She seemed more relaxed now that she was telling them her story. But Miranda's frown deepened.
Is any of this story true?

"So you broke into the Prindle House?" pressed Helen.

"Oh, I know it was a terrible thing to do. But I was cold, and the house was empty. At first I meant to stay only a couple of days, until—well, until I could find somewhere else to live. I shopped for food with the money I had left and used my sleeping bag and stuff I'd brought from Baltimore to set up house in the kitchen there. It's the warmest room. After a few days I realized that people were trying to fix up the house and set up a museum or something, and then when I went to school, I learned about the restoration project. I made sure to take all my things out early each morning and hide them in the crawl space under the back porch." She paused and looked at the Brownes as if defying them to comment. "But then a couple days ago people from the Historical Society changed the locks on all the doors. The new locks, they're much stronger and, well...." Her voice trailed off.

"Pick-proof?" suggested Philip drily.

"Well, yes."

"So where have you been sleeping?" Helen asked, her voice gentle.

Abby glanced up from beneath her pale lashes. "Under the porch where I'd hidden my stuff," she said softly. "I thought it would be out of the wind there. But it's awfully cold. I've been hanging out at the library until it closes, then walking around the streets to keep warm until I'm tired enough to sleep. My sleeping bag is pretty good. But then I ran out of money. I had to take food from school."

"And from the corner grocery," said Miranda.

Abby shot her a venomous glance. "Only once. But I never," she hastened to add, looking back at Miranda's parents, "broke into anyone's car before. I hate to steal from people—it seems different with big stores, or the cafeteria. I didn't think anyone would miss the food. I mean, I know it's still wrong, but it's just awful to be hungry and cold...."

Helen looked near tears. She reached over to put her arm around Abby's thin shoulders and hugged her. "The morning we nearly hit you, it seemed you fainted in front of the car. Was that because—?"

Abby nodded, her face clouded. "I hadn't eaten in two days. I tried to sell some of my old things—from my grandfather's house, I mean—at the flea market to get some money. But I sold only one brooch. For three dollars! And it wasn't even really mine to sell, so that was stealing, too. I finally realized I'd have to steal to survive."

Miranda had to admit to herself she was impressed with Abby's resourcefulness. But her father was frowning.

"Abby, there are children's services," he said. "Social workers, lawyers, teachers. Any one of them would be glad to help you."

Abby's expression was bleak. "No. I don't want anything to do with them."

"Listen, of course the things from your grandfather's house were yours to sell. And if you're the only member of your family still alive, as you seem to believe is the case, then surely you'd inherit his house anyway. There might be plenty of money coming to you. You need a lawyer, like it or not."

Abby pressed her lips together and shook her head. After a moment Philip shrugged. "Well, how long were you planning to live like an outlaw?" he asked drily.

She sent him a shy look from beneath her lashes. "I didn't really have a plan," she murmured. "Of course, I knew I couldn't go on for long like this. I suppose I'll move on again when the snow stops. It's always hard to travel in the winters, even when I have some money."

Miranda sat there, puzzling over Abby's story. The girl made it sound as if she had often had to travel in cold winters. There was something about Abby's account that didn't sound right to Miranda. But she couldn't think what it was.

Abby closed her eyes and rested her thin hands atop the tablecloth. "It feels good to tell someone after so long." She opened her eyes then and looked right into Philip's. "I know I was wrong to break into your car for the food, and I know you're going to call the police after all, and I'll end up in a children's home...."

"Oh, no," began Helen.

"Not so fast," said Philip at the same time. They looked at each other. "What are you thinking, Helen?"

Helen checked his face carefully before answering. In his eyes she saw his nod, although physically he didn't move a muscle. Miranda always marveled at the unspoken communication her parents managed so easily. But now she could read the message, too. She braced herself for what was coming.

"Abby," began Helen, taking one of the girl's thin hands in hers, "would you like to stay here with us for a while? Until we can decide what's the best thing to do? I don't think at this point we need to involve the police. I'd rather have you here safe with us. For now. That is, if you want to stay."

"We'll have to talk to the right people, of course," Philip joined in. "A social worker, I guess. And call our lawyer. They'll conduct a search for relatives you may not even know you have. And if you become a ward of the state," he added, his voice warm now, "they would eventually try to place you in a good foster home. Probably you can stay with us while we make inquiries. How would you feel about that?"

Abby nodded eagerly, her eyes shining. "Oh, I'd love to stay with you."

Helen turned to Miranda. "Mandy? What do you think about all this?"

Miranda was fuming. She glared at her parents, but they didn't notice. Both of them had eyes only for Abby, and those eyes were now full of caring and compassion. Miranda drew a ragged breath and expelled it angrily.

"Fine." Her voice was harsh. "I mean, sure, great, we can't very well leave Abby out in all this snow, can we?" She pushed back her chair and stood up. "Look—I'm going over to Dan's now." She carried her plate and cutlery to the sink, then turned back to the table. She saw her parents and Abby sitting there with their empty plates and their big smiles, and she thought they looked like players on a stage. She felt the atmosphere in the big, warm kitchen had changed with Abby inside, as if the snow falling outside had somehow crept in. Miranda longed to escape. "I told Dan I'd come for an hour or so, since I couldn't make it for dinner."

Philip nodded. "Okay, Mandy," he said. "I think Abby looks like she could use a nice, long, hot bath and then an early bedtime."

"We'll make up the fold-out couch in my office," said Helen, already busy with plans. She stood up and began clearing the table. "But first, how about some homemade apple crumble?"

"Oh, yes," said Abby enthusiastically.

"No, thanks," said Miranda. She left the kitchen and ran up to her room. Inside, she stood for a moment, looking around. Was it only food Abby stole, or might she be interested in other things? Miranda saw her favorite silver snowflake earrings on her dresser top and hooked them into her earlobes. Then she snatched up her wallet from the desk. It contained only a few dollars and her library card, but she felt safer keeping it with her. She hesitated. What else to take? On a whim she opened her dresser drawer and fished under her socks for the little stone phoenix. She stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Don't be back too late!" Helen called from the kitchen as Miranda bounded down the stairs to the front hall. Abby's voice rang out next, "Bye, Mandy!"

Miranda didn't answer but shivered as she shrugged into her coat. She left her boots by the door and raced outside in her tennis shoes—so great was her hurry to be gone.

M
IRANDA LAY ACROSS
Dan's bed, telling him about it. Her soaking shoes were propped against the radiator. Dan sat across from the bed in an old beanbag chair and rolled the beans beneath the vinyl while she talked.

"Unbelievable," he said at last. "So what's the juvenile delinquent doing now?"

"Probably soaking in the tub. Ripping off all my bubble bath, probably."

Dan shook his head. "That poor thing."

"Hmmm."

"You don't think so?"

"Oh, of course I feel sorry for her. But I don't want her living in my house."

"Come on, Mandy. You're usually so softhearted. I mean, I know she's rude and everything. But it sounds like she's had a rough life."

Miranda sighed and flopped over onto her back. "I guess I just don't trust her. She's got this quirky little smile that bugs me to death. I always feel she's mocking me."

"You're paranoid."

Miranda frowned. "Maybe."

"Well, anyway, you missed a first class, five-star meal. The chef was crushed."

"Oh, yeah? What did the chef concoct tonight?"

"House secret. But I'll give you one more chance to try it. Next time."

"You mean you've saved it?"

"Nope. Ate all of it. It was great."

"You ate
all
of it!"

"I'm a growing boy," he said defensively, and she laughed. But it was true, she reflected, looking at him now. He seemed to have grown a full foot in just the past year, shooting up to almost six feet and developing muscles that had the football coach after him to try out for the team. But Dan preferred to spend his time learning about photography or taking long bike rides to neighboring towns. Sometimes Miranda went with him on those rides, and she always marveled at his stamina on the rolling hills.

She stretched on the bed. "It's so peaceful here. What have you done with Buddy? Did you drug him?" Dan's ten-year-old brother was a great fan of Miranda. She rarely was able to snag time alone with Dan when Buddy was around.

"Better than that. He's away at a friend's house for the night. And my parents are working on the special exhibit at the Prindle House."

"I'm glad Buddy's not here, sweet as he is. I'm really low on energy tonight. Abby just seems to drain me. She gives me a headache, too. I know it's going to be horrible having her at our house."

Dan reached over and switched on his CD player, then slid in a disc. "You need some music to calm you down." He crossed to the bed and sat down beside her. "How about a back rub?"