The Unseen (9 page)

A sudden rush of surprise wiped out Xandra's anger and left her feeling shaken and unsure. Shaken at first, but after a bit, curious—eagerly curious.

“Yes,” she said. “I
do
want to do that. When? When can I see him?”

Belinda thought for a moment before she asked, “How about tomorrow, Saturday? I could ask him tonight and if it's not all right I'll phone you from the service station and
tell you not to come. But probably tomorrow would be good. Could you come then?”

Before Belinda had finished telling her where to go and how to get there, Xandra was nodding confidently. “Don't worry,” she said. “I'll be there. The old service station on Greenhill Road, around ten o'clock. I can do that.”

When Belinda asked what she would tell her folks about where she was going, she went on to say, “You're not going to tell them you're going to see a wizard, or anything like that, are you?”

Xandra shrugged. “Why would I do that? He's not a wizard, right? You told me he wasn't. And I don't think I'll have to tell anyone much about where I'm going.”

“Really?” Belinda seemed doubtful. “You won't need to tell anyone? How will you get money for the bus?”

“I have enough money,” Xandra said. “I always have my allowance and I have lots of money saved up. I don't use all of my allowance very often.”

Belinda still looked uncertain as they got off the bus, and she had only gone a few steps when she stopped and came back. “Where is it now?” she said, lowering her voice as if there were someone around to hear. “Where do you keep the Key?”

Xandra's hand went to her chest, over the place where the feather hung around her neck on its string. “Right here,” she said. “I always have it right here.”

“Always?” Belinda asked.

Xandra nodded. “Always.”

Reaching out, Belinda took hold of Xandra's arm. “But you won't try to use it by yourself, will you? Something awful might happen if you do.”

Xandra shook off Belinda's hand. “No, I won't. I said I wouldn't and I won't. You don't have to keep reminding me.”

Belinda turned away again and this time she kept on going. Xandra watched until she was out of sight.

X
ANDRA HAD BEEN
right about not having to tell anyone where she was going on Saturday. Saturdays were nearly always golf days for Henry Hobson, and lately for Quincy too, and Helen and Victoria had gone off early to shop for clothes to wear to the big Mozart recital. That left the twins, but not for long. A little later they left too, sounding like a whole herd of horses as they clattered down the back stairs in their baseball shoes. Nobody asked Xandra what she was going to do or where she was going. Nobody except Clara, and that hardly counted. It had been a long time since she and Xandra had paid much attention to each other. So when Clara was getting Gussie ready to go play in the park and asked Xandra to go with them, Xandra laughed and said no thanks. The “no thanks” was polite enough, but the way she laughed said what she really thought of the idea.

It was a dull, gray day as Xandra caught the Heritage Avenue bus that wound its way down the wide street bordered on each side by big houses, tall trees and broad, well-tended lawns. Lawns, however, that at this time of year were turning a dull brown from frostbite in spite of everything gardeners like Otto could do. Closing her eyes to the dreary scene and drearier weather, Xandra concentrated on where she was going and the exciting things she might be able to learn before the day was over. At the downtown terminal she hurried—ran, practically—to the other side of the station, where the No. 70 bus left on its way out into the country and eventually on to the town of Grover.

She would not, however, need to go quite that far. Following Belinda's instructions, she waited until the subdivisions ended and the shopping malls gave way to farmland, and then began to watch for a mileage sign that said
GROVER 19 MILES
. Just beyond that sign a service station came into view. A small service station under a large weather-beaten sign that said
JERRY'S AUTO SHOP
. Xandra got off the bus a little uncertainly. It seemed such a strange place for anyone to live, such a long way from residential areas or shopping centers.

Feeling she might have made a mistake, she looked around nervously, but then there she was. There Belinda was, sitting on the bus stop bench just where she'd said she would be, looking a little bit different but not any less weird. Belinda's Saturday outfit was an ancient denim jacket covered with dozens of faded patches, and below that, a ragged pair of blue jeans, and her long straggly hair was pulled back into a loose braid. When she saw Xandra, her smile came and went quickly, and so did what she had to say.

“All right. Let's go,” was all she said before she led the way down a narrow country road. When Xandra asked how far it was, she only said, “Not very. Come on. Let's hurry.” They went on walking, passing a dumping yard for dead cars, two or three run-down houses and then some open fields. The tiny, deserted houses and the wide empty stretches of land made Xandra feel uneasy. She didn't know why, except that having grown up behind high walls and fences made the endless emptiness seem strangely threatening. Finally, when Belinda turned off the road onto a narrow lane between tall trees, Xandra stopped dead and demanded, “You didn't tell me we had to go way out into the country. I mean, where are we actually going?”

Belinda's answer, when it came, seemed to be to a different question. “I think it will be all right,” she said. “He doesn't always talk to new people but when I asked him he said he wanted to meet you.”

“Wait a minute,” Xandra said. “You only
think
it will be all right? Why didn't you tell me your grandfather doesn't like to meet new people?” Grabbing Belinda's sleeve, she pulled her to a stop. “What if he decides he doesn't want to see me? What will he do?”

Belinda shook her head. “He won't do anything. Sometimes he just won't talk. Even to people who have come a long way to see him. But he said he wanted you to come. He said he needed to find out …”

She paused then and interrupted herself, abruptly changing the subject. Pointing down the road, she said, “There. See that gate up there on the left? That's where we turn off.”

A few yards farther on, a sagging wooden gate opened
onto an overgrown dirt road that led up a slope toward what seemed to be …a farm perhaps? Or perhaps only the remains of something that had once been a farm. The house came first. Halfway up the hill, almost hidden among tall trees, it was a tall narrow structure whose peeling paint, dangling shutters and weed-grown yard gave it a sad, deserted, almost haunted look. And beyond the house the lopsided, sagging roof of an old barn soon came into view.

The possibility that Belinda's grandfather was a farmer was, for some reason, a little bit reassuring. Xandra didn't know why, except that you don't often hear of farmers who are also wizards or witch doctors. Xandra was about to ask Belinda if she and her family were farmers when she saw something that seemed to answer the question. An old man dressed in overalls and carrying a large pail was coming out of the barn and heading toward the house. A huge old man whose bearded face sagged into droopy wrinkles and whose long grayish hair was tied into a ponytail. When he saw Belinda and Xandra, he stopped and waited for them. His eyes, almost hidden under the bushy eyebrows, were small and fierce. He was not smiling.

“Now who's this?” he growled, looking from Xandra to Belinda.

“Just a friend of mine,” Belinda said quickly. “She's not here to … She's just here to see me.”

Xandra turned to stare angrily at Belinda. She was about to protest. To say, No, I came to ask you some important questions, when Belinda grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

“Hey,” Xandra said as she let herself be led toward the
barn. “I thought you said he was going to talk to me. To explain about—”

“Shhh,” Belinda interrupted. “That's not my grandfather. That's just Ezra.”

When Xandra looked back, the decrepit man named Ezra had turned away and, still carrying the pail, was heading toward the equally decrepit house. “Ezra?” she asked. “Who's Ezra?”

Tugging Xandra along after her, Belinda didn't answer until they had reached the far edge of the barnyard. It was there they stopped to watch the old man climb some rickety stairs and disappear into the house.

“Does he actually live there, in that haunted house?” Xandra asked.

Belinda nodded. “Ezra has lived right there in that same old house all his life, I guess. My grandfather has known him practically forever. A long time ago my grandfather lived here in the commune. So last summer when we had to get out of …” She paused and began again. “When we needed to move, Ezra said he could come here again, at least for a while.” Belinda turned and pointed down a sloping dirt road that led to a large grove of trees. “Down there where the commune used to be.”

“The commune?” Xandra asked.

“Yes, you know. When a lot of people kind of live and work together,” Belinda said. But Xandra didn't know, so Belinda went on to tell about how it had been a popular thing to do for a while, for people to move out to the country and live together in large groups that were sometimes called communes. “There was a famous commune right
here on Ezra's farm,” she said. “Some people called it Ezra's Eden. It was a big one, almost a hundred people sometimes, and my grandfather was part of it for a while. So when we needed a place to live, Ezra let him come back.”

“One hundred people?” Xandra was incredulous. “Right down there?”

Belinda nodded. “Come on. You'll see.”

They went on down a steep slope, and as they entered the grove of trees, Xandra noticed two tiny, roughly built houses and then a slightly larger one. Only three un-painted, run-down cabins, each one with cement block steps leading up to a rickety front porch. A thin plume of smoke was rising from the chimney of the larger house, but that was the only sign of life. “One hundred people?” Xandra asked again, not believing it for a minute.

“For a while there were,” Belinda said, “a long time ago. There were a lot more houses then. And tents too. Some of the people lived in tents.”

“And who lives here now?” Xandra asked. “Besides you and your grandfather.”

Belinda shook her head. “No one else,” she said. “Just us. We live mostly in that biggest house but we can use the others too.”

Xandra checked out the three cabins. They all looked pretty shabby and dilapidated and so small that even the biggest would probably fit into the Hobson family room.

As if she were reading Xandra's mind, Belinda said, “I know. They're nothing much, but they do have electricity and the big one has a kitchen and real bathroom.”

“A kitchen?” An interesting thought came to mind. “Who does the cooking? Your grandfather?”

Belinda shook her head, smiling. “Not much. Sometimes we eat at Ezra's, and I can cook a little.”

“Wow.” Xandra was impressed. “I can make sandwiches but that's about it.” A related question occurred to her. “And how about the rest of it? Like shopping and house-cleaning. Do you do that too?”

Belinda shrugged. “Ezra shops but I do most of the housework. Sweeping mostly. There used to be a vacuum cleaner but it broke.” She looked around for a minute, and then, sounding surprised almost, as if she'd never noticed before, she said, “I guess it does look pretty trashy, but I do have my own house and that's the best part.” She pointed toward the nearest cabin, a tiny shack with lots of missing shingles and a broken window. “This one is mine. I keep all my own things in it. You want to see?”

Xandra shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

A screen door, and then a creaking wooden one, led into a room that had, to Xandra's surprise, a strangely familiar feel. Like her own room in the Hobson Habitat, it was full of books and pictures. Lots of books sat on long shelves made of bricks and planks, or were arranged in neat stacks near an ancient saggy couch. And, most amazing, the walls were covered with pictures, and some of them were the same kinds of pictures Xandra had been collecting all her life. Pictures of beautiful forests where trees had living faces, of strangely beautiful creatures half animal and half human and of people who were obviously characters from fantastic fairy-tale worlds. Walking around the room staring at the pictures and reading the titles of the books, most of which she had read too, Xandra was beginning to feel almost at home.

“Hey,” she said. “I like it. And it's all just yours? Nobody else's?”

Belinda nodded.

“Great,” Xandra said. She looked around. “Does it have other rooms?”

Belinda nodded again. There was one other room in the cabin but it seemed to be nothing more than a storage area. A whole room crammed full of huge cardboard boxes, all of which were full to overflowing with articles of clothing. Very old clothing.

“Wow,” Xandra said. “Where did you get all …”

“It's from the commune,” Belinda said. “When people went off and left some of their clothing, Ezra always saved it in case they came back for it. But most of them never came back, so now it's mine. Ezra gave all of it to me.”