A Heartbeat Away. Eleanor Jones
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time,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be nice for it to be, you know, just you and your mom?”
I nodded halfheartedly, and the almost hidden feeling of dread spread from my stomach to my heart.
“But you’ll be there?”
Mrs. Brown exchanged a glance with her husband and he gave a slight nod.
“Of course,” she answered quickly. “We’ll set off after lunch, shall we?”
I wanted to say no—I wanted to shout no—I wanted to scream no. But I nodded politely and tried to remember my mother’s sad gray face.
Daniel was sitting on the other side of the table from me, and I glanced across at him, knowing that he would understand, for he didn’t want me to leave Homewood any more than I wanted to go.
He was staring into his bowl of coco pops, stirring the chocolate-colored milk so fast that it spilled onto the brightly checkered tablecloth.
“Daniel!” exclaimed Mrs. Brown.
He put down his spoon and gazed at me. I could see my own fears reflected in his deep-brown eyes, fears that our idyllic summer was about to end. The same disappointment that clouded my thoughts was mirrored on his face. He eyed at me fiercely for a moment, then he jumped up and walked out the back door into the crisp autumn air, leaving his jacket on the peg.
“Daniel!” called Mrs. Brown again. but her husband took hold of her arm and shook his head.
“Let him be,” he told her. “He’ll be back when he’s cold enough.”
And in that moment I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart that Mr. Brown could be my dad. The guilt that washed over me at the disloyal thought made me feel really bad, though, so when I went to get ready to go visit my mom, I pulled the red shoes from underneath my high, wooden-legged bed and looked at them. They didn’t fit me at all anymore, but I knew that I would keep them forever, or at least until my dad returned.
My mom arrived home just after my seventh birthday, and my birthday was about the last day I spent at Homewood. Mr. and Mrs. Brown bought me a lovely red bike, so that I could visit them often, they said, which made me feel just a tiny bit better. Then Daniel handed me a card with a pony on the front. Inside it, he had written, “Happy Birthday and I promise to give you 100 riding lessons on Chocolate.” That was my best present of all because it meant that I could come to Homewood Farm a hundred times more and maybe even learn to ride as well as he did, or almost as well.
On my very last night, Mrs. Brown came to my room to tuck me in. She hugged me and made loud sniffing noises into her hanky.
“Everything will be all right, lovey, you’ll see,” she told me. I hugged her back and breathed in the scent of violets as hard as I could, right down into my lungs so that her fragrance would become a part of me forever.
When her gentle footsteps faded down the stairs, I curled up into a tight little ball, wrapping my arms around my pillow and trying to remember about my mom and my dad, and how things used to be before he went away. But I couldn’t get past the memory of my mom’s wild eyes, blazing like coals amid the dead pallor of her face. All I could recall were the bad times, and I quaked in fear of the tomorrows. And then I heard a knock, just the gentlest tap, and a shadow fell across the beam of light from the half-open doorway, Daniel’s shadow.
“You okay?” he whispered. I uncurled myself and smiled through my tears.
“I am now,” I told him.
For a moment he hesitated in the doorway, then he tiptoed over and perched on the side of my bed, saying nothing, not needing words. And when I awoke next morning, he was gone. But it didn’t matter, because I knew that he had been there, and always would be there when I needed him. It made me feel safe again, I suppose.
CHAPTER 5
Christmas. It figured higher on my undulating tide of memories than any other time. It was almost Christmas when my mom arrived home, a poor sad shadow of the person who’d gone away, and it was Christmas when my dad returned to haunt her.
We lived just down the lane from the Browns now, at Box Tree Cottage. My mom had said that we had to move because my dad lost our other house, but that can’t have been true because it was still there; I saw it every morning on my way to school. I liked Box Tree Cottage, though. You could see the fells from my bedroom window.
I had only one present on our first Christmas there. It was from my mom, and it lay beneath the tree that Mr. Brown had brought us. Mrs. Brown and Daniel had helped decorate it on Christmas Eve. While we two children hung baubles on its spiky branches and breathed in the scent of fresh pine, the excitement that only Christmas can kindle bubbled up inside us, turning the sparkling decorations into something truly magical.
Mrs. Brown stood on a wooden chair to put tinsel right at the top of the tree, then she jumped down, rummaged in the big box of decorations and withdrew a small figure all dressed in silvery white, with gossamer wings and golden hair.
“Come on, Mary,” she insisted, holding the decoration out toward my mom. “Why don’t you put the fairy on the top.”
My mom was sitting in her high-backed chair, staring into the crackling flames of the fire with a distant expression in her eyes. It was nothing, though, compared with the pinched anger they had used to show, and anything was better than the wild desperation that had been so frightening just before she went away. So I didn’t mind a bit—at least she didn’t shout at me anymore—and sometimes I almost felt sorry for her she looked so sad and gray.
Mrs. Brown had arrived with Daniel shortly after the lunchtime program on TV finished, to find my mom sitting in the cold dark living room while I galloped around the house in my bare feet, on a broom that I pretended was Chocolate. Her voice was quiet and calm, but I could see the dismay in her eyes as she took in the clutter of our living room. She ordered me upstairs to get dressed and sent Daniel outside to fetch coal for the fire.
By the time I came back down the steep narrow staircase, flames were roaring up the chimney and my mom was settled in front of their cozy glow with a mug of tea. I smiled gratefully at Mrs. Brown when she handed me a piece of thickly buttered toast with strawberry jam. As I nibbled it contentedly, she and Daniel unpacked the box of goodies they had brought us.
Sparkling tinsel, gaudy baubles, a present for me that Mrs. Brown said she had collected for my mom and a beautiful Christmas cake with an angel on it, just like the one she was trying to get her to place on the tree.
“Come on, Mary,” she pleaded with her lovely voice.
I felt angry when my mom just sat with that vacant look in her eyes, staring into the fire, so I set down my plate and ran across to shake her arm. “Put it on,” I yelled. It mattered so much to me that my mom join in our excitement.
But Mrs. Brown took a gentle hold of my shoulders and pulled me toward her. “It’s all right, Lucy,” she said quietly. “The doctor told us that your mother would need to rest, and Daniel and I are here to keep an eye on you both, so just leave her be and she’ll come around…you’ll see.”
I relaxed against the warmth of her pale blue woolen sweater, clinging to the comfort she offered and smiling contentedly, knowing I was safe within her violet scent. It made me feel good inside to know that I was safe.
“I’ll keep an eye on her, as well, shall I?” I offered gravely.
She nodded in agreement. “Good idea, for she’ll be well again in no time if we both watch out for her.”
I believed then that Mrs. Brown’s magic was working already, for my mom slipped into one of her more lucid periods. Sometimes they only lasted minutes before she drifted back into her cloudy-eyed apathy, but this time her lucidity went on and on and she gazed at Mrs. Brown with real emotion in her gray eyes.
“Edna,” my mother suddenly said. “Whatever am I going to do?”
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