Little, Big

Alice took her hand under the comforter. “We could have,” she said. “We could have gone any time. When we did go is the Tale.”

She added after a time: “But it won’t be easy.” Her words alerted Sophie, and she took her sister’s hand more tightly. “Sophie,” Alice said, “you said Mid-summer Day.”

“Yes.”

“But—all right,” Alice said. “Only. I have to go sooner.”

Sophie raised her head from the sofa, not relinquishing her sister’s hand, and afraid. “What?” she said.

“I,” Alice said, “have to go sooner.” She glanced at Sophie, and then away; a glance Sophie knew meant that Alice was telling her now a thing she had long known about and had kept a secret.

“When?” Sophie said, or whispered.

“Now,” Alice said.

“No,” Sophie said.

“Tonight,” Alice said, “or this morning. That’s why— that’s why I wanted you to sit with me, because…”

“But why?” Sophie said.

“I can’t say, Sophie.”

“No, Alice, no, but…”

“It’s okay, Soph,” Alice said, smiling at her sister’s bafflement. “We’re all to go, all of us; only I have to go sooner. That’s all.”

Sophie stared at her, a very strange thought invading her, invading her wide eyes and open mouth and hollowed heart: strange, because she had heard Lilac say it, and had read it in the cards, and then spoken of it to all her cousins, but had only now come to truly think it. “We are going, then,” she said.

Alice nodded, a tiny nod.

“It’s all true,” Sophie said. Her sister, calm or at least not shaken, ready or seeming to be, grew huge before Sophie’s eyes. “All true.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Alice.” Alice, grown so great before her, frightened her. “Oh, but Alice, don’t. Wait. Don’t go now, not so soon…”

“I have to,” Alice said.

“But then I’ll be left, and… everybody…” She threw off the comforter and stood to plead. “No, don’t go without me, wait!”

“I have to, Sophie, because… Oh, I can’t say it, it’s too strange to say, or too simple. I have to go, because if I don’t, there won’t be any place to go to. For you, and everybody.”

“I don’t understand,” Sophie said.

Alice laughed, a small laugh like a sob. “I don’t either, yet. But. Soon.”

“But all alone,” Sophie said. “How can you?”

Alice said nothing to that, and Sophie bit her lip that she’d said it. Brave! A huge love, a love like deepest pity, filled her up, and she took Alice’s hand again; she sat again beside her. Somewhere in the house, a clock rang a small morning hour, and the bells stabbed one by one through Sophie. “Are you afraid?” she said, unable not to.

“Just sit with me awhile,” Alice said. “It’s not long till dawn.”

Far above them then there were footsteps, quick ones, heavy. They both looked up. The steps went overhead, down a hall, and then came rapidly and noisily down the stairs. Alice squeezed Sophie’s hand, in a way that Sophie understood, though what she understood Alice to be telling her by it shocked her more deeply than anything her sister had so far said.

Smoky opened the door of the library, and gave a start seeing the two women on the sofa.

“Hey, still up?” he said. His breath was labored. Sophie was sure he would read her stricken face, but he didn’t seem to; he went to the lamp, picked it up, and began going around the library, peering at the dark-burdened shelves.

“You wouldn’t happen to know,” he said, “whereabouts the ephemeris might be?”

“The what?” Alice said.

“Ephemeris,” he said, pulling out a book, pushing it back. “The big red book that gives the positions of the planets. For every date. You know.”

“You used to look at it when we were stargazing?”

“Right.” He turned to them. He was still faintly panting, and seemed in the grip of a fierce excitement. “No guesses?” He held aloft the lamp. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “I don’t, yet. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. The ohly thing crazy enough to make sense.”

He waited for them to question him, and at last Alice said, “What.”

“The orrery,” he said. “It’ll work.”

“Oh,” Alice said.

“Not only that, not only that,” he said in astonished triumph. “I think it’ll do work. I think it was meant to. It was so simple! I never thought of it. Can you imagine if that’s so? Alice, the house will be all right! If that thing will turn, it’ll turn belts! It’ll turn generators! Lights! Heat!”

The lamp he held showed them his face, transformed, and seeming so close to some dangerous limit that it made Sophie shrink. She supposed that he couldn’t see the two of them well; she glanced at Alice, who still tightly held her hand, and thought that Alice’s eyes might fill with tears, if they could, but that they could not; that Somehow they never would again.

“That’s nice,” Alice said.

“Nice,” Smoky said, resuming his search. “You think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy. But I think just maybe Harvey Cloud wasn’t crazy. Maybe.” He pulled a thick book from under others, which fell noisily to the floor. “This is it, this is it, this is it,” he said, and without looking back at them, he made to leave.

“The lamp, Smoky,” Alice said.

“Oh. Sorry.” He had been carrying it off absently. He put it down On the table, and smiled at them, so infinitely pleased that they couldn’t not smile back. He left almost at a run, the thick book under his arm.

Another Country

The two women sat without speaking for some time after he had gone. Then Sophie said: “You won’t tell him?”

“No,” Alice said. She began to say something further, a reason perhaps, but then didn’t, and Sophie dared say nothing more. “Anyway,” Alice said, “I won’t be gone, not really. I mean I’ll be gone, but still I’ll be here. Always.” She thought that was true; she thought, looking up at the dark ceiling and the tall windows, at the house around her, that what called to her, calling from the very heart of things, called to her as much from here as from any other place; and that the feeling she felt was not loss, it was only that sometimes she mistook it for loss. “But Sophie,” she said, and her voice had grown rough, “Sophie, you have to take care of him. Watch out for him.”

“How, Alice.”

“I don’t know, but—well, you must. I mean it, Soph. Do that for me.”

“I will,” Sophie said. “But I’m not much good at that, you know, watching out, and taking care.”

“It won’t be long,” Alice said. That too she was sure of, or believed or hoped she was sure of; she tried, searching in herself, to find that certainty: to find the calm delight, the gratitude, the exhilaration she had felt when she had begun to understand what conclusion it was all to have, the half-scared, half-puissant sense that she had lived her whole life as a chick inside an egg, and then got too big for it, and then found a way to begin to break it, and then had broken it, and was now about to come forth into some huge, airy world she could have had no inkling of, yet bearing wings to live in it with that were still untried. She was sure that what she knew now, they would all come to know, and other things still more wonderful, and more wonderful yet; but in the cold old room at the dark