Since everyone was safely upstairs, I turned on every light in the kitchen. Have I mentioned the light in Heaven? You’ll be amazed, bright as gold, lustrous as pearls, clear as a limpid pool of aquamarine water. Electricity can’t compete, but the bright glow in the kitchen was cheerful. I’d grown up in a similar kitchen with a wrought-iron lamp fixture, white-painted wooden cabinets, an old gas range (any cook can tell you that cooking on gas is far superior), hardwood floor, painted wooden spice rack, pots and pans hanging from hooks on one wall, a long wooden table with a half dozen chairs, lace curtains on the window, and a back door with Victorian glass.
The calico cat rose from her cushion and ambled toward me, head lifted in hope.
I dropped down and petted her. “I don’t know where they keep your food but I’ll share some roast beef with you.”
A purr rumbled deep in her throat.
It was not only a homey kitchen, there was plenty of good food. I made a thick sandwich of roast beef on homemade wheat bread. I provided several curls of roast beef to the cat. “Here, Duchess, we’ll both have a feast.” I ended with a dish of chocolate ice cream, then washed up, returning everything to its place.
I was rewarded when I returned to the blue room. Peg’s breathing was even and deep. As I drifted into sleep, I carried with me the memory of Susan Flynn drinking cocoa and looking ahead to happy days with a little towheaded boy.
Bedsprings creaked. Chestnut brown hair tousled, yawning sleepily, Peg lifted her head from the pillow and looked toward the opposite twin bed.
Stealthily, I drew up the quilt and folded it.
Peg’s gaze shifted as I placed the quilt at the foot of the chaise longue. She gave the quilt a puzzled glance, shook her head, and turned back toward Keith.
The small form beneath the covers lay unmoving, head tucked beneath the pillow.
Easing to her feet, Peg slipped into pink house slippers. She stretched, brushed a hand through her curls, then tiptoed softly toward the door.
As it closed behind her, the covers moved. Cautiously, Keith emerged. He stared at the door, his thin face anxious, his body rigid.
Poor baby. He was scared to pieces.
I darted a look at the door. Peg surely wouldn’t be back immediately. Probably she’d gone to see about Keith’s breakfast.
With a defiant nod Heavenward, I swirled into being. I liked being here. I wanted to see myself in a mirror, hear my footsteps on the wooden floor. The image in the mirror was satisfactory, my green eyes bright and cheerful, my red curls tidy enough. This morning’s turtleneck was white, my wool slacks red, my boots white. I hurried to Keith.
He drew back as far as he could.
I gave him a sharp salute. “Good morning, Keith. I’m Jerrie.” I didn’t think St. Jerome Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans, would mind if I used a version of his name. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so we can play. Do you like to sing in the morning?” I didn’t wait for an answer but began to sing “Jingle Bells,” throwing in a few lyrics of my own devising: Keith is here, Keith is here, what fun we’ll have today…
The rigidity eased from his small frame. He began to smile.
“Let’s pick our favorite things to do. I like to giggle and I’ll bet you do, too. Have you ever seen a cross-eyed frog dancing on a stage?”
A tiny smile curved his lips.
“Or an octopus with the hiccups?”
He looked at me uncertainly. “Ogpus?”
“Oh”—I threw up my arms—“you haven’t seen anything funny until you’ve seen an octopus with the hiccups. Octopi—that’s more than one octopus—live in the ocean in caves. They have big sleek heads and lots and lots of arms. An octopus with the hiccups waves his arms every which way.” I flopped my arms. “If an octopus—not having the hiccups, of course—came to see you, do you know what he’d do?”
He watched me with huge eyes.
I sat down on the bed and wrapped my arms gently around him. “That octopus would give you one hug, two, three, and then he’d take his other arms—he has lots of them—and hug and hug and maybe even give a tiny tickle.”
In a minute he was giggling and twisting.
When we stopped to smile at each other, his eyes were shining.
“Now, let’s look in your suitcase and I’ll help you get dressed. I’ll bet Peg has gone to fix you some breakfast. We’ll go downstairs and surprise her.”
I found fresh underwear, a thin long-sleeved shirt dull from many washes, and a pair of jeans that were too short. When he was dressed, I took his hand. “Let’s pretend we are on a breakfast safari. A safari is when…”
I remembered to disappear as we opened the door and started down the dim hallway. I’d enjoyed being there. Invisibility has its advantages but it was nicer to actually be on the ground. When I’m not here, I feel insubstantial.
At the stairs, Keith shook off my hand and started down, one steep step at a time, chubby fingers sliding from baluster to baluster. I was poised to grab him should he misjudge.
