“That’s him.”
“He’s got a sister and two brothers,” she went on.
“You’ve met them then?”
“Not all of them,” Lulu admitted. “They keep themselves to themselves. But you’ll meet one or two of them sooner or later.”
“I… don’t think I’ll be staying,” Harvey said. “I mean my mom and dad don’t even know I’m here.”
“Sure they do,” Lulu replied. “They just didn’t tell you about it.” This confused Harvey, and he said so. “Call your mom and dad,” Lulu suggested. “Ask ‘em.”
“Can I do that?” he wondered.
“Of course you can,” Mrs. Griffin replied. “The phone’s in the hallway.”
Carrying a spoonful of ice cream with him, Harvey went to the phone and dialed. At first there was a whining sound on the line, as though a wind were in the wires. Then, as it cleared, he heard his mom say: “Who is this?”
“Before you start yelling—” he began.
“Oh, honey,” his mom cooed. “Did you arrive?”
“Arrive?”
“You are at the Holiday House, I hope.”
“Yes, I am. But—”
“Oh, good. I was worried maybe you’d lost your way. Do you like it there?”
“You knew I was coming?” Harvey said, catching Lulu’s eye.
I told you, she mouthed.
“Of course we knew,” his mom went on. “We invited Mr. Rictus to show you the place. You looked so sad, you poor lamb. We thought you needed a little fun.”
“Really?” said Harvey, astonished by this turn of events.
“We just want you to enjoy yourself,” his mom went on. “So you stay just as long as you want.”
“What about school?” he said.
“You deserve a little time off,” came the reply. “Don’t you worry about anything. Just have a good time.”
“I will, Mom.”
“’Bye, honey.”
“Bye.”
Harvey came away from the conversation shaking his head in amazement.
“You were right,” he said to Lulu. “They arranged everything.”
“So now you don’t have to feel guilty,” said Lulu. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around later, huh?”
And with that she ambled away.
“If you’re finished eating,” Mrs. Griffin said, “I’ll show you to your room.”
“I’d like that.”
She duly led Harvey up the stairs. At the landing, basking on the sun-drenched windowsill, was a cat with fur the color of the cloudless sky.
“That’s Blue-Cat,” Mrs. Griffin said. “You saw Stew-Cat playing with Wendell. I don’t know where Clue-Cat is, but he’ll find you. He likes new guests.”
“Do you have a lot of people coming here?”
“Only children. Very special children like you and Lulu and Wendell. Mr. Hood won’t have just anybody.”
“Who’s Mr. Hood?”
“The man who built the Holiday House,” Mrs. Griffin replied.
“Will I meet him too?”
Mrs. Griffin looked discomfited by the question. “Maybe,” she said, her gaze averted. “But he’s a very private man.”
They were up on the landing by now, and Mrs. Griffin led Harvey pasta row of painted portraits to a room at the back of the House. It overlooked an orchard, and the warm air carried the smell of ripe apples into tile room.
“You look tired, my sweet,” Mrs. Griffin said. “Maybe you should lie down for a little while”
Harvey usually hated to sleep in the afternoon; it reminded him too much of having the flu, or the measles. But the pillow looked very cool and comfortable, and when Mrs. Griffin had taken her leave he decided to lie down, just for a few minutes.
Either he was more tired than he’d thought, or the calm and comfort of the House rocked him into a slumber. Whichever, his eyes closed almost as soon as he put his head on the pillow, and they did not open again until morning.
IV. A Death between Seasons
The sun came to wake him soon after dawn—a straight white dart of light, laid on his lids. He sat up with a start, wondering for a moment what bed this was, what room, what house. Then his memories of the previous day returned, and he realized that he’d slept through from late afternoon to early morning. The rest had strengthened him. He felt energetic, and with a whoop of pleasure he jumped out of bed and got dressed.
The House was more welcoming than ever today, the flowers Mrs. Griffin had set on every table and sill singing with color. The front door stood open, and sliding down the gleaming banisters Harvey raced out onto the porch to inspect the morning.
A surprise awaited him. The trees which had been heavy with leaves the previous afternoon had shed their canopies. There were new, tiny buds on every branch and twig, as though this were the first day of spring.
“Another day, another dollar,” said Wendell, ambling around the corner of the House.
“What does that mean?” said Harvey.
“It’s what my father used to say all the time. Another day, another dollar. He’s a banker, my dad, Wendell Hamilton the Second. And me, I’m—”
“Wendell Hamilton the Third.”
“How’d ya know?”
“Lucky guess. I’m Harvey.”
“Yeah, I know. D’ya like tree houses?”
“I never had one”
Wendell pointed up at the tallest tree. There was a platform perched up among the branches, with a rudimentary house built upon it.
“I’ve been working up there for weeks,” said Wendell, “but I can’t get it finished alone. Ya want to help me?”
“Sure. But I’ve got to eat something first.”
“Go eat. I’ll be around.”
Harvey headed back inside, and found Mrs. Griffin setting out a breakfast fit for a prince; There was milk spilt on the floor, and a cat with a tail hooked like a question mark lapping it up.
“Clue-Cat?” he said.
“Yes indeed,” Mrs. Griffin said fondly. “He’s the wicked one.”
Clue-Cat looked up, as if he knew he was being talked about. Then he jumped up onto the table and searched among the plates of pancakes and waffles for something more to eat.
“Can he do whatever he likes?” Harvey said, watching the cat sniff at this and that. “I mean, does nobody
